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!

1. Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke
2. To Censorious Courtling
3. Queen and Huntress
4. To Francis Beaumont
5. His Supposed Mistress

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

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