Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast, Still to be powder'd, all perfum'd. Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is… — Ben Jonson Copy Share Image
Soul of the Age! The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser,… — Ben Jonson Copy Share
All discourses but my own afflict me; they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome — Ben Jonson Copy Share
Spread yourself upon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private. — Ben Jonson Copy Share
Rich apparel has strange virtues; it makes him that hath it without means esteemed for an excellent wit; he that enjoys it with means… — Ben Jonson Copy Share
Each petty hand Can steer a ship becalm'd; but he that will Govern and carry her to her ends, must know His tides, his… — Ben Jonson Copy Share
