, thou child of my right hand
, and joy
My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy
years tho' wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O, could I lose all father
now! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon 'scap'd world's and flesh's rage,
And if no other misery, yet age?
Rest in soft peace
, and, ask'd, say, "Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry."
For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such,
As what he loves may never like too much.
- Ben Jonson, 1603.