Epode

by Ben Jonson

NOT to know vice at all, and keep true state,
⁠Is virtue, and not fate:
Next to that virtue is to know vice well,
⁠And her black spite expel,
Which to effect (since no breast is so sure,
⁠Or safe, but she’ll procure
Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard
⁠Of thoughts to watch and ward
At th’eye and ear, the ports unto the mind,
⁠That no strange or unkind
Object arrive there, but the heart, our spy,
⁠Give knowledge instantly
To wakeful reason, our affections’ king:
⁠Who, in th’ examining,
Will quickly taste the treason, and commit
⁠Close, the close cause of it.
’Tis the securest policy we have,
⁠To make our sense our slave.
But this true course is not embraced by many:
⁠By many? scarce by any.
For either our affections do rebel,
⁠Or else the sentinel,
That should ring larum to the heart, doth sleep:
⁠Or some great thought doth keep
Back the intelligence, and falsely swears
⁠They’re base and idle fears
Whereof the loyal conscience so complains.
⁠Thus, by these subtle trains,
Do several passions invade the mind,
⁠And strike our reason blind:
Of which usurping rank, some have thought love.
⁠The first, as prone to move
Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests,
⁠In our inflamèd breasts:
But this doth from the cloud of error grow,
⁠Which thus we over-blow.
The thing they here call Love is blind Desire,
⁠Armed with bow, shafts, and fire;
Inconstant, like the sea, of whence ’t is born,
⁠Rough, swelling, like a storm;
With whom who sails, rides on the surge of fear,
⁠And boils as if he were
In a continual tempest. Now, true Love
⁠No such effects doth prove;
That is an essence far more gentle, fine,
⁠Pure, perfect, nay, divine;
It is a golden chain let down from heaven,
⁠Whose links are bright and even,
That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines
⁠The soft and sweetest minds
In equal knots: this bears no brands nor darts,
⁠To murther different hearts,
But in a calm and godlike unity
⁠Preserves community.
O, who is he that in this peace enjoys
⁠Th’ elixir of all joys?
A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers,
⁠And lasting as her flowers:
Richer than Time, and as Time’s virtue rare:
⁠Sober, as saddest care;
A fixèd thought, an eye untaught to glance:
⁠Who, blest with such high chance,
Would, at suggestion of a steep desire,
⁠Cast himself from the spire
Of all his happiness? But, soft, I hear
⁠Some vicious fool draw near,
That cries we dream, and swears there’s no such thing
⁠As this chaste love we sing.
Peace, Luxury, thou art like one of those
⁠Who, being at sea, suppose,
Because they move, the continent doth so.
⁠No, Vice, we let thee know,
Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows’ wings do fly,
⁠Turtles can chastely die.
And yet (in this t’ express ourselves more clear)
⁠We do not number here
Such spirits as are only continent
⁠Because lust’s means are spent;
Or those who doubt the common mouth of fame,
⁠And for their place and name
Cannot so safely sin. Their chastity
⁠Is mere necessity.
Nor mean we those whom vows and conscience
⁠Have filled with abstinence:
Though we acknowledge, who can so abstain
⁠Makes a most blessèd gain;
He that for love of goodness hateth ill
⁠Is more crown-worthy still
Than he, which for sin’s penalty forbears:
⁠His heart sins, though he fears.
But we propose a person like our Dove,
⁠Grac’d with a Phœnix’ love;
A beauty of that clear and sparkling light,
⁠Would make a day of night,
And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys:
⁠Whose od’rous breath destroys
All taste of bitterness, and makes the air
⁠As sweet as she is fair.
A body so harmoniously composed,
⁠As if nature disclosed
All her best symmetry in that one feature!
⁠O, so divine a creature,
Who could be false to? chiefly when he knows
⁠How only she bestows
The wealthy treasure of her love on him;
⁠Making his fortunes swim
In the full flood of her admired perfection?
⁠What savage, brute affection
Would not be fearful to offend a dame
⁠Of this excelling frame?
Much more a noble and right generous mind
⁠To virtuous moods inclined,
That knows the weight of guilt: he will refrain
⁠From thoughts of such a strain;
And to his sense object this sentence ever,
‘Man may securely sin, but safely never.’