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University of Virginia Library

The Workes of Benjamin Jonson

Jonson, Ben (1573?-1637)

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[My masters and friends, and good people draw neere]

[I was not wearier where I lay]

[Roome, roome, make roome for the bouncing bellie]

[Come on, come on; and where you go]

1. Straine. Song 2.

[From a Gipsie, in the morning]

[Come noble Nymphs, and doe not hide]

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VNDER-VVOODS. POEMS OF DEVOTION.

The Sinners Sacrifice.

A Hymne to God the Father.

A Hymne On the Nativitie of my Saviour.

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A Celebration of Charis in ten Lyrick Peeces.

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1. His Excuse for loving.

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2. How he saw her.

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3. What hee suffered.

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4. Her Triumph.

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5. His discourse with Cupid.

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6. Clayming a second kisse by Desert.

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7. Begging another, on colour of mending the former.

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8. Urging her of a promise.

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9. Her man described by her owne Dictamen.

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10. Another Ladyes exception present at the hearing.

The Musicall strife;

In the person of Woman kind.

Another. In defence of their Inconstancie.

A Nymphs Passion.

The Houre-glasse.

My Picture left in Scotland.

Against Iealousie.

An Epitaph on Master Vincent Corbet.

An Epistle to Sir Edvvard Sacvile, now Earle of Dorset.

An Epistle to Master Iohn Selden.

An Epistle to a Friend, to perswade him to the Warres.

An Epitaph on Master Philip Gray.

Epistle To a Friend.

A Satyricall Shrub.

A little Shrub growing by.

An Ode. To himselfe.

The mind of the Frontispice to a Booke.

An Ode to Iames Earle of Desmond,

A Sonnet. To the noble Lady, the Lady Mary Worth.

A Fit of Rime against Rime.

An Epigram On Willam Lord Burl: Lo: high %Treasurer of England.

An Epigram. To Thomas Lo: Elsmere,

Another to him.

An Epigram to the Councellour that pleaded, and carried the Cause.

An Epigram. To the small Poxe.

An Epistle to a friend.

An Execration upon Vulcan.

A speach according to Horace.

An Epistle to Master Arth: Squib.

An Epigram on Sir Edward Coke,

An Epistle answering to one that asked to be Sealed of the Tribe of Ben.

The Dedication of the Kings new Cellar.

An Epigram on The Court Pucell.

An Epigram. To the honour'd --- Countesse of ---

Lord Bacons Birth-day.

A Poëme sent me by Sir William Burlase.

An Epigram. To, William, Earle of Newcastle.

Epistle To Mr. Arthur Squib.

To Mr. Iohn Burges.

Epistle. To my Lady Covell.

To Master Iohn Burges.

Epigram, to my Book-seller.

An Epigram. To William Earle of Newcastle.

An Epitaph, on Henry L. La-ware.

An Epigram. To K. Charles

To K Charles, and Q Mary.

An Epigram. To our great and good K. Charles On his Anniversary Day.

An Epigram on the Princes birth

An Epigram to the Queene, then lying in.

An Ode, or Song, by all the Muses.

An Epigram, To the House-hold.

Epigram. To a Friend, and Sonne.

To the immortall memorie, and friendship of that noble paire, Sir Lvcivs Cary, and Sir H. Morison.

To the Right Honourable, the Lord high Treasurer of England.

To the King. On his Birth-day.

On the Right Honourable, and vertuous Lord Weston, L. high Treasurer of England,

To the Right honble Hierome, L. Weston.

The humble Petition of poore Ben.

To the right Honourable, the Lord Treasurer of England.

An Epigram To my MUSE, the Lady Digby, on her Husband, Sir Kenelme Digby.

[New yeares, expect new gifts: Sister, your Harpe]

A New-yeares-Gift sung to King Charles, 1635.

On the Kings Birth-day.

To my L. the King,

An Elegie On the Lady Anne Pavvlet, Marchion: of Winton.

The praises of a Countrie life.

Ode the first. The fourth Booke. To Venus.

Ode IX. 3 Booke, to Lydia. Dialogue of Horace, and Lydia.

Fragmentum Petron. Arbitr.

Epigramma Martialis. Lib. viii. Lxxvii.

[Though I am young, and cannot tell, ]

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395

Song.

[Fools, they are the only nation]

Fools , they are the only nation
Worth mens envy, or admiration;
Free from care, or sorrow-taking,
Selves, and others merry-making:
All they speake, or doe, is sterling.
Your foole he is your great mans darling,
And your ladies sport, and pleasure;
Tongue, and bable are his treasure.
Eene his face begetteth laughter,
And hee speaks truth free from slaughter;
Hee's the grace of every feast,
And, sometimes the chiefest guest:
Hath his trencher, and his stoole,
When wit waits upon the foole.
O, who would not bee
Hee, hee, hee?