The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher in Ten Volumes - Volume I | Page 9

the same,
None this meere Nature, that
meere Art can name:
'Twas this the Ancients meant, Nature and Skill

Are the two topps of their_ Pernassus _Hill_.
J. DENHAM.
Upon Mr. _John Fletcher's_ Playes.
Fletcher, _to thee, wee doe not only owe
All these good Playes, but
those of others too:
Thy wit repeated, does support the Stage,

Credits the last and entertaines this age.
No Worthies form'd by any
Muse but thine
Could purchase Robes to make themselves so fine:

What brave Commander is not proud to see
Thy brave_ Melantius _in
his Gallantry,
Our greatest Ladyes love to see their scorne
Out done
by Thine, in what themselves have worne:
Th'impatient Widow ere
the yeare be done
Sees thy_ Aspasia _weeping in her Gowne:
I
never yet the Tragick straine assay'd
Deterr'd by that inimitable_
Maid:
_And when I venture at the Comick stile
Thy_ Scornfull
Lady _seemes to mock my toile:
Thus has thy Muse, at once,
improv'd and marr'd
Our Sport in Playes, by rendring it too hard.
So
when a sort of lusty Shepheards throw
The barre by turns, and none
the rest outgoe
So farre, but that the best are measuring casts,
Their
emulation and their pastime lasts;
But if some Brawny yeoman, of the
guard
Step in and tosse the Axeltree a yard
Or more beyond the
farthest Marke, the rest
Despairing stand, their sport is at the best._
EDW. WALLER.
To FLETCHER Reviv'd.
_How have I been Religious? what strange Good
Ha's scap't me that I

never understood?
Have I Hell guarded_ Hæresie _o'rethrowne?

Heald wounded States? made Kings and Kingdomes one?
That_ Fate
_should be so mercifull to me,
To let me live t'have said I have read
thee.
Faire Star ascend! the Joy! the Life! the Light
Of this
tempestuous Age, this darke worlds sight!
Oh from thy Crowne of
Glory dart one flame
May strike a sacred Reverence, whilest thy
Name
(Like holy_ Flamens _to their God of Day)
We bowing, sing;
and whilst we praise, we pray.
Bright Spirit! whose Æternall motion

Of Wit, like_ Time _still in it selfe did runne;
Binding all others in
it and did give
Commission, how far this, or that shall live:
Like_
Destinie _of Poems, who, as she
Signes death to all, her selfe can
never dye.
And now thy purple-robed_ Tragoedie,
_In her
imbroiderd Buskins, calls mine eye,
Where brave_ Atëius _we see
betrayed, [-Valentinian-] T'obey his Death, whom thousand lives
obeyed;
Whilst that the_ Mighty Foole _his Scepter breakes,
And
through his_ Gen'rals _wounds his owne dooms speaks,
Weaving
thus richly_ Valentinian
_The costliest Monarch with the cheapest
man.
Souldiers may here to their old glories adde_, [-The Mad
Lover.-] The Lover _love, and be with reason_ mad:
_Not as of old_,
Alcides _furious,
Who wilder then his Bull did teare the house,

(Hurling his Language with the Canvas stone)
'Twas thought the
Monster roar'd the sob'rer Tone.
But ah, when thou thy sorrow didst
inspire [-Tragi-comedies.-] With Passions, blacke as is her darke attire,
Virgins as Sufferers have wept to see
[-Arcas.-]
So white a Soule, so red a Crueltie;
[-Bellario.-]
That thou hast grieved, and with unthought redresse,
Dri'd their wet
eyes who now thy mercy blesse;
Yet loth to lose thy watry Jewell,
when [-Comedies.-] Joy wip't it off, Laughter straight sprung't agen.
[-The Spanish Curate.-] Now ruddy-cheeked_ Mirth _with Rosie wings,

Fanns ev'ry brow with gladnesse, whilest she sings

[-The Humorous Lieutenant.-] Delight to all, and the whole Theatre
A
Festivall in Heaven doth appeare:
Nothing but Pleasure, Love, and
(like the Morne) [-The Tamer Tam'd.-] Each face a generall smiling
doth adorne. [-The little french Lawyer.-] Heare ye foule Speakers, that
pronounce the Aire
[The custom of the Countrey-] Of Stewes and Shores, I will informe
you where
And how to cloathe aright your wanton wit,
Without her
nasty Bawd attending it.
View here a loose thought said with such a
grace,
Minerva might have spoke in Venus face;
So well disguis'd,
that t'was conceiv'd by none
But Cupid had Diana's linnen on;
And
all his naked parts so vail'd, th' expresse
The Shape with clowding the
uncomlinesse;
That if this Reformation which we
Receiv'd, had not
been buried with thee,
The Stage (as this work) might have liv'd and
lov'd;
Her Lines; the austere Skarlet had approv'd,
And th' Actors
wisely been from that offence
As cleare, as they are now from
Audience.
Thus with thy Genius did the Scæne expire,
Wanting thy
Active and inliv'ning fire,
That now (to spread a darknesse over all,)

Nothing remaines but Poesie to fall.
And though from these thy
Embers we receive
Some warmth, so much as may be said, we live,

That we dare praise thee, blushlesse, in the head
Of the best piece
Hermes to Love e're read,
That We rejoyce and glory in thy Wit,

And feast each other with remembring it,
That we dare speak thy
thought, thy Acts recite:
Yet all men