Benjamin Jonson was an English Renaissance dramatist, poet and actor. A contemporary of William Shakespeare, he is best known for his satirical plays, particularly Volpone, The Alchemist, and Bartholomew Fair, which are considered his best, and his lyric poems. A man of vast reading and a seemingly insatiable appetite for controversy, Jonson had an unparalleled breadth of influence on Jacobean and Caroline playwrights and poets.
Poetry
Jonson's poetry, like his drama, is informed by his classical learning. Some of his better-known poems are close translations of Greek or Roman models; all display the careful attention to form and style that often came naturally to those trained in classics in the humanist manner. Jonson, however, largely avoided the debates about rhyme and met ...
I think I'm in love with Ben Jonson. I certainly love his poems. And his voice is so modern - as are his looks. I have gazed at his portrait in the National Portrait Gallery in London and he could be a 21st century man. Then I return to his poetry - his voice is so modern in so many ways. He can make me laugh in one, and weep in another - the art of the true poet/dramatist.
On My First Son
Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy.
Seven years thou'wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O, could I lose all father now! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon 'scap'd world's and flesh's rage,
And, if no other misery, yet age?
Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry.
For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such,
As what he loves may never like too much.
Blueness doth express trueness.
I do honour the very flea of his dog.
Donne, for not keeping of accent, deserved hanging ... Shakespeare wanted art ... Sharpham, Day, Dekker, were all rogues.
For I loved the man and do honour his memory, on this side of idolatry, as much as any.
'Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.
We are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion, and come to see and to be seen.
He threatens many that hath injured one.
Language most shews a man: Speak, that I may see thee.
The players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing, whatsoever he penned, he never blotted out [a] line. My answer hath been, "Would he had blotted a thousand."
Talking is the disease of age.
They say princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a prince as soon as his groom.
what a bad website i wont rate it only a potato from my fat poo