expression, with not a word too much or one that bears not its part
in the total effect, there is yet about the lyrics of Jonson a
certain stiffness and formality, a suspicion that they were not quite
spontaneous and unbidden, but that they were carved, so to speak,
with disproportionate labour by a potent man of letters whose habitual
thought is on greater things. It is for these reasons that Jonson is
even better in the epigram and in occasional verse where rhetorical
finish and pointed wit less interfere with the spontaneity and emotion
which we usually associate with lyrical poetry. There are no such
epitaphs as Ben Jonson's, witness the charming ones on his own children,
on Salathiel Pavy, the child-actor, and many more; and this even though
the rigid law of mine and thine must now restore to William Browne of
Tavistock the famous lines beginning: "Underneath this sable hearse."
Jonson is unsurpassed, too, in the difficult poetry of compliment,
seldom falling into fulsome praise and disproportionate similitude, yet
showing again and again a generous appreciation of worth in others, a
discriminating taste and a generous personal regard. There was no man in
England of his rank so well known and universally beloved as Ben Jonson.
The list of his friends, of those to whom he had written verses, and
those who had written verses to him, includes the name of every man of
prominence in the England of King James. And the tone of many of these
productions discloses an affectionate familiarity that speaks for the
amiable personality and sound worth of the laureate. In 1619, growing
unwieldy through inactivity, Jonson hit upon the heroic remedy of a
journey afoot to Scotland. On his way thither and back he was hospitably
received at the houses of many friends and by those to whom his friends
had recommended him. When he arrived in Edinburgh, the burgesses met to
grant him the freedom of the city, and Drummond, foremost of Scottish
poets, was proud to entertain him for weeks as his guest at Hawthornden.
Some of the noblest of Jonson's poems were inspired by friendship.
Such is the fine "Ode to the memory of Sir Lucius Cary and Sir Henry
Moryson," and that admirable piece of critical insight and filial
affection, prefixed to the first Shakespeare folio, "To the memory of
my beloved master, William Shakespeare, and what he hath left us," to
mention only these. Nor can the earlier "Epode," beginning "Not to know
vice at all," be ma