extravagance had been so great that in spite of his pension and the many costly gifts from friends at court, he was always in want, and his drinking habits brought with them their inevitable punishment-disease and suffering. Charles I. had been five years on the throne before he paid much attention to his father's favourite poet. But when Jonson appealed to him for help, he quickly responded with a large gift. Then, desirous of paying some tribute to literature, and to confer distinction upon his own reign, he made the Laureateship permanent-an office founded upon lette's patent, with an annual salary of a hundred pounds; and in deference to Jonson's well-known tastes, he added to this salary a butt of Canary wine. The laureate was so fond of this particular wine that his boon companions often called him the canary bird. Suckling, in his famous burlesque, "The Session of the Poets," where he represents the foremost wits of the day as having a contest for the laurel, says: "The first that broke silence was good old Ben, And he told them plainly he deserved the bays." This preparation with Canary wine, not to mention stronger potations, had altered Jonson's personal appearance greatly. Thin and pale in youth, he soon became stout, his face flushed and unattractive. A lady of the court described him once to someone who had likened him to the poet Horace: "That same Horace of yours has a most ungodly face, by my fan! It looks for all the world like a russet apple when 'tis bruised." And, though we must take with a liberal dose of salt all that Drummond said of his guest, Drummond said that drink was the element in which Ben Jonson lived. Jonson's last days were sad and lonely. His wife and all his children had long since died; palsy had attacked him; he was poor and weak, and in great suffering. And yet all his finest poetic qualities united in the production of his pastoral play, The Sad Shepherd, or The Tale of Robin Hood." We can trace echoes of this exquisite poem in many of the lyrics of our own time. But death came to Ben Jonson before he could finish this beautiful swan song. In the Poet's Corner of the great Abbey he was laid, and to the kind act of a stranger we owe that unique and wonderful epitaph: “O rare Ben Jonson!" 46 SELECTIONS FROM JONSON. TO CELIA. (From The Forest.") DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise, But might I of Jove's nectar sup, But thou thereon did'st only breathe, Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, ON TRUTH. TRUTH is the trial of itself, It is the life and light of love, It is the warrant of the word, That yields a scent so sweet, HAPPINESS. TRUE happiness consists not in the multitude of friends, But in their worth and choice. LINES. (From "The Sad Shepherd.") HERE she was wont to go! and here! and here! LIFE AND DEATH. THE ports of death are sins; of life, good deeds; THE PLEASURE OF HEAVEN. THERE all the happy souls that ever were, There shall the brother with the sister walk, Unto the scent, a spicery or balm; BREAK, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud, It must have blood, and naught of phlegm; And though it be a waking dream, Yet let it like an odour rise To all the senses here, And fall like sleep upon their eyes, Or music in their ear. A VISION OF BEAUTY. IT was a beauty that I saw,— |