Poem by Ben Jonson

To Celia

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
     And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
     And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
     Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
     I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
     Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
     It could not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
     And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
     Not of itself but thee!

2. Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke
3. On a Robbery
4. To Censorious Courtling
5. Porth Ceiriad Bay

Charles Sedley To Celia ("NOT, Celia, that I juster am")

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