An Ode To Himself Poem by Ben Jonson

An Ode To Himself

Rating: 3.0


Where dost thou careless lie,
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 oft destroys them both.

Are all th' Aonian springs
Dried up? lies Thespia waste?
Doth Clarius' harp want strings,
That not a nymph now sings?
Or droop they as disgrac'd,
To see their seats and bowers by chatt'ring pies defac'd?

If hence thy silence be,
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.

What though the greedy fry
Be taken with false baites
Of worded balladry,
And think it poesy?
They die with their conceits,
And only piteous scorn upon their folly waits.

Then take in hand thy lyre,
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.

And since our dainty age
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.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Susan Williams 22 March 2016

Now here is Ben, the man behind the seducer of succulent young ladies. He is wise in a worldly way and brave in his attempts to remonstrate with society. Love these lines- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -] Knowledge that sleeps doth die; And this security, It is the common moth That eats on wits and arts, and oft destroys them both.

21 0 Reply
Purushothaman P 03 August 2015

Distant! Revering! ! ! This my poem my dear friend Is truly worthy of being a legend Distant though it`s origin Royal and revering is it`s descent! ! !

0 0 Reply
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Ben Jonson

Ben Jonson

London / England
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