Page:The Works of Ben Jonson - Gifford - Volume 9.djvu/141

These trifles into serious mischiefs lead
The man once mock'd, and suffer'd wrong to tread.
Wise sober folk a frantic poet fear;
And shun to touch him, as a man that were
Infected with the leprosy, or had
The yellow jaundice, or were furious mad,
According to the moon. But then the boys
They vex, and follow him with shouts and noise;
The while he belcheth lofty verses out,
And stalketh, like a fowler, round about,
Busy to catch a black-bird, if he fall
Into a pit or hole, although he call
And cry aloud, Help, gentle countrymen!
There's none will take the care to help him then;
For if one should, and with a rope make haste
To let it down, who knows if he did cast
Himself there purposely or no, and would
Not thence be sav'd, although indeed he could?
I'll tell you but the death and the disease
Of the Sicilian poet Empedocles:
He, while he labour'd to be thought a god
Immortal, took a melancholic, odd
Conceit, and into burning AEtna leapt.
Let poets perish, that will not be kept.
He that preserves a man against his will,
Doth the same thing with him that would him kill.
Nor did he do this once; for if you can
Recall him yet, he'd be no more a man,
Or love of this so famous death lay by.
His cause of making verses none knows why,
Whether he piss'd upon his father's grave,
Or the sad thunder-stroken thing he have
Defiled, touch'd; but certain he was mad,
And as a bear, if he the strength but had