An Ode for Him

                    Ah Ben!
                Say how, or when
                Shall we thy guests
           Meet at those lyric feasts
                Made at the Sun,
           The Dog, the Triple Tun?
           Where we such clusters had
      As made us nobly wild, not mad;
           And yet each verse of thine
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.

                     My Ben
                Or come again,
                Or send to us
           Thy wit's great overplus;
                But teach us yet
           Wisely to husband it;
           Lest we that talent spend,
      And having once brought to an end
           That precious stock, the store
Of such a wit the world should have no more.