Ben Jonson

(11 June 1572 – 6 August 1637 / London / England)

Ben Jonson Poems

1. Third Charm from Masque of Queens 11/23/2015
2. Hymn To The Belly 3/20/2015
3. Gypsy Songs 12/26/2014
4. To Censorious Courtling 3/7/2012
5. To Doctor Empiric 3/7/2012
6. His Supposed Mistress 3/7/2012
7. To Francis Beaumont 4/9/2010
8. On A Robbery 3/7/2012
9. Still To Be Neat 11/21/2014
10. To Fine Lady Would-Be 3/7/2012
11. The Noble Balm 4/9/2010
12. Nine Stages Towards Knowing 4/9/2010
13. On Elizabeth L. H. 4/9/2010
14. Xi: Epode 4/9/2010
15. Xiii: Epistle: To Katherine, Lady Aubigny 4/9/2010
16. The Speech 4/9/2010
17. On Poet-Ape 3/7/2012
18. The Hourglass 3/7/2012
19. Song: From Cynthia's Revels 4/9/2010
20. Praeludium 4/9/2010
21. Song: To Cynthia 4/9/2010
22. Porth Ceiriad Bay 4/9/2010
23. In The Ember Days Of My Last Free Summer 4/9/2010
24. The Thames At Mortlake 4/9/2010
25. The Triumph Of Charis 4/9/2010
26. Vii: Song: That Women Are But Mens Shaddows 4/9/2010
27. Viii: Song: To Sicknesse 4/9/2010
28. A Hymn On The Nativity Of My Saviour 3/7/2012
29. On Don Surly 4/9/2010
30. The Alchemist: Prologue 4/9/2010
31. The Metamorphosed Gypsies (Excerpt) 4/9/2010
32. Iv: To The World 4/9/2010
33. Vi: To The Same 4/9/2010
34. X: And Must I Sing? 4/9/2010
35. The Speeches Of Gratulations 4/9/2010
36. On Salathiel Pavy 4/9/2010
37. Simplex Munditiis 4/9/2010
38. Venus' Runaway 4/9/2010
39. To The Reader 4/9/2010
40. So Breaks The Sun 4/9/2010

Comments about Ben Jonson

  • Celia Warren (7/22/2013 1:29:00 AM)

    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.

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  • Lui Pesamino (10/18/2007 9:07:00 PM)

    man your poems are tigth! I love reading them.

Best Poem of Ben Jonson

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.

Read the full of On My First Son

To Celia

Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
And Ile not looke for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drinke divine:
But might I of Jove's Nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,

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