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diff --git a/old/10620-8.txt b/old/10620-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9715c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10620-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3182 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Francis Beaumont and John +Fletcher in Ten Volumes, by Beaumont and Fletcher + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher in Ten Volumes + Volume I. + +Author: Beaumont and Fletcher + +Release Date: January 7, 2004 [EBook #10620] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +THE WORKS OF FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER + +In ten volumes + + +Vol. I + + + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT + +Born 1584 + +Died 1616 + + +JOHN FLETCHER + +Born 1579 + +Died 1625 + + +THE MAIDS TRAGEDY + +PHILASTER + +A KING, AND NO KING + +THE SCORNFUL LADY + +THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY + + + + +THE TEXT EDITED BY + +ARNOLD GLOVER, M.A. + +OF TRINITY COLLEGE AND THE INNER TEMPLE + + +NOTE. + +The first collected edition of the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher was +published in 1647, in folio (12 1/2 ins. x 8 1/8 ins. is the measurement +of the copy used for the purpose of collation). The title-page runs +thus:-- + + Comedies | and | Tragedies | + + { Francis Beaumont } + |written by { And } Gentlemen. | + { John Fletcher } + + Never printed before, | And now published by + the Authours | Originall Copies. | _Si quid habent + veri Vatum præsagia, vivam.|London_, | Printed for + _Humphrey Robinson_, at the three _Pidgeons_, and for | + _Humphrey Moseley_ at the _Princes Armes in St Pauls_. + + +This collection, which is referred to as the First Folio throughout the +present edition, contained all the authors' previously unpublished plays +(34) except _The Wild-Goose Chase_, which, at the date of the Folio, was +supposed to be lost. The dedicatory epistles, commendatory poem, and +Catalogue of Plays, prefixed to the First Folio, are reprinted in the +preliminary pages at the end of this Note (pp. ix--lvii). + +The second collected edition appeared in 1679 in folio (14-3/8 ins. +x 8-1/4 ins.); a reprint of the title-page is given on p. lix of the +present volume. This collection, referred to henceforth as the Second +Folio, contained (i) all the plays included in the First Folio, (ii) _The +Wild-Goose Chase_, which had been published in folio in 1652, (iii) +all the other then known plays of the authors which had been published +previously to 1679. + +William Marshall's portrait of John Fletcher faces the title-page of both +folios with the following inscription engraved underneath:-- + +_Felicis ævi ac_ Præsulis _Natus; comes_ Beaumontis; _sic, quippe +Parnassus_, biceps; FLETCHERUS _unam in Pyramida furcas agens. Struxit +chorum plus simplicem Vates Duplex; Plus duplicem solus: nec ullum +transtulit; Nec transferendus: Dramatum æterni sales,_ Anglo _Theatro, +Orbe, Sibi, superstites_. + +_FLETCHERE, facies absqz vultu pingitur; Quantus! vel_ umbram _circuit +nemo tuam._ + +J. Berkenhead. + +Later collected editions of the works were published in 1711 (7 vols.); +1750, edited by Lewis Theobald, Thomas Seward and J. Sympson (10 vols.); +1778, edited by George Colman (10 vols.); 1812, edited by Henry Weber (14 +vols.); 1843, edited by Alexander Dyce (11 vols.). It is unnecessary to +refer in detail to these later editions which, very widely as they differ +among themselves, agree in presenting an eclectic text, a text formed +partly by a collation of the various old editions and partly by the +adoption of conjectural emendations. During the progress of work upon +the present issue another edition has been announced, under the general +editorship of Mr A. H. Bullen, and the first volume was published last +year. It follows the lines of its predecessors in presenting a modernised +text, giving 'a fuller record than had been given by Dyce of _variæ +lectiones_,' and pleading, in its prospectus, that, 'for the use of +scholars, there should be editions of all our old authors in old +spelling.' + +The objects of the present edition, in accordance with the scheme of the +series of ENGLISH CLASSICS of which it is a part, are to provide (i) a +text in which there shall be no deviation from that adopted as its basis, +in the matter of spelling, punctuation, the use of capitals and italics, +save as recorded, and to give (ii) an apparatus of variant readings as an +Appendix, comprising the texts of all the early issues, that is to say, +of all editions prior to and including the Second Folio. Within these +limits, and apart from mere variations in spelling and punctuation, every +variation, whether deemed important or not, is recorded in the Appendixes +to these volumes. + +Of the 52 Plays in the Second Folio only 5 were published before the +death of Beaumont and 9 before the death of Fletcher. The text has, +therefore, given rise to a fruitful crop of conjectural emendations, +but it has not been deemed a part of the editor's duty to garner them. +Leaving these on one side, and desirous mainly of collecting every +alternative reading in all the Quartos and in the two Folios, the text +used in the preparation of the present edition, chosen after careful +consideration, is that of the Second Folio, obvious printers' errors +being corrected, recorded in the Appendix, and indicated in the text +by the insertion of square brackets. This text is the latest with +any pretence to authority, it includes all the plays, and it forms a +convenient limit, beyond which no notice has been taken of alternative +readings, and to which the variants, chronologically arranged from the +earliest to the latest Quartos, can easily be referred. Some of the early +Quartos no doubt offer better texts of some of the plays, especially in +the matter of verse and prose arrangement, and had it been intended to +print one text, and one text only, unaccompanied by a full apparatus of +variorum readings, something might be said in favour of a choice among +the Quartos and Folios, selecting here and there, in the case of each +play, the particular text that seemed the best. But such choice could +only be an extension of the eclectic method that has been rejected in +dealing with alternative readings, it seemed to be equally unscientific, +and, in view of the material in the Appendixes, needless. + +In common with all the Quartos and the First Folio the Second Folio +has failings, which will be noted in due course, but these have been +exaggerated, and against them may be set the advantages detailed in the +address of 'The Booksellers to the Reader,' reprinted on p. lx. + +It has been thought that it would be useful to students to give lists +of the different arrangements of prose and verse that obtain in the +different quartos, and these will be found in the Appendix after the +variants of each play. + +The remaining volumes of this edition will follow as soon as can be +arranged. + + * * * * * + +The Syndics of the University Press have asked me to complete the work +begun by Arnold Glover. It was a work greatly to his mind: he spent much +labour upon it, being always keenly interested in critical, textual and +bibliographical work in English literature; he welcomed a return to his +earlier studies among the Elizabethans after five years given to the +works of one of their most discerning critics; but he did not live to see +the publication of the first volume of his new work. When he died in the +January of this year, the text of volumes one and two had been passed for +press, the material accumulated for the Appendixes to those volumes and +the draft of the above 'Note' partly written. With the assistance of Mrs +Arnold Glover, who had helped him in the laborious work of collation, I +have checked and arranged this editorial material for press. I hope I +have not let any error escape me which he would have detected. + +A. R. WALLER. +CAMBRIDGE, +2 _August_, 1905. + + + +CONTENTS + + Epistle Dedicatorie to the First Folio + + Ja. Shirley to the Reader (First Folio) + + The Stationer to the Readers (First Folio) + + Commendatory Verses (First Folio) + + A Catalogue of all the Comedies and Tragedies (First Folio) + + Title-page of the Second Folio + + The Booksellers to the Reader (Second Folio) + + A Catalogue of all the Comedies and Tragedies (Second Folio) + + The Maids Tragedy + + Philaster: or, Love lies a Bleeding + + A King, and no King + + The Scornful Lady, a Comedy + + The Custom of the Country + + Appendix + +TO + +THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + +PHILIP + +Earle of Pembroke and Mountgomery: + +Baron Herbert of Cardiffe and Sherland, + +Lord Parr and Ross of Kendall; Lord Fitz-Hugh, + +Marmyon, and Saint Quintin; Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter; +and one of His Majesties most Honourable Privie Councell: And our +Singular Good Lord. + +My Lord, _There is none among all the_ Names _of_ Honour, _that hath A +more encouraged the_ Legitimate Muses _of this latter Age, then that +which is owing to your_ Familie; _whose_ Coronet _shines bright with the +native luster of its owne_ Jewels, _which with the accesse of some Beames +of_ Sydney, _twisted with their_ Flame _presents a_ Constellation, _from +whose_ Influence _all good may be still expected upon Witt and Learning_. + +_At this_ Truth _we rejoyce, but yet aloofe, and in our owne valley, for +we dare not approach with any capacity in our selves to apply your +Smile, since wee have only preserved as_ Trustees _to the_ Ashes _of the +Authors, what wee exhibit to your_ Honour, _it being no more our owne, +then those_ Imperiall Crownes _and_ Garlands _were the Souldiers, who +were honourably designed for their Conveyance before the_ Triumpher _to +the_ Capitol. + +_But directed by the example of some, who once steered in our qualitie, +and so fortunately aspired to choose your_ Honour, _joyned with your (now +glorified_) Brother, Patrons _to the flowing compositions of the then +expired sweet_ Swan _of_ Avon SHAKESPEARE; _and since, more particularly +bound to your_ Lordships _most constant and diffusive_ Goodnesse, _from +which, wee did for many calme yeares derive a subsistence to our +selves, and Protection to the Scene (now withered, and condemned, as we +feare, to a long Winter and sterilitie) we have presumed to offer to your_ +Selfe, _what before was never printed of these_ Authours. + +_Had they beene lesse then all the_ Treasure _we had contrasted in the +whole Age of_ Poesie _(some few Poems of their owne excepted, which +already published, command their entertainement, with all lovers of_ Art +_and_ Language) _or were they not, the most justly admir'd, and beloved +Pieces of_ Witt _and the_ World, _wee should have taught our selves a +lesse Ambition. + +Be pleased to accept this humble tender of our duties, and till we faile +in our obedience to all your Commands, vouchsafe, we may be knowne by +the_ Cognizance _and_ Character _of_ + +MY LORD, + +Your Honours most bounden + + _John Lowin + Richard Robinson + Eyloerd Swanston + Hugh Clearke + Stephen Hammerton + Joseph Taylor + Robert Benfeild + Thomas Pollard + William Allen + Theophilus Byrd_. + +TO THE READER. + + +Poetry _is the_ Child _of_ Nature, _which regulated and made beautifull by +Art, presenteth the most Harmonious of all other compositions; among +which (if we rightly consider) the_ Dramaticall _is the most absolute, +in regard of those transcendent_ Abilities, which should waite upon the_ +Composer; _who must have more then the instruction of Libraries which +of it selfe is but a cold contemplative knowledge there being required +in him a_ Soule _miraculously knowing, and conversing with all mankind, +inabling him to expresse not onely the Phlegme and folly of_ thick-skin'd +men, _but the strength and maturity of the wise, the Aire and +insinuations of the_ Court, _the discipline and Resolution of the +Soldier, the Vertues and passions of every noble condition, nay the +councells and charailers of the greatest Princes. + +This you will say is a vast comprehension, and hath not hapned in many +Ages. Be it then remembred to the Glory of our owne, that all these are +Demonstrative and met in_ BEAUMONT & FLETCHER, _whom but to mention is to +throw a cloude upon all former names and benight Posterity; This Book +being, without flattery, the greatest_ Monument _of the Scene that Time +and Humanity have produced, and must Live, not only the_ Crowne _and +sole_ Reputation _of our owne, but the stayne of all other_ Nations _and_ +Languages, _for it may be boldly averred, not one indiscretion hath +branded this Paper in all the Lines, this being the Authentick witt that +made Blackfriers an Academy, where the three howers spectacle while_ +Beaumont _and_ Fletcher _were presented, were usually of more advantage +to the hopefull young Heire, then a costly, dangerous, forraigne Travell, +with the assistance of a governing Mounsieur, or Signior to boot; And it +cannot be denied but that the young spirits of the Time, whose Birth & +Quality made them impatient of the sowrer wayes of education, have from +the attentive hearing these pieces, got ground in point of wit and +carriage of the most severely employed Students, while these Recreations +were digested into Rules, and the very Pleasure did edifie. How many +passable discoursing dining witts stand yet in good credit upon the bare +stock of two or three of these single Scenes. + +And now Reader in this_ Tragicall Age _where the_ Theater _hath been so +much out-ailed, congratulate thy owne happinesse, that in this silence of +the Stage, thou hast a liberty to reade these inimitable Playes, to dwell +and converse in these immortall Groves, which were only shewd our Fathers +in a conjuring glasse, as suddenly removed as represented, the Landscrap +is now brought home by this optick, and the Presse thought too pregnant +before, shall be now look'd upon as greatest Benefactor to Englishmen, +that must acknowledge all the felicity of_ witt _and_ words _to this +Derivation. + + +You may here find passions raised to that excellent pitch and by such +insinuating degrees that you shall not chuse but consent, and & go along +with them, finding your self at last grown insensibly the very same +person you read, and then stand admiring the subtile Trackes of your +engagement. Fall on a Scene of love and you will never believe the +writers could have the least roome left in their soules for another +passion, peruse a Scene of manly Rage, and you would sweare they cannot +be exprest by the same hands, but both are so excellently wrought, you +must confesse none, but the same hands, could worke them. + +Would thy Melancholy have a cure? thou shalt laugh at_ Democritus +_himselfe, and but reading one piece of this Comick variety, finde thy +exalted fancie in Elizium; And when thou art sick of this cure, (for the +excesse of delight may too much dilate thy_ soule,) _thou shalt meete +almost in every leafe a soft purling passion or_ spring _of sorrow so +powerfully wrought high by the teares of innocence, and_ wronged Lovers, +_it shall persuade thy eyes to weepe into the streame, and yet smile when +they contribute to their owne ruines. + +Infinitely more might be said of these rare Copies, but let the ingenuous +Reader peruse them & he will finde them so able to speake their own +worth, that they need not come into the world with a trumpet, since any +one of these incomparable pieces well understood will prove a_ Preface _to +the rest, and if the Reader can fast the best wit ever trod our English +Stage, he will be forced himselfe to become a_ breathing Panegerick _to +them all. + +Not to detaine or prepare thee longer, be as capritious and sick-brain'd, +as ignorance & malice can make thee, here thou art rectified, or be as +healthfull as the inward calme of an honest_ Heart, Learning, _and_ +Temper _can state thy disposition, yet this booke may be thy fortunate_ +concernement _and Companion. + +It is not so remote in Time, but very many Gentlemen may remember these +Authors & some familiar in their conversation deliver them upon every +pleasant occasion so fluent, to talke a Comedy. He must be a bold man +that dares undertake to write their Lives. What I have to say is, we have +the precious_ Remaines, _and as the wisest contemporaries acknowledge +they Lived a_ Miracle, _I am very confident this volume cannot die without +one. + +What more specially concerne these Authors and their workes is told +thee by another hand in the following Epistle of the_ Stationer to the +Readers. + +_Farwell, Reade, and feare not thine owne understanding, this Booke will +create a cleare one in thee, and when thou hast considered thy purchase, +thou wilt call the price of it a Charity to thy selfe, and at the same +time forgive thy friend, and these Authors humble admirer_, + +JA. SHIRLEY. + + +The Stationer to the Readers. + + +_Gentlemen,_ before you engage farther, be pleased to take notice of +these Particulars. You have here a _New Booke_; I can speake it clearely; +for of all this large Volume of _Comedies_ and _Tragedies_, not one, till +now, was ever printed before. A _Collection of Playes_ is commonly but a +_new Impression_, the scattered pieces which were printed single, being +then onely Republished together: 'Tis otherwise here. + +Next, as it is all New, so here is not any thing _Spurious_ or _impos'd_; +I had the Originalls from such as received them from the Authours +themselves; by Those, and none other, I publish this Edition. + +And as here's nothing but what is genuine and Theirs, so you will finde +here are no _Omissions_; you have not onely All I could get, but All that +you must ever expect. For (besides those which were formerly printed) +there is not any Piece written by these _Authours_, either Joyntly or +Severally, but what are now publish'd to the World in this _Volume_. One +only Play I must except (for I meane to deale openly) 'tis a _COMEDY_ +called the _Wilde-goose Chase_, which hath beene long lost, and I feare +irrecoverable; for a _Person of Quality_ borrowed it from the _Actours_ +many yeares since, and (by the negligence of a Servant) it was never +return'd; therefore now I put up this _Si quis_, that whosoever hereafter +happily meetes with it, shall be thankfully satisfied if he please to +send it home. + +Some _Playes_ (you know) written by these _Authors_ were heretofore +Printed: I thought not convenient to mixe them with this _Volume_, which +of it selfe is entirely New. And indeed it would have rendred the Booke +so Voluminous, that _Ladies_ and _Gentlewomen_ would have found it +scarce manageable, who in Workes of this nature must first be remembred. +Besides, I considered those former Pieces had been so long printed and +re-printed, that many Gentlemen were already furnished; and I would have +none say, they pay twice for the same Booke. + +One thing I must answer before it bee objected; 'tis this: When these +_Comedies_ and _Tragedies_ were presented on the Stage, the _Actours_ +omitted some _Scenes_ and Passages (with the _Authour's_ consent) as +occasion led them; and when private friends desir'd a Copy, they then +(and justly too) transcribed what they _Acted_. But now you have both All +that was _Acted_, and all that was not; even the perfect full Originalls +without the least mutilation; So that were the _Authours_ living, (and +sure they can never dye) they themselves would challenge neither more nor +lesse then what is here published; this Volume being now so compleate and +finish'd, that the Reader must expect no future Alterations. + +For _literall Errours_ committed by the Printer, 'tis the fashion to aske +pardon, and as much in fashion to take no notice of him that asks it; +but in this also I have done my endeavour. 'Twere vaine to mention the +_Chargeablenesse_ of this Work; for those who own'd the _Manuscripts_, +too well knew their value to make a cheap estimate of any of these +Pieces, and though another joyn'd with me in the _Purchase_ and Printing, +yet the _Care & Pains_ was wholly mine, which I found to be more then +you'l easily imagine, unlesse you knew into how many hands the Originalls +were dispersed. They are all now happily met in this Book, having escaped +these _Publike Troubles_, free and unmangled. Heretofore when Gentlemen +desired but a Copy of any of these _Playes_, the meanest piece here (if +any may be called Meane where every one is Best) cost them more then +foure times the price you pay for the whole _Volume_. + +I should scarce have adventured in these slippery times on such a work +as this, if knowing persons had not generally assured mee that these +_Authors_ were the most unquestionable Wits this Kingdome hath afforded. +Mr. _Beaumont_ was ever acknowledged a man of a most strong and searching +braine; and (his yeares considered) the most _Judicious Wit_ these later +Ages have produced; he dyed young, for (which was an invaluable losse to +this Nation) he left the world when hee was not full thirty yeares old. +Mr. _Fletcher_ survived, and lived till almost fifty; whereof the World +now enjoyes the benefit. It was once in my thoughts to have Printed Mr. +_Fletcher's_ workes by themselves, because single & alone he would make +a _Just Volume_: But since never parted while they lived, I conceived it +not equitable to seperate their ashes. + +It becomes not me to say (though it be a knowne Truth) that these +_Authors_ had not only High unexpressible gifts of _Nature_, but also +excellent _acquired Parts_, being furnished with Arts and Sciences by +that liberall education they had at the _University_, which sure is the +best place to make a great Wit understand it selfe; this their workes +will soone make evident. I was very ambitious to have got Mr. Beaumonts +picture; but could not possibly, though I spared no enquirie in those +_Noble Families_ whence he was descended, as also among those Gentlemen +that were his acquaintance when he was of the _Inner Temple_: the best +Pictures and those most like him you'll finde in this _Volume_. This +figure of Mr. _Fletcher_ was cut by severall Originall Pieces, which his +friends lent me, but withall they tell me, that his unimitable Soule +did shine through his countenance in such _Ayre_ and _Spirit_, that the +Painters confessed, it was not easie to expresse him: As much as could +be, you have here, and the _Graver_ hath done his part. What ever I have +scene of Mr. _Fletchers_ owne hand, is free from interlining; and his +friends affirme he never writ any one thing twice: it seemes he had that +rare felicity to prepare and perfect all first in his owne braine; to +shape and attire his _Notions_, to adde or loppe off, before he committed +one word to writing, and never touched pen till all was to stand as firme +and immutable as if ingraven in Brasse or Marble. But I keepe you too +long from those _friends_ of his whom 'tis fitter for you to read; only +accept of the honest endeavours of + + _One that is a Servant to you all_ + + HUMPHREY MOSELEY. +_At the_ Princes Armes _in_ + St Pauls _Church-yard_. Feb._ 14th 1646. + + +To the Stationer. + + _Tell the sad World that now the lab'ring Presse + Has brought forth safe a Child of happinesse, + The Frontis-piece will satisfie the wise + And good so well, they will not grudge the price. + 'Tis not all Kingdomes joyn'd in one could buy + (If priz'd aright) so true a Library + Of man: where we the characters may finde + Of ev'ry Nobler and each baser minde. + Desert has here reward in one good line + For all it lost, for all it might repine: + Vile and ignobler things are open laid, + The truth of their false colours are displayed: + You'l say the Poet's both best Judge and Priest, + No guilty soule abides so sharp a test + As their smooth Pen; for what these rare men writ + Commands the World, both Honesty and Wit_. + + GRANDISON. + + +IN MEMORY OF Mr. JOHN FLETCHER. + + _Me thought our_ Fletcher _weary of this croud, + Wherein so few have witt, yet all are loud, + Unto Elyzium fled, where he alone + Might his own witt admire and ours bemoane; + But soone upon those Flowry Bankes, a throng + Worthy of those even numbers which he sung, + Appeared, and though those Ancient Laureates strive + When dead themselves, whose raptures should survive, + For his Temples all their owne bayes allowes, + Not sham'd to see him crown'd with naked browes_; + Homer _his beautifull_ Achilles _nam'd, + Urging his braine with_ Joves _might well be fam'd, + Since it brought forth one full of beauties charmes, + As was his Pallas, and as bold in Armes; [-King and no King.-] + But when he the brave_ Arbases _saw, one + That saved his peoples dangers by his own, + And saw_ Tigranes _by his hand undon + Without the helpe of any_ Mirmydon, + _He then confess'd when next hee'd Hector slay, + That he must borrow him from Fletchers Play; + This might have beene the shame, for which he bid + His_ Iliades _in a Nut-shell should be hid_: + Virgill _of his_ Æneas _next begun, + Whose God-like forme and tongue so soone had wonne; + That Queene of_ Carthage _and of beauty too, + Two powers the whole world else were slaves unto, + Urging that Prince for to repaire his faulte + On earth, boldly in hell his Mistresse sought; [-The Maides Tragedy.-] + But when he_ Amintor _saw revenge that wrong, + For which the sad_ Aspasia _sigh'd so long, + Upon himselfe, to shades hasting away, + Not for to make a visit but to stay; + He then did modestly confesse how farr_ + Fletcher _out-did him in a Charactar. + Now lastly for a refuge_, Virgill _shewes + The lines where_ Corydon Alexis _woes; + But those in opposition quickly met [-The faithfull Shepherdesse.-] + The smooth tongu'd_ Perigot _and_ Amoret: + _A paire whom doubtlesse had the others seene, + They from their owne loves had_ Apostates _beene; + Thus_ Fletcher _did the fam'd laureat exceed, + Both when his Trumpet sounded and his reed; + Now if the Ancients yeeld that heretofore, + None worthyer then those ere Laurell wore; + The least our age can say now thou art gon, + Is that there never will be such a one: +And since t' expresse thy worth, our rimes too narrow be, +To help it wee'l be ample in our prophesie_. + + H. HOWARD. + + +On Mr John Fletcher, and his Workes, never before published. + + _To flatter living fooles is easie slight: + But hard, to do the living-dead men right. + To praise a Landed Lord, is gainfull art: + But thanklesse to pay Tribute to desert. + This should have been my taske: I had intent + To bring my rubbish to thy monument, + To stop some crannies there, but that I found + No need of least repaire; all firme and sound. + Thy well-built fame doth still it selfe advance + Above the Worlds mad zeale and ignorance, + Though thou dyedst not possest of that same pelfe + (Which Nobler soules call durt,) the City wealth: + Yet thou hast left unto the times so great + A Legacy, a Treasure so compleat, + That 'twill be hard I feare to prove thy Will: + Men will be wrangling, and in doubting still + How so vast summes of wit were left behind, + And yet nor debts nor sharers they can finde. + 'Twas the kind providence of fate, to lock + Some of this Treasure up; and keep a stock + For a reserve untill these sullen daies: + When scorn, and want, and danger, are the Baies + That Crown the head of merit. But now he + Who in thy Will hath part, is rich and free. + But there's a Caveat enter'd by command, + None should pretend, but those can understand._ + + HENRY MODY, Baronet. + + +ON + +Mr Fletchers Works. + + _Though Poets have a licence which they use + As th' ancient priviledge of their free Muse; + Yet whether this be leave enough for me + To write, great Bard, an Eulogie for thee: + Or whether to commend thy Worke, will stand + Both with the Lawes of Verse and of the Land, + Were to put doubts might raise a discontent + Between the Muses and the ---- + I'le none of that. There's desperate wits that be + (As their immortall Lawrell) Thunder-free; + Whose personall vertues, 'bove the Lawes of Fate, + Supply the roome of personall estate: + And thus enfranchis'd, safely may rehearse, + Rapt in a lofty straine, [their] own neck-verse. + For he that gives the Bayes to thee, must then + First take it from the Militarie Men; + He must untriumph conquests, bid 'em stand, + Question the strength of their victorious hand. + He must act new things, or go neer the sin, + Reader, as neer as you and I have been: + He must be that, which He that tryes will swear + I[t] is not good being so another Yeare. + And now that thy great name I've brought to [this], + To do it honour is to do amisse, + What's to be done to those, that shall refuse + To celebrate, great Soule, thy noble Muse?_ + _Shall the poore State of all those wandring things, + Thy Stage once rais'd to Emperors and Kings? + Shall rigid forfeitures (that reach our Heires) + Of things that only fill with cares and feares? + Shall the privation of a friendlesse life, + Made up of contradictions and strife? + Shall He be entitie, would antedate + His own poore name, and thine annihilate? + Shall these be judgements great enough for one + That dares not write thee an Encomion? + Then where am I? but now I've thought upon't, + I'le prayse thee more then all have ventur'd on't. + I'le take thy noble Work (and like the trade + Where for a heap of Salt pure Gold is layd) + I'le lay thy Volume, that Huge Tome of wit, + About in Ladies Closets, where they sit + Enthron'd in their own wills; and if she bee + A Laick sister, shee'l straight flie to thee: + But if a holy Habit shee have on, + Or be some Novice, shee'l scarce looks upon + Thy Lines at first; but watch Her then a while, + And you shall see Her steale a gentle smile + Upon thy Title, put thee neerer yet, + Breath on thy Lines a whisper, and then set + Her voyce up to the measures; then begin + To blesse the houre, and happy state shee's in. + Now shee layes by her Characters, and lookes + With a stern eye on all her pretty Bookes. + Shee's now thy Voteresse, and the just Crowne + She brings thee with it, is worth half the Towne. + I'le send thee to the Army, they that fight + Will read thy tragedies with some delight, + Be all thy Reformadoes, fancy scars, + And pay too, in thy speculative wars. + I'le send thy Comick scenes to some of those + That for a great while have plaid fast and loose; + New universalists, by changing shapes, + Have made with wit and fortune faire escapes. + Then shall the Countrie that poor Tennis-ball + Of angry fate, receive thy Pastorall, + And from it learn those melancholy straines + Fed the afflicted soules of Primitive swaines. + Thus the whole World to reverence will flock + Thy Tragick Buskin and thy Comick Stock; + And winged fame unto posterity + Transmit but onely two, this Age, and Thee._ + + THOMAS PEYTON. + _Agricola Anglo-Cantianus._ + + + +VERSES + +ON THE + +Deceased Authour, Mr John Fletcher, +his Plays; and especially, _The Mad Lover_. + + _Whilst his well organ'd body doth retreat, + To its first matter, and the formall heat + Triumphant sits in judgement to approve + Pieces above our Candour and our love: + Such as dare boldly venter to appeare + Unto the curious eye, and Criticke eare: + Lo the_ Mad Lover _in these various times + Is pressed to life, t' accuse us of our crimes. + While_ Fletcher _liv'd, who equall to him writ + Such lasting Monuments of naturall wit? + Others might draw: their lines with sweat, like those + That (with much paines) a Garrison inclose; + Whilst his sweet fluent veine did gently runne + As uncontrold, and smoothly as the Sun. + After his death our Theatres did make + Him in his own unequald Language speake: + And now when all the Muses out of their + Approved modesty silent appeare, + This Play of_ Fletchers _braves the envious light + As wonder of our eares once, now our sight. + Three and fourfold blest Poet, who the Lives + Of Poets, and of Theaters survives! + A Groome, or Ostler of some wit may bring + His Pegasus to the Castalian spring; + Boast he a race o're the Pharsalian plaine, + Or happy_ Tempe _valley dares maintaine: + Brag at one leape upon the double Cliffe + (Were it as high as monstrous Tennariffe) + Of farre-renown'd Parnassus he will get, + And there (t' amaze the World) confirme his state: + When our admired_ Fletcher _vaunts not ought, + And slighted everything he writ as naught: + While all our English wondring world (in's cause) + Made this great City eccho with applause. + Read him therefore all that can read, and those + That cannot learne, if y' are not Learnings foes, + And wilfully resolved to refuse + The gentle Raptures of this happy Muse. + From thy great constellation (noble Soule) + Looke on this Kingdome, suffer not the whole + Spirit of Poesie retire to Heaven, + But make us entertains what thou hast given. + Earthquakes and Thunder Diapasons make + The Seas vast roare, and irresistlesse shake + Of horrid winds, a sympathy compose; + So in these things there's musicke in the close: + And though they seem great Discords in our eares, + They are not so to them above the Spheares. + Granting these Musicke, how much sweeter's that_ + Mnemosyne's _daughter's voyces doe create? + Since Heaven, and Earth, and Seas, and Ayre consent + To make an Harmony (the Instrument, + Their man agreeing selves) shall we refuse + The Musicke which the Deities doe use?_ + Troys _ravisht_ Ganymed _doth sing to_ Jove, + _And_ Phoebus _selfe playes on his Lyre above. + The Cretan Gods, or glorious men, who will + Imitate right, must wonder at thy skill, + Best Poet of thy times, or he will prove + As mad as thy brave_ Memnon _was with love._ + + ASTON COKAINE, Baronet. + + + Upon the Works of BEAUMONT, + and FLETCHER. + + _How_ Angels (_cloyster'd in our humane Cells_) + _Maintaine their parley,_ Beaumont-Fletcher _tels; + Whose strange unimitable Intercourse + Transcends all Rules, and flyes beyond the force + Of the most forward soules; all must submit + Untill they reach these_ Mysteries _of Wit. + The_ Intellectuall Language _here's exprest, + Admir'd in better times, and dares the Test + Of Ours; for from_ Wit, Sweetnesse, Mirth, _and_ Sence, + _This Volume springs a new true_ Quintessence. + + JO. PETTUS, Knight. + + +On the Works of the most excellent Dramatick Poet, Mr. _John F[l]etcher_, +never before Printed. + + Haile_ Fletcher, _welcome to the worlds great Stage; + For our two houres, we have thee here an age + In thy whole Works, and may th'_ Impression _call + The_ Pretor _that presents thy Playes to all: + Both to the People, and the_ Lords _that sway + That_ Herd, _and Ladies whom those Lords obey. + And what's the Loadstone can such guests invite + But moves on two Poles,_ Profit _and_ Delight, + _Which will be soon, as on the Rack, confest + When every one is tickled with a jest: + And that pure_ Fletcher, _able to subdue + A_ Melancholy _more then_ Burton _knew. + And though upon the by, to his designes + The_ Native _may learne English from his lines, + And_ th' Alien _if he can but construe it, + May here be made free_ Denison _of wit. + But his maine end does drooping_ Vertue _raise, + And crownes her beauty with eternall_ Bayes; + _In Scænes where she inflames the frozen soule, + While_ Vice _(her paint washt off) appeares so foule; + She must this_ Blessed Isle _and Europe leave, + And some new_ Quadrant _of the_ Globe _deceive: + Or hide her Blushes on the_ Affrike _shore + Like_ Marius, _but ne're rise to_ triumph _more; + That_ honour _is resign'd to_ Fletchers _fame; + Adde to his Trophies, that a_ Poets _name + (Late growne as odious to our_ Moderne _states + As that of_ King _to Rome) he vindicates + From black aspertions, cast upon't by those + Which only are inspir'd to lye in prose. + + _And_, By the Court of Muses be't decreed, + _What graces spring from Poesy's richer seed, + When we name_ Fletcher _shall be so proclaimed, + As all that's_ Royall _is when_ Cæsar's _nam'd. + + ROBERT STAPYLTON Knight. + + +To the memory of my most honoured kinsman, Mr. _Francis Beaumont_. + + _I'le not pronounce how strong and cleane thou writes, + Nor by what new hard Rules thou took'st thy Flights, + Nor how much_ Greek _and_ Latin _some refine + Before they can make up six words of thine, + But this I'le say, thou strik'st our sense so deep, + At once thou mak'st us Blush, Rejoyce, and Weep. + Great Father_ Johnson _bow'd himselfe when hee + (Thou writ'st so nobly) vow'd he _envy'd thee_. + Were thy_ Mardonius _arm'd, there would be more + Strife for his Sword then all_ Achilles _wore, + Such wise just Rage, had Hee been lately tryd + My life on't Hee had been o'th' Better side, + And where hee found false odds, (through Gold or Sloath) + There brave_ Mardonius _would have beat them Both. + Behold, here's FLETCHER too! the World ne're knew + Two Potent Witts co-operate till You; + For still your fancies are so wov'n and knit, + 'Twas FRANCIS FLETCHER, or JOHN BEAUMONT writ. + Yet neither borrow'd, nor were so put to't + To call poore Godds and Goddesses to do't; + Nor made Nine Girles your_ Muses _(you suppose + Women ne're write, save_ Love-Letters in prose) + _But are your owne Inspirers, and have made + Such pow'rfull Sceanes, as when they please, invade. + Tour Plot, Sence, Language, All's so pure and fit, + Hee's Bold, not Valiant, dare dispute your Wit_. + + GEORGE LISLE Knight. + + +On Mr. _JOHN FLETCHER'S_ Workes. + + _So shall we joy, when all whom Beasts and Wormes + Had turned to their owne substances and formes, + Whom Earth to Earth, or fire hath chang'd to fire, + Wee shall behold more then at first intire + As now we doe, to see all thine, thine owne + In this thy Muses Resurrection, + Whose scattered parts, from thy owne Race, more wounds + Hath suffer'd, then_ Acteon _from his hounds; + Which first their Braines, and then their Bellies fed, + And from their excrements new Poets bred. + But now thy Muse inraged from her urne + Like Ghosts of Murdred bodyes doth returne + To accuse the Murderers, to right the Stage, + And undeceive the long abused Age, + Which casts thy praise on them, to whom thy Wit + Gives not more Gold then they give drosse to it: + Who not content like fellons to purloyne, + Adde Treason to it, and debase thy Coyne. + But whither am I strayd? I need not raise + Trophies to thee from other Mens dispraise; + Nor is thy fame on lesser Ruines built, + Nor needs thy juster title the foule guilt + Of Easterne Kings, who to secure their Raigne, + Must have their Brothers, Sonnes, and Kindred slaine. + Then was wits Empire at the fatall height, + When labouring and sinking with its weight, + From thence a thousand lesser Poets sprong + Like petty Princes from the fall of_ Rome. + When_ JOHNSON, SHAKESPEARE, _and thy selfe did sit, + And sway'd in the Triumvirate of wit-- + Yet what from_ JOHNSONS _oyle and sweat did flow, + Or what more easie nature did bestow + On_ SHAKESPEARES _gentler Muse, in thee full growne + Their Graces both appeare, yet so, that none + Can say here Nature ends, and Art begins + But mixt like th'Elemcnts, and borne like twins, + So interweav'd, so like, so much 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 henceforth be afraid to write_. + + RICH. LOVELACE. + + +On Master JOHN FLETCHERS + +Dramaticall Poems. + + _Great tutelary Spirit of the Stage_! + FLETCHER! _I can fix nothing but my rage + Before thy Workes, 'gainst their officious crime + Who print thee now, in the worst scæne of Time. + For me, uninterrupted hadst thou slept + Among the holly shades and close hadst kept + The mistery of thy lines, till men might bee + Taught how to reade, and then, how to reade thee. + But now thou art expos'd to th' common fate, + Revive then (mighty Soule!) and vindicate + From th' Ages rude affronts thy injured fame, + Instruct the Envious, with how chast a flame + Thou warmst the Lover; how severely just + Thou wert to punish, if he burnt to lust. + With what a blush thou didst the Maid adorne, + But tempted, with how innocent a scorne. + How Epidemick errors by thy_ Play + _Were laught out of esteeme, so purged away. + How to each sence thou so didst vertue fit, + That all grew vertuous to be thought t' have wit. + But this was much too narrow for thy art, + Thou didst frame governments, give Kings their part, + Teach them how neere to God, while just they be; + But how dissolved, stretcht forth to Tyrannie. + How Kingdomes, in their channell, safely run, + But rudely overflowing are undone. + Though vulgar spirits Poets scorne or hate; + Man may beget, A Poet can create_. + + WILL. HABINGTON. + + +Upon Master FLETCHERS Dramaticall Workes. + + _What? now the Stage is down, darst thou appeare + Bold_ FLETC[H]ER _in this tottr'ing Hemisphear? + Yes;_Poets are like Palmes which, the more weight + You cast upon them, grow more strong & streight, + 'Tis not _love's_ Thunderbolt, nor _Mars_ his Speare, + Or _Neptune's_ angry Trident, Poets fear. + _Had now grim_ BEN _bin breathing, 'with what rage, + And high-swolne fury had Hee lash'd this age_, + SHAKESPEARE _with_ CHAPMAN _had grown madd, and torn + Their gentle_ Sock, _and lofty_ Buskins _worne, + To make their Muse welter up to the chin + In blood; of_ faigned _Scenes no need had bin_, + England _like_ Lucians _Eagle with an Arrow_ + Of her owne Plumes piercing her heart quite thorow, + Had bin a Theater and subject fit + To exercise in_ real _truth's their wit: + Tet none like high-wing'd_ FLETCHER _had bin found + This Eagles tragick-destiny to sound, + Rare_ FLETCHER'S _quill_ had soar'd up to the sky, + And drawn down Gods to see the tragedy: + Live famous Dramatist, let every _spring_ + Make thy Bay flourish, and fresh_ Bourgeons _bring: + And since we cannot have Thee trod o'th' stage, + Wee will applaud Thee in this silent Page_. + + JA. HOWELL. _P.C.C._ + + +On the Edition. + + Fletcher _(whose Fame no Age can ever wast; + Envy of Ours, and glory of the last) + Is now alive againe; and with his Name + His sacred Ashes wak'd into a Flame; + Such as before did by a secret charme + The wildest Heart subdue, the coldest warme, + And lend the Lady's eyes a power more bright, + Dispensing thus to either, Heat and Light. + He to a Sympathie those soules betrai'd + Whom Love or Beauty never could perswade; + And in each mov'd spectatour could beget + A reall passion by a Counterfeit: + When first_ Bellario _bled, what Lady there + Did not for every drop let fall a teare? + And when_ Aspasia _wept, not any eye + But seem'd to weare the same sad livery; + By him inspired the feigned_ Lucina _drew + More streams of melting sorrow then the true; + But then the_ Scornfull Lady _did beguile + Their easie griefs, and teach them all to smile. + Thus he Affections could, or raise or lay; + Love, Griefe and Mirth thus did his Charmes obey: + He Nature taught her passions to out-doe, + How to refine the old, and create new; + Which such a happy likenesse seem'd to beare, + As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were. + Yet All had Nothing bin, obscurely kept + In the same Urne wherein his Dust hath slept, + Nor had he ris' the Delphick wreath to claime, + Had not the dying sceane expired his Name; + Dispaire our joy hath doubled, he is come, + Thrice welcome by this_ Post-liminium. + _His losse preserved him; They that silenc'd Wit, + Are now the Authours to Eternize it; + Thus Poets are in spight of Fate revived, + And Playes by Intermission longer liv'd_. + + THO. STANLEY. + + +On the Edition of Mr _Francis Beaumonts_, and Mr _John Fletchers_ PLAYES +never printed before. + + I Am _amaz'd_; and this same _Extacye_ + Is both my _Glory_ and _Apology_. + _Sober Joyes are dull Passions_; they must beare + Proportion to the _Subject_: if _so_; where + _Beaumont_ and _Fletcher_ shall vouchsafe to be + _That Subject_; _That Joy_ must be _Extacye_. + _Fury_ is the _Complexion_ of _great Wits_; + The _Fooles Distemper_: Hee, thats _mad_ by _fits_, + Is _wise so_ too. It is the _Poets Muse_; + The _Prophets God_: the _Fooles_, and _my excuse_. + For (in _Me_) nothing lesse then _Fletchers Name_ + Could have _begot_, or _justify'd_ this _flame_. + _Beaumont_ } + _Fletcher_ } _Return'd?_ methinks it should not be. + _No_, not in's _Works_: _Playes_ are as _dead_ as _He_. + The _Palate_ of _this age gusts_ nothing _High_; + That has not _Custard_ in't or _Bawdery_. + _Folly_ and _Madnesse_ fill the _Stage_: The _Scæne_ + Is _Athens_; _where_, the _Guilty_, and the _Meane_, + The _Foole 'scapes_ well enough; _Learned_ and _Great_, + Suffer an _Ostracisme_; stand _Exulate_. + + _Mankinde_ is _fall'n againe_, _shrunke_ a _degree_, + A _step_ below his very _Apostacye_. + _Nature_ her _Selfe_ is out of _Tune_; and _Sicke_ + Of _Tumult_ and _Disorder_, _Lunatique_. + Yet _what World_ would not cheerfully _endure_ + The _Torture_, or _Disease_, t' _enjoy_ the _Cure?_ + + _This Booke's_ the _Balsame_, and the _Hellebore_, + Must _preserve bleeding Nature_, and _restore_ + Our _Crazy Stupor_ to a _just quick Sence_ + Both of _Ingratitude_, and _Providence_. + That teaches us (at _Once_) to _feele_, and _know_, + _Two deep Points_: what we _want_, and what we _owe_. + Yet _Great Goods have their Ills_: Should we _transmit_ + To _Future Times_, the _Pow'r_ of _Love_ and _Wit_, + In _this Example_: would they not _combine_ + To make _Our Imperfections Their Designe?_ + They'd _study_ our _Corruptions_; and take more + _Care_ to be _Ill_, then to be _Good_, _before_. + For _nothing but so great Infirmity, + Could make Them worthy of such Remedy. + + Have you not scene the Suns almighty Ray + Rescue th' affrighted World_, and _redeeme Day_ + From _blacke despaire_: how his _victorious Beame_ + _Scatters_ the _Storme_, and _drownes_ the _petty flame_ + Of _Lightning_, in the _glory_ of his _eye_: + How _full_ of _pow'r_, how _full_ of _Majesty?_ + When to _us Mortals, nothing_ else was _knowne_, + But the _sad doubt_, whether to _burne_, or _drowne_. + + _Choler_, and _Phlegme, Heat_, and _dull Ignorance,_ + Have cast _the people_ into _such_ a _Trance_, + That _feares_ and _danger_ seeme _Great equally_, + And no _dispute_ left now, but _how_ to _dye_. + Just in _this nicke, Fletcher sets the world cleare_ + Of all disorder and reformes us here. + + The _formall Youth_, that knew _no_ other _Grace_, + Or _Value_, but his _Title_, and his _Lace_, + _Glasses himselfe_: and in _this faithfull Mirrour_, + _Views, disaproves, reformes, repents_ his _Errour_. + + The _Credulous, bright Girle_, that _beleeves all_ + _Language_, (in _Othes_) if _Good, Canonicall_, + Is _fortifi'd_, and _taught, here_, to _beware_ + Of _ev'ry_ specious _bayte_, of _ev'ry snare_ + Save _one_: and _that_ same _Caution_ takes her _more_, + Then _all_ the _flattery_ she _felt before_. + She finds her _Boxes_, and her _Thoughts betray'd_ + By the _Corruption_ of the _Chambermaide_: + _Then throwes_ her _Washes_ and _dissemblings_ By; + And _Vowes_ nothing but _Ingenuity_. + + The _severe States-man quits_ his _sullen forme_ + Of _Gravity_ and _bus'nesse_; The _Luke-warme_ + _Religious_ his _Neutrality_; The _hot_ + _Braine-sicke Illuminate_ his _zeale; The Sot_ + _Stupidity_; The _Souldier_ his _Arreares_; + The _Court_ its _Confidence_; The _Plebs_ their _feares_; + _Gallants_ their _Apishnesse_ and _Perjurie_, + _Women_ their _Pleasure_ and _Inconstancie_; + _Poets_ their _Wine_; the _Usurer_ his _Pelfe_; + The _World_ its _Vanity_; and _I_ my _Selfe_. + + Roger L'Estrange. + + +COMMENDATORY + +On the Dramatick Poems of Mr JOHN FLETCHER. + + _Wonder! who's here?_ Fletcher, _long buried + Reviv'd? Tis he! hee's risen from the Dead. + His winding sheet put off, walks above ground, + Shakes off his Fetters, and is better bound. + And may he not, if rightly understood, + Prove Playes are lawfull? he hath_ made them Good. + _Is any_ Lover Mad? _see here_ Loves Cure; + _Unmarried? to a_ Wife _he may be sure + A rare one_, For a Moneth; _if she displease, + The_ Spanish Curate _gives a Writ of ease. + Enquire_ The Custome of the Country, _then + Shall_ the French Lawyer _set you free againe. + If the two_ Faire Maids _take it wondrous ill, + (One of_ the Inne, _the other of_ the Mill,) + _That th'_ Lovers Progresse _stopt, and they defam'd; + Here's that makes_ Women Pleas'd, _and_ Tamer tamd. + _But who then playes the_ Coxcombe, _or will trie + His_ Wit at severall Weapons, _or else die?_ + Nice Valour _and he doubts not to engage + The_ Noble Gentl'man, _in_ Loves Pilgrimage, + _To take revenge on the_ False One, _and run + The_ Honest mans Fortune, _to be undone + Like_ Knight of Malta, _or else_ Captaine _be + Or th'_ Humerous Lieutenant: _goe to Sea_ + (A Voyage _for to starve) hee's very loath, + Till we are all at peace, to sweare an Oath, + That then the_ Loyall Subject _may have leave + To lye from_ Beggers Bush, _and undeceive + The Creditor, discharge his debts; Why so, + Since we can't pay to_ Fletcher _what we owe. + Oh could his_ Prophetesse _but tell one_ Chance, + _When that the_ Pilgrimes _shall returne from France. + And once more make this Kingdome, as of late, + The_ Island Princesse, _and we celebrate + A_ Double Marriage; _every one to bring + To_ Fletchers _memory his offering. + That thus at last unsequesters the Stage, + Brings backe the Silver, and the Golden Age_. + + Robert Gardiner. + + +To the _Manes_ of the celebrated Poets and Fellow-writers, _Francis +Beaumont_ and _John Fletcher_, upon the Printing of their excellent +Dramatick Poems. + + _Disdaine not Gentle Shades, the lowly praise + Which here I tender your immortall Bayes. + Call it not folly, but my zeale, that I + Strive to eternize you that cannot dye. + And though no Language rightly can commend + What you have writ, save what your selves have penn'd; + Yet let me wonder at those curious straines + (The rich Conceptions of your twin-like Braines) + Which drew the Gods attention; who admir'd + To see our English Stage by you inspir'd. + Whose chiming Muses never fail'd to sing + A Soule-affecting Musicke; ravishing + Both Eare and Intellect, while you do each + Contend with other who shall highest reach + In rare Invention; Conflicts that beget + New strange delight, to see two Fancies met, + That could receive no foile: two wits in growth + So just, as had one Soule informed both. + Thence_ (_Learned_ Fletcher) _sung the muse alone, + As both had done before, thy_ Beaumont _gone. + In whom, as thou, had he outlived, so he + (Snatch'd first away) survived still in thee. + What though distempers of the present Age + Have banish'd your smooth numbers from the Stage? + You shall be gainers by't; it shall confer + To th' making the vast world your Theater. + The Presse shall give to ev'ry man his part, + And we will all be Actors; learne by heart + Those Tragick Scenes and Comicke Straines you writ, + Un-imitable both for Art and Wit; + And at each_ Exit, _as your Fancies rise, + Our hands shall clap deserved Plaudities._ + + John Web. + + +To the desert of the Author in his most Ingenious Pieces. + + _Thou art above their Censure, whose darke Spirits + Respects but shades of things, and seeming merits; + That have no soule, nor reason to their will, + But rime as ragged, as a Ganders Quill: + Where Pride blowes up the Error, and transfers + Their zeale in Tempests, that so wid'ly errs. + Like heat and Ayre comprest, their blind desires + Mixe with their ends, as raging winds with fires. + Whose Ignorance and Passions, weare an eye + Squint to all parts of true Humanity. + All is_ Apocripha _suits not their vaine: + For wit, oh fye! and Learning too; prophane! + But_ Fletcher _hath done Miracles by wit, + And one Line of his may convert them yet. + Tempt them into the State of knowledge, and + Happinesse to read and understand. + The way is strow'd with_ Lawrell, _and ev'ry Muse + Brings Incense to our_ Fletcher: _whose Scenes infuse + Such noble kindlings from her pregnant fire, + As charmes her Criticke Poets in desire, + And who doth read him, that parts lesse indu'd, + Then with some heat of wit or Gratitude. + Some crowd to touch the Relique of his Bayes, + Some to cry up their owne wit in his praise, + And thinke they engage it by Comparatives, + When from himselfe, himselfe he best derives. + Let_ Shakespeare, Chapman, _and applauded_ Ben, + _Weare the Eternall merit of their Pen, + Here I am love-sicke: and were I to chuse, + A Mistris corrivall 'tis_ Fletcher's _Muse._ + + George Buck. + + +On Mr BEAUMONT. + +(Written thirty years since, presently after his death.) + + Beaumont _lyes here; and where now shall we have + A Muse like his to sigh upon his grave? + Ah! none to weepe this with a worthy teare, + But he that cannot,_ Beaumont, _that lies here. + Who now shall pay thy Tombe with such a Verse + As thou that Ladies didst, faire_ Rutlands _Herse? + A Monument that will then lasting be, + When all her Marble is more dust than she. + In thee all's lost: a sudden dearth and want + Hath seiz'd on Wit, good Epitaphs are scant; + We dare not write thy Elegie, whilst each feares + He nere shall match that coppy of thy teares. + Scarce in an Age a Poet, and yet he + Scarce lives the third part of his age to see, + But quickly taken off and only known, + Is in a minute shut as soone as showne._ + _Why should weake Nature tire her selfe in vaine + In such a peice, to dash it straight againe? + Why should she take such worke beyond her skill, + Which when she cannot perfect, she must kill? + Alas, what is't to temper slime or mire? + But Nature's puzled when she workes in fire: + Great Braines (like brightest glasse) crack straight, while those + Of Stone or Wood hold out, and feare not blowes. + And wee their Ancient hoary heads can see + Whose Wit was never their mortality:_ + Beaumont _dies young, so_ Sidney _did before, + There was not Poetry he could live to more, + He could not grow up higher, I scarce know + If th' art it selfe unto that pitch could grow, + Were't not in thee that hadst arriv'd the hight + Of all that wit could reach, or Nature might. + O when I read those excellent things of thine, + Such Strength, such sweetnesse coucht in every line, + Such life of Fancy, such high choise of braine, + Nought of the Vulgar wit or borrowed straine, + Such Passion, such expressions meet my eye, + Such Wit untainted with obscenity, + And these so unaffectedly exprest, + All in a language purely flowing drest, + And all so borne within thy selfe, thine owne, + So new, so fresh, so nothing trod upon. + I grieve not now that old_ Menanders _veine + Is ruin'd to survive in thee againe; + Such in his time was he of the same peece, + The smooth, even naturall Wit, and Love of Greece. + Those few sententious fragments shew more worth, + Then all the Poets_ Athens _ere brought forth; + And I am sorry we have lost those houres + On them, whose quicknesse comes far short of ours, + And dwell not more on thee, whose every Page + May be a patterne for their Scene and Stage. + I will not yeeld thy Workes so meane a Prayse; + More pure, more chaste, more sainted then are Playes, + Nor with that dull supinenesse to be read, + To passe a fire, or laugh an houre in bed. + How doe the Muses suffer every where, + Taken in such mouthes censure, in such eares, + That twixt a whiffe, a Line or two rehearse, + And with their Rheume together spaule a Verse? + This all a Poems leisure after Play, + Drinke or Tabacco, it may keep the Day. + Whilst even their very idlenesse they thinke + Is lost in these, that lose their time in drinkt._ + _Pity then dull we, we that better know, + Will a more serious houre on thee bestow, + Why should not_ Beaumont _in the Morning please, + As well as_ Plautus, Aristophanes? + _Who if my Pen may as my thoughts be free, + Were scurrill Wits and Buffons both to Thee; + Yet these our Learned of severest brow + Will deigne to looke on, and to note them too, + That will defie our owne, tis English stuffe, + And th' Author is not rotten long enough. + Alas what flegme are they, compared to thee, + In thy_ Philaster, _and_ Maids-Tragedy? + _Where's such an humour as thy_ Bessus? _pray + Let them put all their_ Thrasoes _in one Play, + He shall out-bid them; their conceit was poore, + All in a Circle of a Bawd or Whore; + A cozning dance, take the foole away, + And not a good jest extant in a Play. + Yet these are Wits, because they'r old, and now + Being Greeke and Latine, they are Learning too: + But those their owne Times were content t' allow + A thirsty fame, and thine is lowest now. + But thou shalt live, and when thy Name is growne + Six Ages older, shall be better knowne, + When th' art of_ Chaucers _standing in the Tombe, + Thou shalt not share, but take up all his roome._ + + Joh. Earle. + + +UPON Mr FLETCHERS + +Incomparable Playes. + + _The Poet lives; wonder not how or why_ + Fletcher _revives, but that he er'e could dye: + Safe_ Mirth, _full_ Language, _flow in ev'ry Page, + At once he doth both_ heighten _and_ aswage; + _All Innocence and Wit, pleasant and cleare, + Nor_ Church _nor_ Lawes _were ever Libel'd here; + But faire deductions drawn from his great Braine, + Enough to conquer all that's_ False _or_ Vaine; + _He scatters Wit, and Sence so freely flings + That very_ Citizens _speake handsome things, + Teaching their_ Wives _such unaffected grace, + Their_ Looks _are now as handsome as their_ Face. + _Nor is this violent, he steals upon + The yeilding Soule untill the_ Phrensie's _gone_; + _His very_ Launcings _do the Patient_ please, + _As when good_ Musicke _cures a_ Mad Disease. + _Small Poets rifle Him, yet thinke it faire, + Because they rob a man that well can spare; + They feed upon him, owe him every bit, + Th'are all but_ Sub-excisemen _of his Wit._ + + J. M. + + +On the Workes of _Beaumont_ and _Fletcher_, now at length printed. + + _Great paire of Authors, whom one equall Starre + Begot so like in_ Genius, _that you are + In Fame, as well as Writings, both so knit, + That no man knowes where to divide your wit, + Much lesse your praise; you, who had equall fire, + And did each other mutually inspire; + Whether one did contrive, the other write, + Or one framed the plot, the other did indite; + Whether one found the matter, th'other dresse, + Or the one disposed what th'other did expresse; + Where e're your parts betweene your selves lay, we, + In all things which you did but one thred see, + So evenly drawne out, so gently spunne, + That Art with Nature nere did smoother run. + Where shall I fixe my praise then? or what part + Of all your numerous Labours hath desert + More to be fam'd then other? shall I say, + I've met a lover so drawne in your Play, + So passionately written, so inflamed, + So jealously inraged, then gently tam'd, + That I in reading have the Person seene. + And your Pen hath part Stage and Actor been? + Or shall I say, that I can scarce forbeare + To clap, when I a Captain do meet there, + So lively in his owne vaine humour drest, + So braggingly, and like himself exprest, + That moderne Cowards, when they saw him plaid, + Saw, blusht, departed guilty, and betraid? + You wrote all parts right; whatsoe're the Stage + Had from you, was seene there as in the age, + And had their equall life: Vices which were + Manners abroad, did grow corrected there: + _They who possest a Box, and halfe Crowns spent + To learne Obscenenes, returned innocent, + And thankt you for this coznage, whose chaste Scene + Taught Loves so noble, so reformed, so cleane, + That they who brought foule fires, and thither came + To bargaine, went thence with a holy flame. + Be't to your praise too, that your Stock and Veyne + Held both to Tragick and to Comick straine; + Where e're you listed to be high and grave, + No Buskin shew'd more solem[n]e, no quill gave + Such feeling objects to draw teares from eyes, + Spectators sate part in your Tragedies. + And where you listed to be low, and free, + Mirth turn'd the whole house into Comedy; + So piercing (where you pleas'd) hitting a fault, + That humours from your pen issued all salt. + Nor were you thus in Works and Poems knit, + As to be but two halfes, and make one wit; + But as some things we see, have double cause, + And yet the effect it selfe from both whole drawes; + So though you were thus twisted and combind + As two bodies, to have but one faire minde + Yet if we praise you rightly, we must say + Both joyn'd, and both did wholly make the Play, + For that you could write singly, we may guesse + By the divided peeces which the Presse + Hath severally sent forth; nor were gone so + (Like some our Moderne Authors) made to go + On meerely by the helpe of the other, who + To purchase fame do come forth one of two; + Nor wrote you so, that ones part was to lick + The other into shape, nor did one stick + The others cold inventions with such wit, + As served like spice, to make them quick and fit; + Nor out of mutuall want, or emptinesse, + Did you conspire to go still twins to th' Presse: + But what thus joy tied you wrote, might have come forth + As good from each, and stored with the same worth + That thus united them, you did joyne sense, + In you 'twas League, in others impotence; + And the Presse which both thus amongst us sends, + Sends us one Poet in a faire of friends._ + + Jasper Maine. + + +Upon the report of the printing of the Dramaticall Poems of Master _John +Fletcher_, collected before, and now set forth in one Volume. + + _Though when all_ Fletcher _writ, and the entire + Man was indulged unto that sacred fire, + His thoughts, and his thoughts dresse, appeared both such, + That 'twas his happy fault to do too much; + Who therefore wisely did submit each birth + To knowing_ Beaumont _e're it did come forth, + Working againe untill he said 'twas fit, + And made him the sobriety of his wit; + Though thus he call'd his Judge into his fame, + And for that aid allow'd him halfe the name, + 'Tis knowne, that sometimes he did stand alone, + That both the Spunge and Pencill were his owne; + That himselfe judged himselfe, could singly do, + And was at last_ Beaumont _and_ Fletcher _too; + Else we had lost his_ Shepherdesse, _a piece + Even and smooth, spun from a finer fleece, + Where softnesse raignes, where passions passions greet, + Gentle and high, as floods of Balsam meet. + Where dressed in white expressions, sit bright Loves, + Drawne, like their fairest Queen, by milkie Doves; + A piece, which_ Johnson _in a rapture bid + Come up a glorifi'd Worke, and so it did. + Else had his Muse set with his friend; the Stage + Had missed those Poems, which yet take the Age; + The world had lost those rich exemplars, where + Art, Language, Wit, sit ruling in one Spheare, + Where the fresh matters soare above old Theames, + As Prophets Raptures do above our Dreames; + Where in a worthy scorne he dares refuse + All other Gods, and makes the thing his Muse; + Where he calls passions up, and layes them so, + As spirits, aw'd by him to come and go; + Where the free Author did what e're he would, + And nothing will'd, but what a Poet should. + No vast uncivill bulke swells any Scene, + The strength's ingenious, a[n]d the vigour cleane; + None can prevent the Fancy, and see through + At the first opening; all stand wondring how + The thing will be untill it is; which thence + With fresh delight still cheats, still takes the sence; + The whole designe, the shadowes, the lights such + That none can say he shelves or hides too much:_ + _Businesse growes up, ripened by just encrease, + And by as just degrees againe doth cease, + The heats and minutes of affaires are watcht, + And the nice points of time are met, and snatcht: + Nought later then it should, nought comes before, + Chymists, and Calculators doe erre more: + Sex, age, degree, affections, country, place, + The inward substance, and the outward face; + All kept precisely, all exactly fit, + What he would write, he was before he writ. + 'Twixt_ Johnsons _grave, and_ Shakespeares _lighter sound + His muse so steer'd that something still was found, + Nor this, nor that, nor both, but so his owne, + That 'twas his marke, and he was by it knowne. + Hence did he take true judgements, hence did strike, + All pallates some way, though not all alike: + The god of numbers might his numbers crowne, + And listning to them wish they were his owne. + Thus welcome forth, what ease, or wine, or wit + Durst yet produce, that is, what_ Fletcher _writ._ + +Another. + + Fletcher, _though some call it thy fault, that wit + So overflow'd thy scenes, that ere 'twas fit + To come upon the Stage,_ Beaumont _was faine + To bid thee be more dull, that's write againe, + And bate some of thy fire, which from thee came + In a cleare, bright, full, but too large a flame; + And after all (finding thy Genius such) + That blunted, and allayed, 'twas yet too much; + Added his sober spunge, and did contract + Thy plenty to lesse wit to make't exact: + Yet we through his corrections could see + Much treasure in thy superfluity, + Which was so fil'd away, as when we doe + Cut Jewels, that that's lost is jewell too: + Or as men use to wash Gold, which we know + By losing makes the streame thence wealthy grow. + They who doe on thy worker severely sit, + And call thy store the over-births of wit, + Say thy miscarriages were rare, and when + Thou wert superfluous, that thy fruitfull Pen + Had no fault but abundance, which did lay + Out in one Scene what might well serve a Play; + And hence doe grant, that what they call excesse + Was to be reckon'd as thy happinesse, + From whom wit issued in a full spring-tide; + Much did inrich the Stage, much flow'd beside._ + _For that thou couldst thine owne free fancy binde + In stricter numbers, and run so confin'd + As to observe the rules of Art, which sway + In the contrivance of a true borne Play: + These workes proclaime which thou didst write retired + From_ Beaumont, _by none but thy selfe inspired; + Where we see 'twas not chance that made them hit, + Nor were thy Playes the Lotteries of wit, + But like to_ Durers _Pencill, which first knew + The lawes of faces, and then faces drew: + Thou knowst the aire, the colour, and the place, + The simetry, which gives a Poem grace: + Parts are so fitted unto parts, as doe + Shew thou hadst wit, and Mathematicks too: + Knewst where by line to spare, where to dispence, + And didst beget just Comedies from thence: + Things unto which thou didst such life bequeath, + That they (their owne Black-Friers) unacted breath._ + Johnson _hath writ things lasting, and divine, + Yet his Love-Scenes,_ Fletcher, _compar'd to thine, + Are cold and frosty, and exprest love so, + As heat with Ice, or warme fires mixt with Snow; + Thou, as if struck with the same generous darts, + Which burne, and raigne in noble Lovers hearts, + Hast cloath'd affections in such native tires, + And so describ'd them in their owne true fires; + Such moving sighes, suc[h] undissembled teares, + Such charmes of language, such hopes mixt with feares, + Such grants after denialls, such pursuits + After despaire, such amorous recruits, + That some who sate spectators have confest + Themselves transformed to what they saw exprest, + And felt such shafts steale through their captiv'd sence, + As made them rise Parts, and goe Lovers thence. + Nor was thy stile wholly compos'd of Groves, + Or the soft straines of Shepheards and their Loves; + When thou wouldst Comick be, each smiling birth + In that kinde, came into the world all mirth, + All point, all edge, all sharpnesse; we did sit + Sometimes five Acts out in pure sprightfull wit, + Which flowed in such true salt, that we did doubt + In which Scene we laught most two shillings out._ + Shakespeare _to thee was dull, whose best jest lyes + I'th Ladies questions, and the Fooles replyes; + Old fashioned wit, which walkt from town to town + In turn'd Hose, which our fathers call'd the Clown; + Whose wit our nice times would obsceannesse call, + And which made Bawdry passe for Comicall:_ + _Nature was all his Art, thy veine was free + As his, but without his scurility; + From whom mirth came unforced, no jest perplext, + But without labour cleane, chast, and unvext. + Thou wert not like some, our small Poets who + Could not be Poets, were not we Poets too; + Whose wit is pilfring, and whose veine and wealth + In Poetry lyes meerely in their stealth; + Nor didst thou feele their drought, their pangs, their qualmes, + Their rack in writing, who doe write for almes, + Whose wretched Genius, and dependent fires, + But to their Benefactors dole aspires. + Nor hadst thou the sly trick, thy selfe to praise + Under thy friends names, or to purchase Bayes + Didst write stale commendations to thy Booke, + Which we for_ Beaumonts _or_ Ben. Johnsons _tooke: + That debt thou left'st to us, which none but he + Can truly pay,_ Fletcher, _who writes like thee._ + + William Cartwright. + + +On Mr FRANCIS BEAUMONT +(then newly dead.) + + _He that hath such acutenesse, and such witt, + As would aske ten good heads to husband it; + He that can write so well that no man dare + Refuse it for the best, let him beware:_ + BEAUMONT _is dead, by whose sole death appeares, + Witt's a Disease consumes men in few yeares._ + + RICH. CORBET. D.D. + + +To Mr FRANCIS BEAUMONT (then living.) + + _How I doe love thee_ BEAUMONT, _and thy_ Muse, + _That unto me do'st such religion use! + How I doe feare my selfe, that am not worth + The least indulgent thought thy pen drops forth! + At once thou mak'st me happie, and unmak'st; + And giving largely to me, more thou tak'st. + What fate is mine, that so it selfe bereaves? + What art is thine, that so thy friend deceives? + When even there where most than praisest me, + For writing better, I must envy thee._ + + BEN: JOHNSON. + + +Upon Master FLETCHERS Incomparable Playes. + + _Apollo sings, his harpe resounds; give roome, + For now behold the golden Pompe is come, + Thy Pompe of Playes which thousands come to see, + With admiration both of them and thee, + O Volume worthy leafe, by leafe and cover + To be with juice of Cedar washt all over; + Here's words with lines, and lines with Scenes consent, + To raise an Act to full astonishment; + Here melting numbers, words of power to move + Young men to swoone, and Maides to dye for love. + Love lyes a bleeding here,_ Evadne _there + Swells with brave rage, yet comely every where, + Here's a_ mad lover, _there that high designe + Of_ King and no King (_and the rare Plot thine_) + _So that when 'ere wee circumvolve our Eyes, + Such rich, such fresh, such sweet varietyes, + Ravish our spirits, that entranc't we see + None writes lov's passion in the world, like Thee._ + + ROB. HERRICK. + + +On the happy Collection of Master _FLETCHER'S_ Works, never before +PRINTED. + + FLETCHER _arise, Usurpers share thy Bayes, + They_ Canton _thy vast Wit to build small_ Playes: + _He comes! his_ Volume _breaks through clowds and dust, + Downe, little Witts, Ye must refund, Ye must._ + _Nor comes he private, here's great_ BEAUMONT _too, + How could one single World encompasse Two? + For these Co-heirs had equall power to teach + All that all Witts both can and cannot reach._ + Shakespear _was early up, and went so drest + As for those_ dawning _houres he knew was best; + But when the Sun shone forth,_ You Two _thought fit + To weare just Robes, and leave off Trunk-hose-Wit. + Now, now 'twas Perfect; None must looke for New, + Manners and Scenes may alter, but not_ You; + _For Yours are not meere_ Humours, _gilded straines; + The Fashion lost, Your massy_ Sense _remaines. + Some thinke Your Witts of two Complexions fram'd, + That One the_ Sock, _th'Other the_ Buskin _claim'd; + That should the Stage_ embattaile _all it's Force,_ + FLETCHER _would lead the Foot,_ BEAUMONT _the Horse. + But, you were Both for Both; not Semi-witts, + Each Piece is wholly Two, yet never splits: + Y'are not Two_ Faculties (_and one_ Soule _still) + But th'_ Understanding, _Thou the quick free_ Will; + _But, as two_ Voyces _in one Song embrace,_ + (FLETCHER'S _keen_ Trebble, _and deep_ BEAUMONTS Base) + _Two, full, Congeniall Soules; still Both prevail'd; + His Muse and Thine were_ Quarter'd _not_ Impal'd: + _Both brought Your Ingots, Both toil'd at the Mint, + Beat, melted, sifted, till no drosse stuck in't, + Then in each Others scales weighed every graine, + Then smooth'd and burnish'd, then weigh'd all againe, + Stampt Both your Names upon't by one bold Hit, + Then, then'twas Coyne, as well as Bullion-Wit. + + Thus Twinns: But as when Fate one Eye deprives, + That other strives to double which survives: + So_ BEAUMONT _dy'd: yet left in Legacy + His Rules and Standard-wit_ (FLETCHER) _to Thee. + Still the same Planet, though not fill'd so soon, + A Two-horn'd_ Crescent _then, now one_ Full-moon. + _Joynt_ Love _before, now_ Honour _doth provoke; + So th' old Twin_-Giants _forcing a huge Oake + One slipp'd his footing, th' Other sees him fall, + Grasp'd the whole Tree and single held up all. + Imperiall_ FLETCHER! _here begins thy Raigne, + Scenes flow like Sun-beams from thy glorious Brain; + Thy swift dispatching Soule no more doth stay + Then He that built two Citties in one day; + Ever brim full, and sometimes running o're + To feede poore languid Witts that waite at doore, + Who creep and creep, yet ne're above-ground stood, + (For Creatures have most Feet which have least Blood) + But thou art still that_ Bird of Paradise + _Which hath_ no feet _and ever nobly_ flies: + _Rich, lusty Sence, such as the_ Poet _ought, + For_ Poems _if not Excellent, are Naught; + Low wit in Scenes? in state a Peasant goes; + If meane and flat, let it foot Yeoman Prose, + That such may spell as are not Readers grown, + To whom He that writes Wit, shews he hath none._ + _Brave_ Shakespeare _flow'd, yet had his Ebbings too, + Often above Himselfe, sometimes below; + Thou Alwayes Best; if ought seem'd to decline, + 'Twas the unjudging Rout's mistake, not Thine: + Thus thy faire_ SHEPHEARDESSE, _which the bold Heape + (False to Themselves and Thee) did prize so cheap,_ + _Was found (when understood) fit to be Crown'd, + At wont 'twas worth_ two hundred thousand pound. + _Some blast thy_ Works _lest we should track their Walke + Where they steale all those few good things they talke; + Wit-Burglary must chide those it feeds on, + For Plundered folkes ought to be rail'd upon; + But (as stoln goods goe off at halfe their worth) + Thy strong Sence_ pall's _when they purloine it forth. + When did'st_ Thou _borrow? wkere's the man e're read + Ought begged by_ Thee _from those Alive or Dead? + Or from dry_ Goddesses, _as some who when + They stuffe their page with Godds, write worse then Men. + Thou was't thine_ owne _Muse, and hadst such vast odds + Thou out-writ'st him whose verse_ made _all those_ Godds: + _Surpassing those our Dwarfish Age up reares, + As much as_ Greeks _or_ Latines _thee in yeares: + Thy Ocean Fancy knew nor Bankes nor Damms, + We ebbe downe dry to pebble_-Anagrams; + _Dead and insipid, all despairing sit + Lost to behold this great_ Relapse _of_ Wit: + _What strength remaines, is like that (wilde and fierce) + Till_ Johnson _made good Poets and right Verse. + Such boyst'rous Trifles Thy Muse would not brooke, + Save when she'd show how scurvily they looke; + No savage Metaphors (things rudely Great) + Thou dost_ display, _not_ butcher _a Conceit; + Thy Nerves have_ Beauty, _which Invades and Charms; + Lookes like a Princesse harness'd in bright Armes. + Nor art Thou Loud and Cloudy; those that do + Thunder so much, do't without Lightning too; + Tearing themselves, and almost split their braine + To render harsh what thou speak'st free and cleane; + Such gloomy Sense may pass for_ High _and_ Proud, + _But true-born Wit still flies_ above _the_ Cloud; + _Thou knewst 'twas_ Impotence _what they call_ Height; + _Who blusters strong i'th Darke, but_ creeps _i'th Light. + And as thy thoughts were_ cleare, _so_, Innocent; + _Thy Phancy gave no unswept Language vent; + Slaunderst not_ Lawes, _prophan'st no_ holy Page, + (_As if thy Fathers_ Crosier _aw'd the Stage_;) + _High Crimes were still arraign'd, though they made shift + To prosper out_ foure Acts, _were plagu'd i'th_ Fift: + _All's safe, and wise; no stiffe-affected Scene, + Nor_ swoln, _nor_ flat, _a True Full Naturall veyne; + Thy Sence (like well-drest Ladies) cloath'd as skinn'd, + Not all unlac'd, nor City-startcht and pinn'd. + Thou hadst no Sloath, no Rage, no sullen Fit, + But_ Strength _and_ Mirth, FLETCHER'S _a_ Sanguin _Wit_. + _Thus, two great_ Consul-_Poets all things swayd, + Till all was_ English _Borne or_ English _Made:_ + Miter _and_ Coyfe _here into One Piece spun_, + BEAUMONT _a_ Judge's, _This a_ Prelat's _sonne. + What Strange Production is at last displaid, + (Got by Two Fathers, without Female aide) + Behold, two_ Masculines _espous'd each other_, + Wit _and the World were born without a_ Mother. + + J. BERKENHEAD. + + +To the memorie of Master _FLETCHER._ + + _There's nothing gained by being witty: Fame + Gathers but winde to blather up a name_. + Orpheus _must leave his lyre, or if it be + In heav'n, 'tis there a signe, no harmony, + And stones, that follow'd him, may now become + Now stones againe, and serve him for his Tomb. + The Theban_ Linus, _that was ably skil'd + In Muse and Musicke, was by_ Phoebus _kill'd, + Though_ Phoebus _did beget him: sure his Art + Had merited his balsame, not his dart. + But here_ Apollo's _jealousie is seene, + The god of Physicks troubled with the spleene; + Like timerous Kings he puts a period + To high grown parts lest he should be no God. + Hence those great Master-wits of Greece that gave + Life to the world, could not avoid a grave. + Hence the inspired Prophets of old_ Rome + _Too great for earth fled to_ Elizium. + _But the same Ostracisme benighted one, + To whom all these were but illusion; + It tooke our_ FLETCHER _hence_, Fletcher, _whose wit + Was not an accident to th' soule, but It; + Onely diffused. (Thus wee the same Sun call, + Moving it'h Sphære, and shining on a wall.) + Wit, so high placed at first, it could not climbe, + Wit, that ne're grew, but only show'd by time. + No fier-worke of sacke, no seldome show'n + Poeticke rage, but still in motion: + And with far more then Sphericke excellence + It mov'd, for 'twas its owns Intelligence. + And yet so obvious to sense, so plaine, + You'd scarcely thinke't allyd unto the braine:_ + _So sweete, it gained more ground upon the Stage + Then_ Johnson _with his selfe-admiring rage + Ere lost: and then so naturally it fell, + That fooles would think, that they could doe as well. + This is our losse: yet spight of_ Phoebus, _we + Will keepe our_ FLETCHER, _for his wit is He_. + + EDW. POWELL. + + +Upon the ever to be admired Mr. JOHN FLETCHER and His PLAYES. + + _What's all this preparation for? or why + Such suddain Triumphs?_ FLETCHER _the people cry! + Just so, when Kings approach, our Conduits run + Claret, as here the spouts flow_ Helicon; + _See, every sprightfull_ Muse _dressed trim and gay + Strews hearts and scatters roses in his way. + Thus th'outward yard set round with_ bayes _w'have seene, + Which from the garden hath transplanted been: + Thus, at the Prætor's feast, with needlesse costs + Some must b'employd in painting of the posts: + And some as dishes made for sight, not taste, + Stand here as things for shew to_ FLETCHERS _feast. + Oh what an honour! what a Grace 'thad beene + T'have had his Cooke in_ Rollo _serv'd them in!_ + FLETCHER _the King of Poets! such was he, + That earned all tribute, claimed all soveraignty; + And may he that denye's it, learn to blush + At's_ loyall Subject, _starve at's_ Beggars bush: + _And if not drawn by example, shame, nor Grace, + Turne o've to's_ Coxcomb, _and the Wild-goose Chase. + Monarch of Wit! great Magazine of wealth! + From whose rich_ Banke, _by a Promethean-stealth, + Our lesser flames doe blaze! His the true fire, + When they like Glo-worms, being touch'd, expire, + 'Twas first beleev'd, because he alwayes was, + The_ Ipse dixit, _and_ Pythagoras + _To our Disciple-wits; His soule might run + (By the same-dream't-of Transmigration) + Into their rude and indigested braine, + And so informe their Chaos-lump againe; + For many specious brats of this last age + Spoke_ FLETCHER _perfectly in every Page. + This rowz'd his Rage to be abused thus: + Made'_s Lover mad, Lieutenant humerous. + _Thus_ Ends of Gold and Silver-men _are made + (As th'use to say) Goldsmiths of his owne trade; + Thus_ Rag-men _from the dung-hill often hop, + And publish forth by chance a Brokers shop: + But by his owne light, now, we have descri'd + The drosse, from that hath beene so purely tri'd_. + Proteus _of witt! who reads him doth not see + The manners of each sex of each degree! + His full stor'd fancy doth all humours fill + From th'_Queen _of_ Corinth _to_ the maid o'th mill; + _His_ Curate, Lawyer, Captain, Prophetesse + _Shew he was all and every one of these; + Hee taught (so subtly were their fancies seized)_ + To Rule a Wife, and yet the Women pleas'd. + Parnassus _is thine owne, Claime't as merit, + Law makes the Elder Brother to inherit. + + G. Hills._ + + + IN HONOUR OF Mr _John Fletcher_. + + _So_ FLETCHER _now presents to fame + His alone selfe and unpropt name, + As Rivers Rivers entertaine, + But still fall single into th'maine, + So doth the Moone in Consort shine + Yet flowes alone into its mine, + And though her light be joyntly throwne, + When she makes silver tis her owne: + Perhaps his quill flew stronger, when + Twas weaved with his_ Beaumont's _pen; + And might with deeper wonder hit, + It could not shew more his, more wit; + So Hercules came by sexe and Love, + When Pallas sprang from single Jove; + He tooke his_ BEAUMONT _for Embrace, + Not to grow by him, and increase, + Nor for support did with him twine, + He was his friends friend, not his vine. + His witt with witt he did not twist + To be Assisted, but t' Assist. + And who could succour him, whose quill + Did both Run sense and sense Distill? + Had Time and Art in't, and the while + Slid even as theirs wh'are only style, + Whether his chance did cast it so + Or that it did like Rivers flow + Because it must, or whether twere + A smoothnesse from his file and care, + Not the most strict enquiring nayle + Cou'd e're finde where his piece did faile + Of entyre onenesse; so the frame, + Was Composition, yet the same. + How does he breede his Brother! and + Make wealth and estate understand? + Sutes Land to wit, makes Lucke match merit, + And makes an Eldest fitly inherit: + How was he _Ben_, when _Ben_ did write + Toth' stage, not to his judge endite? + How did he doe what _Johnson_ did. + And Earne what _Johnson_ wou'd have s'ed? + + Jos. Howe of Trin. Coll. Oxon. + + + Master _John Fletcher_ his dramaticall + Workes now at last printed. + + I Could prayse _Heywood_ now: or tell how long, + _Falstaffe_ from cracking Nuts hath kept the throng: + But for a _Fletcher_, I must take an Age, + And scarce invent the Title for one Page. + Gods must create new Spheres, that should expresse + The sev'rall Accents, _Fletcher_, of thy Dresse: + The Penne of Fates should only write thy Praise: + And all _Elizium_ for thee turne to Bayes. + Thou feltst no pangs of Poetry, such as they. + Who the Heav'ns quarter still before a Play, + And search the _Ephemerides_ to finde, + When the Aspect for Poets will be kinde. + Thy Poems (sacred Spring) did from thee flow, + With as much pleasure, as we reads them now. + Nor neede we only take them up by fits, + When love or Physicke hath diseased our Wits; + Or constr'e English to untye a knot. + Hid in a line, farre subtler then the Plot. + With Thee the Page may close his Ladies eyes, + And yet with thee the serious Student Rise: + The Eye at sev'rall angles darting rayes, + Makes, and then sees, new Colours; so thy Playes + To ev'ry understanding still appeare, + As if thou only meant'st to take that Eare; + The Phrase so terse and free of a just Poise, + Where ev'ry word ha's weight and yet no Noise, + The matter too so nobly fit, no lesse + Then such as onely could deserve thy Dresse: + Witnesse thy Comedies, Pieces of such worth, + All Ages shall still like, but ne're bring forth. + Other in season last scarce so long time, + As cost the Poet but to make the Rime: + Where, if a Lord a new way do's but spit, + Or change his shrugge this antiquates the Wit. + That thou didst live before, nothing would tell + Posterity, could they but write so well. + Thy Cath'lick Fancy will acceptance finde, + Not whilst an humours living, but Man-kinde. + Thou, like thy Writings, Innocent and Cleane, + Ne're practis'd a new Vice, to make one Scæne, + None of thy Inke had gall, and Ladies can, + Securely heare thee sport without a Fanne. + But when Thy Tragicke Muse would please to rise + In Majestie, and call Tribute from our Eyes; + Like Scenes, we shifted Passions, and that so, + Who only came to see, turned Actors too. + How didst thou sway the Theatre! make us feele + The Players wounds were true, and their swords, steele! + Nay, stranger yet, how often did I knows + When the Spectators ran to save the blow? + Frozen with griefe we could not stir away + Untill the Epilogue told us 'twas a Play. + What shall I doe? all Commendations end, + In saying only thou wert BEAUMONTS Friend? + Give me thy spirit quickely, for I swell, + And like a raveing Prophetesse cannot tell + How to receive thy Genius in my breast: + Oh! I must sleepe, and then I'le sing the rest. + + T. Palmer of Ch. Ch. Oxon. + + +Upon the unparalelld Playes written by those Renowned Twinnes of Poetry +BEAUMONT & FLETCHER. + + What's here? another Library of prayse, + Met in a Troupe t'advance contemned Playes + And bring exploded Witt againe in fashion? + I can't but wonder at this Reformation, + _My skipping soule surfets with so much good, + To see my hopes into_ fruition _budd. + A happy_ Chimistry! _blest viper_, joy! + _That through thy mothers bowels gnawst thy way! + Witts flock in sholes, and clubb to re-erect + In spight of_ Ignorance _the Architect + Of Occidentall_ Poesye; _and turne + Godds, to recall_ witts _ashes from their urne. + Like huge_ Collosses _they've together mett + Their shoulders, to support a world of Witt. + The tale of_ Atlas (_though of truth it misse_) + _We plainely read_ Mythologiz'd _in this_; + Orpheus _and_ Amphion _whose undying stories + Made_ Athens _famous, are but_ Allegories. + _Tis Poetry has pow'r to civilize + Men, worse then stones, more blockish then the Trees, + I cannot chuse but thinke (now things so fall) + That witt is past its_ Climactericall; + _And though the_ Muses _have beene dead and gone + I know they'll finde a_ Resurrection. + _Tis vaine to prayse; they're to themselves a glory, + And silence is our sweetest_ Oratory. + _For he that names but_ FLETCHER _must needs be + Found guilty of a loud_ hyperbole. + _His fancy so transcendently aspires, + He showes himselfe a witt, who but admires. + Here are no volumes stuft with cheverle sence, + The very_ Anagrams _of Eloquence, + Nor long-long-winded sentences that be, + Being rightly spelld, but Witts_ Stenographie. + _Nor words, as voyd of Reason, as of Rithme, + Only cesura'd to spin out the time. + But heer's a_ Magazine _of purest sence + Cloathed in the newest Garbe of Eloquence. + Scenes that are quick and sprightly, in whose veines + Bubbles the quintessence of sweet-high straines. + Lines like their_ Authours, _and each word of it + Does say twas writ b' a_ Gemini _of Witt. + How happie is our age! how blest our men! + When such rare soules live themselves o're agen. + We erre, that thinke a Poet dyes; for this, + Shewes that tis but a_ Metempsychosis. + BEAUMONT _and_ FLETCHER _here at last we see + Above the reach of dull mortalitie, + Or pow'r of fate: thus the proverbe hitts + (Thats so much crost) These men live by their witts_. + + ALEX. BROME. + + +On the Death and workes of Mr JOHN FLETCHER. + + _My name, so far from great, that tis not knowne, + Can lend no praise but what thou'dst blush to own; + And no rude hand, or feeble wit should dare + To vex thy Shrine with an unlearned teare. + I'de have a State of Wit convoked, which hath + A power to take up on common Faith; + That when the stocke of the whole Kingdome's spent + In but preparative to thy Monument, + The prudent Councell may invent fresh wayes + To get new contribution to thy prayse, + And reare it high, and equall to thy Wit + Which must give life and Monument to it. + So when late_ ESSEX _dy'd, the Publicke face + Wore sorrow in't, and to add mournefull Grace + To the sad pomp of his lamented fall, + The Common wealth served at his Funerall + And by a Solemne Order built his Hearse. + But not like thine, built by thy selfe, in Verse, + Where thy advanced Image safely stands + Above the reach of Sacrilegious hands. + Base hands how impotently you disclose + Your rage 'gainst_ Camdens _learned ashes, whose + Defaced Statua and Martyrd booke, + Like an Antiquitie and Fragment looke._ + Nonnulla desunt's _legibly appeare, + So truly now_ Camdens Remaines _lye there. + Vaine Malice! how he mocks thy rage, while breath + Of fame shall speake his great_ Elizabeth! + _'Gainst time and thee he well provided hath,_ + Brittannia _is the Tombe and Epitaph. + Thus Princes honours: but Witt only gives + A name which to succeeding ages lives. + Singly we now consult our selves and fame, + Ambitious to twist ours with thy great name. + Hence we thus bold to praise. For as a Vine + With subtle wreath, and close embrace doth twine + A friendly Elme, by whose tall trunke it shoots + And gathers growth and moysture from its roots; + About its armes the thankfull clusters cling + Like Bracelets, and with purple ammelling + The blew-cheek'd grape stuck in its vernant haire + Hangs like rich Jewells in a beauteous eare. + So grow our Prayses by thy Witt; we doe + Borrow support and strength and lend but show._ + _And but thy Male wit like the youthfull Sun + Strongly begets upon our passion. + Making our sorrow teeme with Elegie, + Thou yet unwep'd, and yet unprais'd might'st be. + But th' are imperfect births; and such are all + Produc'd by causes not univocall, + The scapes of Nature, Passives being unfit, + And hence our verse speakes only Mother wit. + Oh for a fit o'th Father! for a Spirit + That might but parcell of thy worth inherit; + For but a sparke of that diviner fire + Which thy full breast did animate and inspire; + That Soules could be divided, thou traduce + But a small particle of thine to us! + Of thine; which we admir'd when thou didst sit + But as a joynt-Commissioner in Wit; + When it had plummets hung on to suppresse + It's too luxuriant growing mightinesse: + Till as that tree which scornes to bee kept downe, + Thou grewst to govern the whole Stage alone. + In which orbe thy throng'd light did make the star, + Thou wert th' Intelligence did move that Sphere. + Thy Fury was composed; Rapture no fit + That hung on thee; nor thou far gone in witt + As men in a disease; thy Phansie cleare, + Muse chast, as those frames whence they tooke their fire; + No spurious composures amongst thine + Got in adultery 'twixt Witt and Wine. + And as th' Hermeticall Physitians draw + From things that curse of the first-broken Law, + That_ Ens Venenum, _which extracted thence + Leaves nought but primitive Good and Innocence: + So was thy Spirit calcined; no Mixtures there + But perfect, such as next to Simples are. + Not like those Meteor-wits which wildly flye + In storme and thunder through th' amazed skie; + Speaking but th'Ills and Villanies in a State, + Which fooles admire, and wise men tremble at, + Full of portent and prodigie, whose Gall + Oft scapes the Vice, and on the man doth fall. + Nature us'd all her skill, when thee she meant + A Wit at once both Great and Innocent. + Yet thou hadst Tooth; but 'twas thy judgement, not + For mending one word, a whole sheet to blot. + Thou couldst anatomize with ready art + And skilfull hand crimes lockt close up i'th heart. + Thou couldst unfold darke Plots, and shew that path + By which Ambition climbed to Greatnesse hath._ + _Thou couldst the rises, turnes, and falls of States, + How neare they were their Periods and Dates; + Couldst mad the Subject into popular rage, + And the grown seas of that great storme asswage, + Dethrone usurping Tyrants, and place there + The lawfull Prince and true Inheriter; + Knewst all darke turnings in the Labyrinth + Of policie, which who but knowes he sinn'th, + Save thee, who un-infected didst walke in't + As the great Genius of Government. + And when thou laidst thy tragicke buskin by + To Court the Stage with gentle Comedie, + How new, how proper th' humours, how express'd + In rich variety, how neatly dress'd + In language, how rare Plots, what strength of Wit + Shin'd in the face and every limb of it! + The Stage grew narrow while thou grewst to be + In thy whole life an_ Exc'llent Comedie. + _To these a Virgin-modesty which first met + Applause with blush and feare, as if he yet + Had not deserv'd; till bold with constant praise + His browes admitted the unsought for Bayes. + Nor would he ravish fame; but left men free + To their owne Vote and Ingenuity. + When His faire_ Shepherdesse _on the guilty Stage, + Was martir'd betweene Ignorance and Rage; + At which the impatient Vertues of those few + Could judge, grew high, cri'd Murther; though he knew + The innocence and beauty of his Childe, + Hee only, as if unconcerned, smil'd. + Princes have gather'd since each scattered grace, + Each line and beauty of that injur'd face; + And on th'united parts breath'd such a fire + As spight of Malice she shall ne're expire. + Attending, not affecting, thus the crowne + Till every hand did help to set it on, + Hee came to be sole Monarch, and did raign + In Wits great Empire, absolute Soveraign. + + JOHN HARRIS. + + +On MR. JOHN FLETC[H]ER's ever to be admired Dramaticall Works. + + _I've thought upon't; and thus I may gaine bayes, + I will commend thee_ Fletcher, _and thy Playes. + But none but Witts can do't, how then can I + Come in amongst them, that cou'd ne're come nigh? + There is no other way, I'le throng to sit + And passe it'h Croud amongst them for a Wit._ + Apollo _knows me not, nor I the Nine, + All my pretence to verse is Love and Wine. + By your leave Gentlemen. You Wits o'th' age, + You that both furnisht have, and judg'd the Stage. + You who the Poet and the Actors fright, + Least that your Censure thin the second night: + Pray tell me, gallant Wits, could Criticks think + There ere was solæcisme in_ FLETCHERS _Inke? + Or Lapse of Plot, or fancy in his pen? + A happinesse not still alow'd to_ Ben! + _After of Time and Wit h'ad been at cost + He of his owne New-Inne was but an Hoste. + Inspired_, FLETCHER! _here's no vaine-glorious words: + How ev'n thy lines, how smooth thy sense accords. + Thy Language so insinuates, each one + Of thy spectators has thy passion. + Men seeing, valiant; Ladies amorous prove: + Thus owe to thee their valour and their Love: + Scenes! chaste yet satisfying! Ladies can't say + Though_ Stephen _miscarri'd that so did the play: + Judgement could ne're to this opinion leane + That_ Lowen, Tailor, _ere could grace thy Scene: + 'Tis richly good unacted, and to me + Thy very Farse appears a Comedy. + Thy drollery is designe, each looser part + Stuff's not thy Playes, but makes 'em up an Art + The Stage has seldome seen; how often vice + Is smartly scourg'd to checke us? to intice, + How well encourag'd vertue is? how guarded, + And, that which makes us love her, how rewarded? + Some, I dare say, that did with loose thoughts sit, + Reclaim'd by thee, came converts from the pit. + And many a she that to he tane up came, + Tooke up themselves, and after left the game._ + + HENRY HARINGTON. + + +To the memory of the deceased but ever-living _Authour_ in these his +_Poems_, Mr. JOHN FLETCHER. + + _On the large train of_ Fletchers _friends let me + (Retaining still my wonted modesty,) + Become a Waiter in my ragged verse, + As Follower to the_ Muses _Followers. + Many here are of Noble ranke and worth, + That have, by strength of Art, set_ Fletcher _forth + In true and lively colours, as they saw him, + And had the best abilities to draw him;_ + _Many more are abroad, that write, and looke + To have their lines set before_ Fletchers _Booke; + Some, that have known him too; some more, some lesse; + Some onely but by Heare-say, some by Guesse, + And some, for fashion-sake, would take the hint + To try how well their Wits would shew in Print. + You, that are here before me Gentlemen, + And Princes of_ Parnassus _by the Penne + And your just Judgements of his worth, that have + Preserved this_ Authours _mem'ry from the Grave, + And made it glorious; let me, at your gate, + Porter it here, 'gainst those that come too late, + And are unfit to enter. Something I + Will deserve here: For where you versifie + In flowing numbers, lawfull Weight, and Time, + I'll write, though not rich Verses, honest Rime. + I am admitted. Now, have at the Rowt + Of those that would crowd in, but must keepe out. + Beare back, my Masters; Pray keepe backe; Forbeare: + You cannot, at this time, have entrance here. + You, that are worthy, may, by intercession, + Finde entertainment at the next Impression. + But let none then attempt it, that not know + The reverence due, which to this shrine they owe: + All such must be excluded; and the sort, + That onely upon trust, or by report + Have taken_ Fletcher _up, and thinke it trim + To have their Verses planted before Him: + Let them read first his Works, and learne to know him, + And offer, then, the Sacrifice they owe him. + But farre from hence be such, as would proclaim + Their knowledge of this_ Authour, _not his Fame; + And such, as would pretend, of all the rest, + To be the best_ Wits _that have known him best. + Depart hence all such Writers, and, before + Inferiour ones, thrust in, by many a score, + As formerly, before_ Tom Coryate, + _Whose Worke before his Praysers had the Fate + To perish: For the Witty Coppies tooke + Of his_ Encomiums _made themselves a_ Booke. + _Here's no such subject for you to out-doe, + Out-shine, out-live (though well you may doe too + In other Spheres:) For_ Fletchers _flourishing Bayes + Must never fade while_ Phoebus _weares his Rayes. + Therefore forbeare to presse upon him thus. + Why, what are you (cry some) that prate to us? + Doe not we know you for a flashy Meteor? + And stil'd (at best) the_ Muses _Serving-creature?_ + _Doe you comptroll? Y'have had your Jere: Sirs, no; + But, in an humble manner, let you know + Old Serving-creatures oftentimes are fit + T' informe young Masters, as in Land, in Wit, + What they inherit; and how well their Dads + Left one, and wish'd the other to their Lads. + And from departed Poets I can guesse + Who has a greater share of Wit, who lesse. + 'Way Foole, another says. I, let him raile, + And 'bout his own eares flourish his Wit-flayle, + Till with his Swingle he his Noddle breake; + While this of_ Fletcher _and his_ Works _I speake: + His_ Works (_says_ Momus) _nay, his_ Plays _you'd say: + Thou hast said right, for that to him was Play + Which was to others braines a toyle: with ease + He playd on Waves which were Their troubled Seas. + His nimble Births have longer liv'd then theirs + That have, with strongest Labour, divers yeeres + Been sending forth [t]he issues of their Braines + Upon the_ Stage; _and shall to th'_ Stationers _gaines + Life after life take, till some After-age + Shall put down_ Printing, _as this doth the_ Stage; + _Which nothing now presents unto the Eye, + But in_ Dumb-shews _her own sad_ Tragedy. + _'Would there had been no sadder Works abroad, + Since her decay, acted in Fields of Blood._ + _But to the Man againe, of whom we write, + The_ Writer _that made Writing his Delight, + Rather then Worke. He did not pumpe, nor drudge, + To beget_ Wit, _or manage it: nor trudge + To Wit-conventions with Note-booke, to gleane + Or steale some Jests to foist into a Scene: + He scorn'd those shifts. You that have known him, know + The common talke that from his Lips did flow, + And run at waste, did savour more of Wit, + Then any of his time, or since have writ, + (But few excepted) in the Stages way: + His_ Scenes _were_ Acts, _and every_ Act _a_ Play. + _I knew him in his strength; even then, when_ He + _That was the Master of his Art and Me + Most knowing_ Johnson (_proud to call him_ Sonne) + _In friendly Envy swore, He had out-done_ + His very Selfe. _I knew him till he dyed; + And, at his dissolution, what a Tide + Of sorrow overwhelm'd the_ Stage; _which gave + Volleys of sighes to send him to his grave. + And grew distracted in most violent Fits + (For_ She _had lost the best part of her_ Wits.) + _In the first yeere, our famous_ Fletcher _fell, + Of good King_ Charles _who graced these_ Poems _well, + Being then in life of Action: But they dyed + Since the Kings absence; or were layd aside, + As is their_ Poët. _Now at the Report + Of the_ Kings _second comming to his Court, + The_ Bookes _creepe from the_ Presse _to Life, not_ Action, + _Crying unto the World, that no protraction + May hinder_ Sacred Majesty _to give_ + Fletcher, _in them, leave on the_ Stage _to live. + Others may more in lofty Verses move; + I onely, thus, expresse my Truth and Love._ + + RIC. BROME. + + +Upon the Printing of Mr. JOHN FLETCHERS workes. + + _What meanes this numerous Guard? or do we come + To file our Names or Verse upon the Tombe + Of_ Fletcher, _and by boldly making knowne + His Wit, betray the Nothing of our Owne? + For if we grant him dead, it is as true + Against our selves, No Wit, no Poet now; + Or if he be returnd from his coole shade, + To us, this Booke his Resurrection's made, + We bleed our selves to death, and but contrive + By our owne Epitaphs to shew him alive. + But let him live and let me prophesie, + As I goe Swan-like out, Our Peace is nigh; + A Balme unto the wounded Age I sing. + And nothing now is wanting but the King._ + + JA. SHIRLEY. + + +_THE STATIONER._ + + As after th' _Epilogue_ there comes some one + To tell _Spectators_ what shall next be shown; + So here, am I; but though I've toyld and vext, + 'Cannot devise what to present 'ye next; + For, since ye saw no _Playes_ this Cloudy weather, + Here we have brought Ye our whole Stock together. + 'Tis new and all these _Gentlemen_ attest + Under their hands 'tis Right, and of the Best; + _Thirty foure_ Witnesses (without my taske) + Y'have just so many _Playes_ (besides a _Maske_) + All good (I'me told) as have been _Read_ or _Playd_, + If this Booke faile, tis time to quit the Trade. + + _H. MOSELEY_. + + +POST[S]CRIPT. + +We forgot to tell the _Reader_, that some _Prologues_ and _Epilogues_ +(here inserted) were not written by the _Authours_ of this _Volume_; +but made by others on the _Revivall_ of severall _Playes_. After the +_Comedies_ and _Tragedies_ were wrought off, we were forced (for +expedition) to send the _Gentlemens_ Verses to severall Printers, which +was the occasion of their different Character; but the _Worke_ it selfe +is one continued Letter, which (though very legible) is none of the +biggest, because (as much as possible) we would lessen the Bulke of the +Volume. + + +A CATALOGUE +of all the Comedies and Tragedies Contained in this Booke. + + _The Mad Lover_. + _The_ Spanish _Curate_. + _The little_ French _Lawyer_. + _The Custome of the Country_. + _The Noble Gentleman_. + _The Captaine_. + _The Beggers Bush_. + _The Coxcombe_. + _The False One_. + _The Chances_. + _The Loyall Subject_. + _The Lawes of_ Candy. + _The Lover's Progresse_. + _The Island Princesse_. + _The Humorous Lieutenant_. + _The Nice Valour_, or _the Passionate Mad Man_. + _The Maide in the Mill_. + _The Prophetesse_. + _The Tragedy of_ Bonduca. + _The Sea Voyage_. + _The Double Marriage_. + _The Pilgrim_. + _The Knight of_ Malta. + _The Womans Prize_, or _the Tamer Tamed_. + _Loves Cure_, or _the Martiall Maide_. + _The Honest Mans Fortune_. + _The Queene of_ Corinth. + _Women Plea'sd_. + _A Wife for a Moneth_. + _Wit at severall Weapons_. + _The Tragedy of_ Valentinian. + _The Faire Maid of the Inne_. + _Loves Pilgrimage_. + _The Maske of the Gentlemen of_ Grayes-Inne, + _and the_ Inner Temple, _at the + Marriage of the Prince and Princesse + Palatine of_ Rhene. + _Foure Playes (or Morall Representations) in one_. + + + +FIFTY + +COMEDIES + +AND + +TRAGEDIES. + + + +Written by + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT + +AND + +JOHN FLETCHER, + +Gentlemen. + + + + +All in one Volume. + +Published by the Authors Original Copies, the Songs to each Play being +added. + +_Si quid habent veri Vatum præsagia, vivam_. + +LONDON, + +Printed by J. Macock, for John Martyn, Henry Herringman, Richard Marriot, +MDCLXXIX. + + + +THE + +BOOK-SELLERS + +TO THE + +READER. + +Courteous Reader, _The First Edition of these Plays in this Volume having +found that Acceptance as to give us Encouragement to make a Second +Impression, we were very desirous they might come forth as Correct as +might be. And we were very opportunely informed of a Copy which an +ingenious and worthy Gentleman had taken the pains (or rather the +pleasure) to read over; wherein he had all along Corrected several faults +(some very gross) which had crept in by the frequent imprinting of them. +His Corrections were the more to be valued, because he had an intimacy +with both our Authors, and had been a Spectator of most of them when they +were Acted in their life-time. This therefore we resolved to purchase at +any Rate; and accordingly with no small cost obtain'd it. From the same +hand also we received several Prologues and Epilogues, with the Songs +appertaining to each Play, which were not in the former Edition, but are +now inserted in their proper places. Besides, in this Edition you have +the addition of no fewer than Seventeen Plays more than were in the +former, which we have taken the pains and care to Collect, and Print out +4to in this Volume, which for distinction sake are markt with a Star in +the Catalogue of them facing the first Page of the Book. And whereas +in several of the Plays there were wanting the Names of the Persons +represented therein, in this Edition you have them all prefixed, with +their Qualities; which will be a great ease to the Reader. Thus every way +perfect and compleat have you, all both Tragedies and Comedies that were +ever writ by our Authors, a Pair of the greatest Wits and most ingenious +Poets of their Age; from whose worth we should but detract by our most +studied Commendations. + +If our care and endeavours to do our Authors right (in an incorrupt and +genuine Edition of their Works) and thereby to gratifie and oblige the +Reader, be but requited with a suitable entertainment, we shall be +encouraged to bring_ Ben. Johnson's _two Volumes into one, and publish +them in this form; and also to reprint_ Old Shakespear: _both which are +designed by + +Yours_, + +Ready to serve you, + +JOHN MARTYN. HENRY HERRINGMAN. RICHARD MARIOT. + + +[The Second Folio contained, between 'The Book-sellers to the Reader' and +'A Catalogue,' eleven only of the Commendatory verses prefixed to the +First Folio. These were those signed by Edw. Waller (see p. xxiii), J. +Denham (p. xxii), Ben. Johnson (p. xl), Rich. Corbet (p. xl), Joh. Earle +(p. xxxii), William Cartwright's first lines (p. xxxvii, to 'Fletcher +_writ_' on p. xxxviii), Francis Palmer (p. xlvii, '_I Could prayse_ +Heywood,' etc.), Jasper Maine (p. xxxv), J. Berkenhead (p. xli), Roger +L'Estrange (p. xxviii), Tho. Stanley (p. xxvii).] + + A + CATALOGUE + Of all the + COMEDIES and TRAGEDIES + + Contained in this BOOK, in the same Order as Printed. + + 1 The Maids Tragedy.* + 2 _Philaster_; or, Love lies a bleeding.* + 3 A King or no King.* + 4 The Scornful Lady.* + 5 The Custom of the Country. + 6 The Elder Brother.* + 7 The Spanish Curate. + 8 Wit without Money.* + 9 The Beggars Bush. + 10 The Humorous Lieutenant. + 11 The Faithful Shepherdess.* + 12 The Mad Lover. + 13 The Loyal Subject. + 14 Rule a Wife, and have a Wife.* + 15 The Laws of _Candy_. + 16 The False One. + 17 The Little French Lawyer. + 18 The Tragedy of _Valentinian_. + 19 Monsieur _Thomas_.* + 20 The Chances. + 21 _Rollo_, Duke of _Normandy_.* + 22 The Wild-Goose Chase. + 23 A Wife for a Month. + 24 The Lovers Progress. + 25 The Pilgrim. + 26 The Captain. + 27 The Prophetess. + 28 The Queen of _Corinth_. + 29 The Tragedy of _Bonduca_. + 30 The Knight of the Burning Pestle.* + 31 Loves Pilgrimage. + 32 The Double Marriage. + 33 The Maid in the Mill. + 34 The Knight of _Maltha_. + 35 Loves Cure; or, the Martial Maid. + 36 Women pleased. + 37 The Night Walker; or, Little Thief.* + 38 The Womans Prize; or, the Tamer tamed. + 39 The Island Princess. + 40 The Noble Gentleman. + 41 The Coronation.* + 42 The Coxcomb. + 43 Sea-Voyage. + 44 Wit at several Weapons. + 45 The Fair Maid of the Inn. + 46 _Cupids_ Revenge.* + 47 Two Noble Kinsmen.* + 48 _Thierry_ and _Theodoret_.* + 49 The Woman-Hater.* + 50 The nice Valour; or, the Passionate Madman. + 51 The Honest Man's Fortune. + +_A Mask at_ Grays-Inn, _and the_ Inner Temple; _Four Plays, or Moral +Representations_. + + + +APPENDIX. + +_In the following references to the text the lines are numbered from the +top of the page, including titles, acts, stage directions, &c., but not, +of course, the headline. Where, as in the lists of Persons Represented, +there are double columns, the right-hand column is numbered after the +left._ + +It has not been thought necessary to record the correction of every +turned letter nor the substitution of marks of interrogation for marks +of exclamation and _vice versa_: the original compositor's stock of +each running low occasionally, he used the two signs somewhat +indiscriminately. Full-stops have been silently inserted at the ends of +speeches and each fresh speaker has been given the dignity of a fresh +line: in the double-columned folio the speeches are frequently run on. +Only misprints of interest in the Quartos are recorded. + +THE EPISTLE DEDICATORIE. p. x, l. 8. 1st Folio _prints a comma after_] +not. + +TO THE READER. p. xi, l. 6. 1st F _omits the bracket_. + +THE STATIONER TO THE READERS. p. xiv, l. 33. 1st F _prints_] confessed +it, + +COMMENDATORY VERSES. p. xvii, l. 33. 1st F _misprints_] theirs. l. 41. +1st F _misprints_] Ii. l. 42. 1st F _misprints_] hist. + +p. xx, l. 34. 1st F _misprints_] Fle. + +p. xxiii, l. 1. 2nd F] sprung. + +p. xxvi, l. 21. 1st F _misprints_] Fletcer. + +p. xxxvi, l. 10. 1st F _misprints_] solemue. + +p. xxxvii, l. 39. 1st F _misprints_] aud. l. 43. 2nd F] delights. + +p. xxxviii, l. 4. 2nd F] And these. l. 20. 2nd F _gives signature_] +William Cartwright. + +p. xxxix, l. 27. 1st F _misprints_] such. + +p. xliii, l. 13. 2nd F] wert. l. 35. 2nd F] knowst. + +p. xlviii, l. 33. 2nd F] receive the full god in. l. 35. 2nd F] Francis +Palmer. + +p. lii, l. 40. 1st F _misprints_] Fletcer. + +p. lv, l. 19. 1st F _misprints_] ehe. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Francis Beaumont and John +Fletcher in Ten Volumes, by Beaumont and Fletcher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER *** + +***** This file should be named 10620-8.txt or 10620-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/6/2/10620/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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