Another. (Upon M. Ben. Jonson. Epig.)

Love he that will, it best likes me
To have my neck from love's yoke free.

Another
Wassail the trees, that they may bear
You many a plum, and many a pear:
For more or less fruits they will bring,
As you do give them wassailing.

Who with thy leaves shall wipe, at need,
The place where swelling piles do breed;
May every ill that bites or smarts
Perplex him in his hinder parts.

Wassail the trees, that they may bear
You many a plum and many a pear:
For more or less fruits they will bring,
As you do give them wassailing.

Here lies Jonson with the rest
Of the poets: but the best.
Reader, would'st thou more have known?
Ask his story, not this stone.
That will speak what this can't tell
Of his glory. So farewell.

Thou art a plant sprung up to wither never,
But like a laurel to grow green for ever.