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Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.

Ben Jonson

Soul of the age! The applause! delight! The wonder of our stage!
BEN JONSON

Age Delight Soul Wonder
There is no bounty to be showed to such As have real goodness: Bounty is A spice of virtue; and what virtuous act Can take effect on them that have no power Of equal habitude to apprehend it?
BEN JONSON

Real Spices Virtue
Sweet meat must have sour sauce.
BEN JONSON

Meat Swans Sweet
I see compassion may become a justice, though it be a weakness, I confess, and nearer a vice than a virtue.
BEN JONSON

Compassion Justice Weakness
Court a mistress, she denies you; let her alone, she will court you.
BEN JONSON

Court Deny Mistress
Freedom doth with degree dispense.
BEN JONSON

Degree Dispense Freedom
All the wise world is little else, in nature, But parasites or subparasites.
BEN JONSON

Little Wise World
You learn nothing about someone by the way they win the fight, you learn everything about the way they lose and keep coming back.
BEN JONSON

Art Fighting Winning
In the hope to meet Shortly again, and make our absence sweet.
BEN JONSON

Absence Hope Love Miss Sweet
All concord’s born of contraries.
BEN JONSON

Born Contradiction Contrary
Our whole life is like a play.
BEN JONSON

Life Play Whole
A good man will avoid the spot of any sin. The very aspersion is grievous, which makes him choose his way in his life, as he would in his journey.
BEN JONSON

Aspersion Choose Good Journey Men
O, for an engine, to keep back all clocks, or make the sun forget his motion!
BEN JONSON

Forget Sun Time
Very few men are wise by their own council, or learned by their own teaching. For he that was only taught by himself, had a fool for a master.
BEN JONSON

Men Teaching Wise
Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast, Still to be powder’d, all perfum’d. Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound.
BEN JONSON

Art Causes Drest Near Sweet
I have no urns, no dusty monuments; No broken images of ancestors, Wanting an ear, or nose; no forged tales Of long descents, to boast false honors from.
BEN JONSON

Broken Honor Long

Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.

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Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.

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Popular Authors

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