Song: To Celia by Ben Jonson

First published: 1616, in The Forest, part of The Workes of Benjamin Jonson

Type of poem: Lyric

The Poem

“Song: To Celia” is a sixteen-line iambic poem written in four quatrains. The content of the poem divides after the second quatrain to form two octets representing two distinct scenes. The poem is the third of three songs addressed to Celia that are collected in The Forest. The other two, “Come my Celia” and “Kiss me, sweet,” first appeared in Ben Jonson’s play Volpone (1605).

“Song: To Celia” is Jonson’s reworking of five different passages of prose from the Greek sophist writer Philostratus (third century c.e.). The lyric exists in several manuscript versions; Jonson reworked it until he hit upon what is generally considered his finest lyric, indeed one of the finest lyrics of the English Renaissance. In the eighteenth century, an anonymous composer set the poem to music, and it became a popular song.

The first half of the poem is a witty series of variations on the lover’s pledge. Traditionally, a lover would toast his or her love and drink a glass of wine; here, the poet asks only for a pledge from Celia’s eyes—a loving look—that he promises to return in kind. Even better, if she will “leave a kiss but in the cup” (that is, pledge a kiss), he will forget about wine. The pleasures of Celia’s love are a more profound intoxication, a greater sensual delight, than alcohol.

The second quatrain starts more seriously. The poet claims his thirst is not physical, but that it arises from the soul, and that it can only be quenched with a “drink divine.” This image flirts with the Christian concept of the “water of life” found in John 4:8-15, and it seems inappropriate in a sensual love lyric. The Christian sentiment, however, is undercut by the following reference to “Jove’s nectar.” Jove may be divine, but he is a pagan god who is known for his sensual, and specifically sexual, self-indulgence. Jonson claims that he would reject Jove’s cup if he could drink from Celia’s.

The second octet is a flashback. The poet had sent Celia a “rosy wreath” as a lover’s token. He claims that he sent it not to honor her (obviously such a paltry, mortal token could not do justice to Celia’s beauty), but in the hopes that the wreath would live forever in Celia’s presence—she being a font of life, light, and joy.

The last quatrain tells of the poet’s rejection. Celia sent the token back. The poet believes that she has breathed on the wreath and that her sweet smell still clings to it, but this is his fancy, his attempt to wring a compliment, and perhaps hope, out of his rejection. The poem ends on a slightly sad note as the poet tries to console himself, and perhaps even delude himself, regarding his rejection.

Forms and Devices

The lyric is dominated by two images: wine and the rosy wreath. The first octet offers a series of possible substitutions—love favors—that the poet is willing to accept in lieu of the traditional wine. Wine implies intoxication, the delirium of love, but also sensual gratification. The substitutes that the poet is willing to accept seem more ethereal: the glance, the kiss in a cup. Indeed, the wine itself becomes rarefied into Jove’s nectar, a divine drink that reputedly had a rejuvenating effect—the same effect that Celia has on the poet.

The wreath dominates the second octet. It is a more concrete pledge than those requested in the first part of the poem, but it is rejected. The rose is the archetypal symbol of love in the English tradition. The wreath consists of a number of roses woven into a circle, which is itself a symbol of eternity. The eternal devotion that was the hallmark of the more spiritual love popularized by Petrarch is combined, then, with the sensual. While the circle may imply eternal love, the wreath’s nonstatic quality is emphasized: “it grows, and smells.” These flowers are still alive, growing as does the poet’s love.

Finally, the wreath, an interweaving of flowers, stands for this poem itself, which is an ingenious interweaving of excerpts from the classical source. The weaving finds its analogue in the rhyme scheme of the poem. The short lines of both octets revolve on single rhymes and thus bind the poem together. The wreath itself has passed from the poet to the lover and back to the poet, describing in its movement a circle. It is the only physical thing that links the two, besides the poem itself.

This poem has a remarkably regular iambic meter that produces its lyrical quality. The only significant break in the rhythm is a caesura in the final line between “itself” and “but.” This pause draws attention to the final qualification in the poem. While the other qualifications undercut the ideal and metaphoric, this final qualification asserts the lover as an ideal who changes reality—she has altered the wreath. The caesura also lends emphasis to the concluding “but thee.” The poem ends with the lover, a marked contrast from the beginning of the poem, which emphasizes the poet.