 | The Workes of Benjamin Jonson |  |
195
An Ode.
[High spirited friend]
High spirited friend,
I send nor Balmes, nor Cor'sives to your wound,
Your fate hath found,
A gentler, and more agile hand, to tend
The Cure of that, which is but corporall,
And doubtfull Dayes (which were nam'd Criticall,)
Have made their fairest flight,
And now are out of sight.
Yet doth some wholsome Physick for the mind,
Wrapt in this paper lie,
Which in the taking if you mis-apply,
You are unkind.
I send nor Balmes, nor Cor'sives to your wound,
Your fate hath found,
A gentler, and more agile hand, to tend
The Cure of that, which is but corporall,
And doubtfull Dayes (which were nam'd Criticall,)
Have made their fairest flight,
And now are out of sight.
Yet doth some wholsome Physick for the mind,
Wrapt in this paper lie,
Which in the taking if you mis-apply,
You are unkind.
Your covetous hand,
Happy in that faire honour it hath gain'd,
Must now be rayn'd.
True valour doth her owne renowne command
In one full Action; nor have you now more
To doe, then be a husband of that store.
Thinke but how deare you bought,
This same which you have caught,
Such thoughts wil make you more in love with truth
'Tis wisdome and that high,
For men to use their fortune reverently,
Even in youth.
Happy in that faire honour it hath gain'd,
Must now be rayn'd.
True valour doth her owne renowne command
In one full Action; nor have you now more
To doe, then be a husband of that store.
Thinke but how deare you bought,
This same which you have caught,
Such thoughts wil make you more in love with truth
'Tis wisdome and that high,
For men to use their fortune reverently,
Even in youth.
| The Workes of Benjamin Jonson | |