Ben Jonson Quotes
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If he were To be made honest by an act of parliament I should not alter in my faith of him.
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Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbor give To more virtue than doth live.
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There's reason good, that you good laws should make: Men's manners ne'er were viler, for your sake.
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The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroked the air; And, though the sound were parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense.
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I will eat exceedingly, and prophesy.
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The world knows only two, - that's Rome and I.
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Truth is the trial of itself And needs no other touch, And purer than the purest gold, Refine it ne'er so much.
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Underneath this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse,- Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast slain another, Learn'd and fair and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
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Reader, look, Not at his picture, but his book.
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In the meantime, to all suits, to all entreaties, to all letters, to all tricks, I will be deaf as an adder, blind as a beetle, lay mine ear to the ground, and lock mine eyes i' my hand against all temptations.
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Greatness of name in the father oft-times overwhelms the son; they stand too near one another. The shadow kills the growth: so much, that we see the grandchild come more and oftener to be heir of the first.
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So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains, Wherein rude winter bound her veins; So grows both stream and source of price, That lately fettered were with ice. So naked trees get crispèd heads, And coloured coats the roughest meads, And all get vigour, youth and spright, That are but looked on by his light.
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Rhyme, the rack of finest wits, That expresseth but by fits, True conceit, Spoiling senses of their treasure, Cozening judgement with a measure, But false weight. Wresting words from their true calling; Propping verse, for fear of falling To the ground. Jointing syllables, drowning letters, Fastening vowels, as with fetters They were bound!
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He hath consumed a whole night in lying looking to his great toe, about which he hath seen Tartars and Turks, Romans and Carthaginians, fight in his imagination.
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Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold, And almost every vice — almighty gold.
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It was a mighty while ago.
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The Devil is an Ass! fool'd off! and beaten!
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Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back; And is a swelling, and the last affection A high mind can put off; being both a rebel Unto the soul and reason, and enforceth All laws, all conscience, treads upon religion, and offereth violence to nature's self.
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Where it concerns himself, Who's angry at a slander makes it true.
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A gentleman reading a poem that began withWhere is that man that never yet did hear Of fair Penelope, Ulysses' queen?Jonson calling his cook, asked if he had ever heard of her, who answering 'No,' demonstrate to him Lo, there the man that never yet did hear Of fair Penelope, Ulysses' queen.
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The burnt child dreads the fire.
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His opinion of verses. That he wrote all his first in prose, for so his master Camden had learned him.That verses stood by sense without either colours or accent; which yet other times he denied.
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He cursed Petrarch for redacting verses to sonnets, which he said were like that tyrant's bed, where some who were too short were racked, others too long cut short.
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Calumnies are answered best with silence.