Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I’ll not ask 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 honoring 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.
Graeme Sandford 
One of the greatest poems. Ben Jonson was called. The father of the ancient poets.
I do like Will & Ben. G:)
I have four collection of the great English poets. The era of Will and Ben. So many great writers.
The Elizabethan and Jacobean ages were certainly a time of great poets and playwrights. I keep going back to their works. G:)
Me too my friend. My muses for writing.