The Houre-Glasse

Ben Jonson

1572 to 1637

Poem Image

Doe but consider this small dust,
Here running in the Glasse,
By Atomes mov'd;
Could you beleeve, that this,
The body was
Of one that lov'd?
And in his Mistresse flame, playing like a flye,
Turn'd to cinders by her eye?
Yes; and in death, as life unblest,
To have't exprest,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.