Main Text

Ben Jonson was a man qualified to reflect on the meaning of life. His tactless candour had made success on the stage a bruising experience. He had thought long about faith, art, and the human condition, not least in a mercifully brief spell in Newgate awaiting execution. And now, in his later years, he suffered cruelly from illness, and had seen his wife and children predecease him.

It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make men better be;⁠
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear:⁠
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 just beauties see;
And in short measures, life may perfect be.

Footnotes

Footnote

In bulk

Jonson was by his own admission a big man, with a ‘prodigious waist’, craggy-faced, and stooping.

Footnote

Sear

‘Sear’ as an adjective means dried up, withered. It is rarely used today; but the verb is common, used for when you very quickly dry and burn the surface of something with intense heat, especially during cooking.

Author Details

Ben Jonson
Source
From
The Poems of Robert Greene, Christopher Marlowe, and Ben Jonson (1878), edited by Robert Bell (1800-1867). These lines are a single strophe or ‘Turn’ of Jonson’s Ode To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of That Noble Pair, Sir Lucius Cary and Sir Henry Morison.

Get in touch with me through my profile on
Buy Me a Coffee