Ben Jonson

Let it not your wonder move, / Less your laughter, that I love. / Though I now write fifty years,

See the chariot at hand here of Love, / Wherein my lady rideth! / Each that draws is a swan or a dove,

False world, good night! since thou hast brought / That hour upon my morn of age; / Henceforth I quit thee from my thought,

Rhyme, the rack of finest wits, / That expresseth but by fits / True conceit,

I sing the birth was born tonight, / The Author both of life and light; / The angels so did sound it,

Hear me, O God! / A broken heart / Is my best part.

On the happy entrace of Iames, our Soveraigne, to His first high Session of Parliament in this his Kingdome, the 19 of March, 1603. / Licet toto nunc Helicone frui. / Mart.

To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of that noble pair, / Sir Lucius Cary and Sir H. Morison / It is not growing like a tree

THE TURN / Brave infant of Saguntum, clear / Thy coming forth in that great year,

I that have been a lover, and could show it, / Though not in these, in rhymes not wholly dumb, / Since I exscribe your sonnets, am become