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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391875" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter to Ben Jonson</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun, which doth the greatest comfort bring <br>To absent friends (because the self-same thing <br>They know they see, however absent), is <br>Here our best hay-maker (forgive me this, <br>It is our country style); in this warm shine <br>I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid wine. <br>Oh, we have water mixed with claret-lees, <br>Drink apt to bring in drier heresies <br>Than beer, good only for the sonnet strain, <br>With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain; <br>So mixed that given to the thirstiest one <br>'Twill not prove alms unless he have the stone. <br>I think with one draught man's invention fades, <br>Two cups had quite marred Homer's Iliads ; <br>'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliffe's wit, <br>Lie where it will, and make him write worse yet. <br>Filled with such moisture, in a grievous qualm, <br>Did Robert Wisdom write his singing psalm ; <br>And so must I do this, and yet I think <br>It is a potion sent us down to drink <br>By special providence, keeps us from fights, <br>Makes us not laugh when we make legs to knights ; <br>'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states, <br>A med'cine to obey our magistrates. <br>For we do live more free than you ; no hate, <br>No envy of another's happy state <br>Moves us, we are all equal, every whit ; <br>Of land, that God gives men here, is their wit, <br>If we consider fully, for our best <br>And gravest man will, with his main house-jest, <br>Scarce please you ; we want subtlety to do <br>The city tricks—lie, hate, and flatter too. <br>Here are none that can bear a painted show, <br>Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow, <br>Who, like mills set the right way to grind, <br>Can make their gains alike with every wind. <br>Only some fellow with the subtlest pate <br>Amongst us, may perchance equivocate </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At selling of a horse, and that's the most. <br>Methinks the little wit I had is lost <br>Since I saw you ; for wit is like a rest <br>Held up at tennis, which men do the best <br>With the best gamesters. What things have we seen <br>Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been <br>So nimble and so full of subtle flame, <br>As if that everyone from whence they came <br>Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, <br>And had resolved to live a fool the rest <br>Of his dull life ; then when there has been thrown <br>Wit able enough to justify the town <br>For three days past; wit that might warrant be <br>For the whole city to talk foolishly <br>Till that were cancelled, and when we were gone, <br>We left an air behind, which was alone <br>Able to make the two next companies <br>Right witty, though they were downright cockneys. <br>When I remember this, and see that now <br>The country gentlemen begin to allow <br>My wit for dry-bobs, then I needs must cry, <br>I see my days of ballading are nigh ; <br>I can already riddle, and can sing <br>Catches, sell bargains, and I fear shall bring <br>Myself to speak the hardest words I find <br>Over as fast as any, with one wind <br>That takes no medicines. But one thought of thee <br>Makes me remember all these things to be <br>The wit of our young men, fellows that show <br>No part of good, yet utter all they know ; <br>Who like trees and the guard have growing souls <br>Only ; strong destiny, which all controls, <br>I hope hath left a better fate in store <br>For me, thy friend, than to live evermore <br>Banished unto this home ; 'twill once again <br>Bring me to thee, who wilt make smooth and plain <br>The way of knowledge for me, and then I <br>Who have no good in me but simplicity, <br>Know that it will my greatest comfort be <br>To acknowledge all the rest to come from thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+Beaumont">Francis Beaumont</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391875" data-title="Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter to Ben Jonson de Francis Beaumont" data-description="The sun, which doth the greatest comfort bring 
To absent friends (because the self-same thing 
They know they see, however absent), is 
Here our best hay-maker (forgive me this, 
It is our country style); in this warm shine 
I lie, and dream of y..."></div>
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