Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. II. The Seventeenth Century: Ben Jonson to Dryden
Ben Jonson (15721637)An Ode to Himself (from Underwoods)
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Buried in ease and sloth?
Knowledge that sleeps, doth die;
And this security,
It is the common moth
That eats on wits and arts, and [that] destroys them both.
Dried up? lies Thespia waste?
Doth Clarius’ harp want strings,
That not a nymph now sings;
Or droop they as disgraced,
To see their seats and bowers by chattering pies defaced?
As ’tis too just a cause,
Let this thought quicken thee:
Minds that are great and free
Should not on fortune pause;
’Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.
Be taken with false baits
Of worded balladry,
And think it poësy?
They die with their conceits,
And only piteous scorn upon their folly waits.
Strike in thy proper strain;
With Japhet’s line aspire
Sol’s chariot, for new fire
To give the world again:
Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Jove’s brain.
Cannot endure reproof,
Make not thyself a page
To that strumpet the stage;
But sing high and aloof,
Safe from the wolf’s black jaw, and the dull ass’s hoof.