In the ember days of my last free summer,
here I lie, outside myself, watching
the gross body eating a poor curry:
satisfied at what I have done, scared of what
I have to do in my last free winter.
More verses by Ben Jonson
- On Don Surly
- The Alchemist: Prologue
- The Metamorphosed Gypsies (Excerpt)
- Iv: To The World
- X: And Must I Sing?