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
Why 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.
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