On My First Son

(Untitled, photograph by Vivian Maier, 1926-2009,
American photographer, from a collection of tens of
thousands of photographs she took on the streets of
mid-century Chicago; her work was discovered when
a real estate agent found the negatives in 2007 at an
auction of boxes abandoned in storage lockers)

Ben Jonson wrote this elegy on the death of his eldest son, seven-year-old Benjamin.

ON MY FIRST SON

Farewell, though child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, lov’d boy;
Seven years thou 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 lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon ’scaped world’s and flesh’s rage,
And, if no other misery, yet age!
Rest in soft peace, and, asked, say, Here doth lie
Ben Johnson 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 (1572-1537), playwright and poet of the English Renaissance

A Fit of Rhyme against Rhyme

(Ben Jonson, unofficial poet laureate, 1619-1637)

Today we begin our series of poems by some of the poets laureate of Great Britain.

Ben Jonson (1572-1637) was a popular playwright and poet of the English Renaissance, famed among his contemporaries for his humorous and satirical dramas and his beautiful lyric poems. Appointed by James I, he served as court poet, or unofficial poet laureate, and also composed court masques or lavish musical spectacles, sometimes even putting on, during the intermission, comic anti-masques which parodied the major plot.

He was a bold and masterful writer, as we can see in the verse below, a clever contradiction that combines his ironic wit with his skill with words.

from A FIT OF RHYME AGAINST RHYME

Rhyme, the rack of finest wits,
That expresseth but by fits
True conceit,
Spoiling senses of their treasure,
Cozening judgment with a measure,
But false weight;
Wresting words from their true calling,
Propping verse for fear of falling
To the ground;
Jointing syllables, drowning letters,
Fast’ning vowels as with fetters
They were bound!
Soon as lazy thou wert known,
All good poetry hence was flown,
And art banish’d.