An Ode For Him

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
  Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.

        My Ben!
        Or come again,
        Or send to us
      Thy 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.

Published in Hesperides

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