Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POETASTER: SONG (1), by BEN JONSON



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POETASTER: SONG (1), by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Wake! Our mirth begins to die
Last Line: Which doth all the rest excel.


ALBIUS
Wake! Our mirth begins to die;
Quicken it with tunes and wine.
Raise your notes; you're out; fie, fie!
This drowsiness is an ill sign.
We banish him the choir of gods,
That droops again:
Then all are men,
For here's not one but nods. . . .

HERMOGENES
Then, in a free and lofty strain,
Our broken tunes we thus repair;

CRISPINUS
And we answer them again,
Running division on the panting air;

BOTH
To celebrate this feast of sense,
As free from scandal as offence.

HERMOGENES
Here is beauty for the eye;

CRISPINUS
For the ear sweet melody;

HERMOGENES
Ambrosiac odours, for the smell;

CRISPINUS
Delicious nectar, for the taste;

BOTH
For the touch, a lady's waist;
Which doth all the rest excel.





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