An Ode to Ben Jonson

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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
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.

  My Ben
 Or come again,
 Or send to us
  Thy wit's great overplus;
 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.

© Robert Herrick