The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher in Ten Volumes: Volume 01.

Chapter I: Part 1

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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 }

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which is referred to as the First Folio throughout the present edition, contained all the authors' previously unpublished plays (34) except _The Wild-Goose Chase_, which, at the date of the Folio, was supposed to be lost.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

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.

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.

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The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher in Ten Volumes: Volume 01.Chapter I: Part 1

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