Ben Jonson

AH, Ben! Say how, or when, Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun? Where we such clusters had As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.

My Ben! Or come again Or send to us Thy wit’s great over-plus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend: And having once brought to an end That precious stock, the store Of such a wit, the world should have no more.

GEORGE HERBERT 1593–1632