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��BEN JONSON
204 A Part of an Ode
To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of that noble fair, Sir Lucius Gary and Sir H. Morison
rT is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere. A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we ]ust beauties sec, And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Call, noble Lucius y then for wine, And let thy looks with gladness shine:
Accept this garland, plant it on thy head,
And think nay, know thy Morison 's not dead. He leap'd the present age, Possest with holy rage To see that bright eternal Day Of which we Priests and Poets say
Such truths as we expect for happy men ;
And there he lives with memory and Ben
Jonson: who sung this of him, ere he went
Himself to rest, Or taste a part of that full joy he meant
To have exprest
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