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Mainly a close reading of the unutterably subtle effects of the Song to Celia "Drink to me only with thine eyes."Drink to me only with thine eyes,\xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0And I will pledge with mine;Or leave a kiss but in the cup,\xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0And I\u2019ll not look for wine.The thirst that from the soul doth rise\xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0Doth ask a drink divine;But might I of Jove\u2019s nectar sup,\xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0I would not change for thine.I sent thee late a rosy wreath,\xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0Not so much honouring theeAs giving it a hope, that there\xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0It could not withered be.But thou thereon didst only breathe,\xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0And sent\u2019st it back to me;Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,\xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0 \xa0Not of itself, but thee.What makes it a song? What makes it a story? \xa0What's their relation? \xa0A look at "So Beauty on the water stood," in this context:So beauty on the waters stood,\xa0When love had sever\u2019d earth from flood.\xa0So when he parted air from fire,\xa0He did with concord all inspire.And then a motion he them taught,\xa0That elder than himself was thought,\xa0Which thought was yet the child of earth,\xa0For Love is elder than his birth.And then a brief return to "On my first son":Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy.Seven years tho' wert lent to me, and I thee pay,Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.O, could I lose all father now! For whyWill man lament the state he should envy?To have so soon 'scap'd world's and flesh's rage,And if no other misery, yet age?Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say, "Here doth lieBen Jonson his best piece of poetry."For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such,As what he loves may never like too much.