But if some brawny yeoman of the guard
Step in, and toss the axle-tree a yard,
Or more, beyond the farthest mark, the rest
Despairing stand, their sport is at the best.

EDW. WALLER,

To FLETCHER Revived.

How have I been religious? What strange good
Has 'scaped me, that I never understood?

Have I hell-guarded heresy o'erthrown?

Heal'd wounded states? made kings and kingdoms one?
That Fate should be so merciful to me,

To let me live to have said, "I have read thee."
Fair star, ascend! the joy, the life, the light
Of this tempestuous age, this dark world's sight!
Oh, from thy crown of glory dart one flame
May strike a sacred reverence, whilst thy name
(Like holy flamens to their god of day)
We, bowing, sing; and whilst we praise, we pray.
Bright spirit! whose eternal motion

Of wit, like time, still in itself did run;
Binding all others in it, and did give
Commission, how far this, or that, shall live:

4

Like Destiny, thy poems; who, as she
Signs death to all, herself can never die.

4 Like destiny of poems, who, as she

Signs death to all, herself can never dye] This is extremely obscure: He says first, that Fletcher is the spirit of poetry, that he is the god of it, and has decreed the fate of all other poems, whether they are to live or dye; after this he is like the destiny of poems, and, living only himself, signs death to all others. This is very high-strained indeed, and rather self-contradictory, for Fletcher's spirit gives commission how far some shall live, and yet signs death to all. A slight change will make somewhat easier and clearer sense. I understand the four first lines thus ; Fletcher's poetry is the standard of excellence; whatever is not formed by that model must die, therefore I read, Like Destiny, thy poems; i. e. Thy poems being the standard of excellence, are like destiny, which determines the fate of others, but herself remains still the same. I republish this poem, as there are strong marks of genius in it, particularly in some of the following paragraphs.-Seward.

And now thy purple-robed tragedy,
In her embroider'd buskins, calls mine eye,

Where brave Aëtius we see betray'd,

To obey his death, whom thousand lives obey'd;

Whilst that the mighty fool his scepter breaks,

Valentinian.

And through his gen'ral's wounds his own doom speaks;
Weaving thus richly Valentinian,

The costliest monarch with the cheapest man.
Soldiers may here to their old glories add,
The Lover love, and be with reason Mad:
Not as of old Alcides furious,

Who, wilder than his bull, did tear 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

With passions black as is her dark attire,
Virgins, as sufferers, have wept to see

So white a soul, so red a cruelty;

Mad Lover.

Tragi-Comedies.

That thou hast grieved, and, with unthought redress,
Dried their wet eyes who now thy mercy bless;

Arcas. Bellario.

Comedies. Spanish Curate. Humorous Lieutenant.

Yet, loth to lose thy watery jewel, when
Joy wiped it off, laughter strait sprung't again.
Now ruddy-cheeked Mirth with rosy wings
Fans ev'ry brow with gladness, whilst she sings
Delight to all; and the whole theatre
A festival in Heaven doth appear.
Nothing but pleasure, love; and (like the morn)
Each face a general smiling doth adorn.

Tamer Tamed. Little French Lawyer.

Hear, ye foul speakers, that pronounce the air
Of stews and shores, I will inform you where,
And how to clothe 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;

Custom of the Country.

So well disguised, that 'twas conceived by none,
But Cupid had Diana's linen on;

And all his naked parts so veil'd, they express
The shape with clouding the uncomeliness;
That if this reformation which we

Received, had not been buried with thee,

The stage, as this work, might have lived and loved;
Her lines the austere scarlet had approved;

And the actors wisely been from that offence

As clear, as they are now from audience.

5 Shores.] The modern editors read-sewers. The allusion is proba bly to Shore-ditch, at the time filled with brothels.

10

Thus with thy genius did the scene expire,
Wanting thy active and enlivening fire,
That now (to spread a darkness over all)
Nothing remains but poesy 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, blushless, in the head
Of the best piece Hermes to Love e'er read;
That we rejoice and glory in thy wit,
And feast each other with rememb❜ring it;
That we dare speak thy thought, thy acts recite:
Yet all men henceforth be afraid to write.

RICH. LOVELACE. &

On Mr JOHN FLETCHER'S Dramatical Poems.

GREAT tutelary spirit of the stage!
Fletcher! I can fix nothing but my rage
Before thy works, 'gainst their officious crime
Who print thee now, in the worst scene of time.
For me, uninterrupted hadst thou slept
Among the holy shades, and close hadst kept
The mistery of thy lines, till men might be
Taught how to read, and then how to read thee:
But now thou art exposed to th' common fate;
Revive, then, mighty soul, and vindicate
From th' age's rude affronts thy injured fame,
Instruct the envious with how chaste a flame

6 Rich. Lovelace. This gentleman was eldest son of a good family, extremely accomplished, being very eminent for wit, poetry, and music, but still more so for politeness of manners and beauty of person. He had an ample fortune, and every advantage that seemed to promise happiness in life; but his steady attachment to the royal cause, and a liberality that perhaps approached too near profuseness, reduced him to extreme poverty. Something of the gaiety of the soldier appears in the beginning of this poem. His poems were published in 1749.-Seward.

He was born at Woolridge in Kent, about 1618, and educated at Oxford. On presenting a petition to the Long Parliament, he was ordered to be confined, and, after his release, formed a regiment of foot for the service of the king of France. On his return, he was again imprisoned, and not released till after the death of Charles I. He died in extreme poverty in Gunpowder-Alley, near Shoe-lane, in 1658.

Thou warm'st the lover; how severely just
Thou wert to punish, if he burnt to lust;
With what a blush thou didst the maid adorn,
But tempted, with how innocent a scorn;
How epidemic errors by thy play

Were laughed out of esteem, so purged away;
How to each sense thou so didst virtue fit

That all grew virtuous to be thought to have wit.
But this was much too narrow for thy art,

Thou didst frame governments, give kings their part,
Teach them how near to God, while just they be,
But how dissolved, stretched forth to tyranny;
How kingdoms, in their channel, safely run,
But rudely overflowing are undone.
Though vulgar spirits poets scorn or hate,
Man may beget, a poet men create.

WILL. HABINGTON,"

Upon Master FLETCHER'S Dramatic Works.

WHAT? now the stage is down, dar'st thou appear,
Bold Fletcher, in this tottering hemisphere ?
Yes; poets are like palms, which, the more weight
You cast upon them, grow more strong and streight
'Tis not Jove's thunderbolt, nor Mars his spear,
Or Neptune's angry trident, poets fear.

Had now grim Ben been breathing, with what rage
And high-swoln fury had he lash'd the age;
Shakspeare with Chapman had grown mad, and torn
Their gentle sock, and lofty buskins worn,
To make their muse welter up to the chin
In blood; of feigned scenes no need had been;
England, like Lucian's eagle, with an arrow

Of her own plumes piercing her heart quite thorough,

7 Habington was a poet of no mean powers. In his collection of poems entitled Castara, he displays considerable energy of thought, combined with tenderness of sentiment and very fluent versification. He was born at Hindlip, in Worcestershire, Nov. 5, 1605, and being a catholic, was educated at St Omer's and Paris. He died Nov. 13, 1645. Besides his poems, he was author of several historical works, and of the Queen of Arragon, a tragi-comedy.

Had been a theatre and subject fit

To exercise in real truths their wit:

Yet none like high-winged Fletcher had been found
This eagle's tragic destiny to sound;

Rare Fletcher's quill had soared 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,

We will applaud thee in this silent page.

JA. HOWELL. P. C. C.9

8

On the Edition.

FLETCHER (whose fame no age can ever waste;
Envy of ours, and glory of the last)
Is now alive again; and with his name
His sacred ashes waked into a flame;
Such as before did by a secret charm

The wildest heart subdue, the coldest warm;
And lend the ladies' eyes a power more bright,
Dispensing thus to either heat and light.

He to a sympathy those souls betray'd,
Whom love, or beauty, never could persuade;
And in each moved spectator could beget
A real passion by a counterfeit :
When first Bellario bled, what lady there
Did not for every drop let fall a tear?
And when Aspatia wept, not any eye
But seem'd to wear the same sad livery;
By him inspired, the feign'd Lucina drew
More streams of melting sorrow than the true;
But then the Scornful Lady did beguile

Their easy griefs, and teach them all to smile.

Bourgeons.] i. e. buds. Fr.

9 This voluminous and well-known writer was born in 1594, at Abermarlis in Caermarthenshire. He was brought up at Jesus-College, Oxford, and after he had travelled through several countries, was employed in various charges. He died in November, 1666. Of all his numerous works the only one which is still in repute is his Familiar Epistles.