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The soul of man is infinite in what it covets.

Ben Jonson

If you succeed not, cast not away the quills yet, nor scratch the wainscot, beat not the poor desk, but bring all to the forge and file again; turn it new.
BEN JONSON

Crafts Scratches Succeed
Wine it is the milk of Venus, And the poet’s horse accounted: Ply it and you all are mounted.
BEN JONSON

Horse Plies Wine
Blueness doth express trueness.
BEN JONSON

Color Trueness
Mischiefs feed / Like beasts, till they be fat, and then they bleed.
BEN JONSON

Beast Fats Mischief
There is no doctrine will do good where nature is wanting.
BEN JONSON

Creeds Doctrine Good Waiting
Popular men, They must create strange monsters, and then quell them, To make their arts seem something.
BEN JONSON

Art Men Monsters
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light Goddess, excellently bright.
BEN JONSON

Chair Light Queens Seated Sleep
He that departs with his own honesty For Vulgar , doth it too dearly buy.
BEN JONSON

Honesty Vulgar
Thy praise or dispraise is to me alike; One doth not stroke me, nor the other strike.
BEN JONSON

Praise Strikes Strokes
Where it concerns himself, Who’s angry at a slander, makes it true.
BEN JONSON

Angry Concern Slander
Hang sorrow, care’ll kill a cat.
BEN JONSON

Care Cat Sorrow
Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace Robes loosely flowing, hair as free Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
BEN JONSON

Art Eye Neglect Simplicity Sweet
You are not now to think what’s best to do, As in beginnings, but what must be done, Being thus enter’d; and slip no advantage That may secure you. Let them call it mischief; When it is past, and prosper’d , ’twill be virtue.
BEN JONSON

Mischief Past Virtue
Many punishments sometimes, and in some cases, as much discredit a prince as many funerals a physician.
BEN JONSON

Funeral Physicians Punishment
To struggle when hope is banished! To live when life’s salt is gone! To dwell in a dream that’s vanished- To endure, and go calmly on!
BEN JONSON

Dream Life Struggle Vanish
The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroked the air; And though the sound had parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense.
BEN JONSON

Air Echoes Parted Sweet Thence

The soul of man is infinite in what it covets.

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The soul of man is infinite in what it covets.

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