Ben Jonson(1572–1637)
On My First Son
Farewell, t h o u c h i l d o f m y right h a n d , 4 a n d joy;
M y sin w a s t o o m u c h h o p e o f t h e e , l o v e d boy:
Seven years thou'wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. 5
O c o u l d I l o s e all f a t h e r n o w ! 6 for w h y
W i l l m a n l a m e n t t h e state h e s h o u l d envy,
T o h a v e s o s o o n ' s c a p e d world's a n d flesh's rage,
A n d , if no o t h e r misery, yet age
Rest in soft peace, and asked, say, "Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry.
For w h o s e sake h e n c e f o r t h all his7 v o w s b e s u c h
A s w h a t h e l o v e s m a y n e v e r like t o o m u c h .