Nor art in verse; true, I have heard some tell
Of Aganippe, but ne'er knew the well:
Therefore have no ambition with the times,
To be in print, for making of ill rhymes;
But love of thee, and justice to thy pen,
Hath drawn me to this bar, with other men
To justify, though against double laws,
(Waving the subtle business of his cause,)
The GLORIOUS PERKIN, and thy poet's art,
Equal with his, in playing the king's part.

RA. EURE, baronis primogenitus.*

To my faithful, no less deserving Friend, the Author (of Perkin Warbeck), this indebted oblation.

PERKIN is rediviv'd by thy strong hand,

And crown'd a king of new; the vengeful wand
Of greatness is forgot; his execution

May rest unmention'd, and his birth's collusion
Lie buried in the story; but his fame

Thou hast eternis'd; made a crown his game.
His lofty spirit soars yet: had he been
Base in his enterprise, as was his sin
Conceiv'd, his title, doubtless, prov'd unjust,
Had, but for thee, been silenced in the dust.

GEORGE CRYMES, miles.

"The son of William, Lord Eure." Of the Miles who follows, I can say nothing. I have, however, corrected his verses, which were shamefully misprinted in the former edition.

To the Author, his Friend, upon his Chronicle History (of Perkin Warbeck.)

THESE are not to express thy wit,

But to pronounce thy judgment fit,
In full-filled phrase, those times to raise,
When Perkin ran his wily ways.

Still, let the method of thy brain
From Error's touch and Envy's stain
Preserve thee free; that ever thy quill
Fair Truth may wet, and fancy fill.
Thus Graces are with Muses met,
And practic critics on may fret:
For here thou hast produced a story
Which shall eclipse their future glory.

JOHN BROGRAVE, Ar.

To

my Friend and Kinsman Master JOHN FORD, the Author (of Perkin Warbeck.)

DRAMATIC poets, as the times go now,

Can hardly write what others will allow;

The cynic snarls, the critic howls and barks,
And ravens croak, to drown the voice of larks:
Scorn those stage-harpies! This I'll boldly say,
Many may imitate, few match thy play.

JOHN FORD, Graiensis.

To Master JOHN FORD, of the Middle Temple, on his
Bower of Fancies (or, Fancies Chaste and Noble.)

I FOLLOW fair example, not report,
Like wits o' th' university or court,

To show how I can write,

At mine own charges, for the time's delight:

But to acquit a debt,

Due to right poets, not the counterfeit.

These Fancies Chaste and Noble are no strains
Dropt from the itch of over-heated brains:
They speak unblushing truth,

The guard of beauty, and the care of youth;
Well relish'd might repair

An academy for the young and fair.

Such labours, friend, will live; for though some new
Pretenders to the stage, in haste pursue

Those laurels, which of old

Enrich'd the actors: yet I can be bold,

To say, their hopes are starv'd ;
For they but beg, what pens approved deserv'd.

EDW. GREENFIELD.

Upon the Sun's Darling.

Is he then found? Phoebus, make holiday,
Tie up thy steeds, and let the Cyclops play:
Mulciber, leave thy anvil, and be trim;
Comb thy black muzzle, be no longer grim:

Mercury, be quick, with mirth furnish the heavens;
Jove, this day let all run at six and sevens;
And Ganimede, be nimble, to the brim
Fill bowls of nectar that the Gods may swim,
To solemnise their health that did discover
The obscure being of the Sun's fond lover;
That from the example of their liberal mirth
We may enjoy like freedom [here] on earth.

JOHN TATHAM.*

Upon FORD's two Tragedies, Love's Sacrifice and The Broken Heart.

THOU cheat'st us, Ford; mak'st one seem two by art: What is Love's Sacrifice, but The Broken Heart? RICHARD CRASHAW.†

* "John Tatham was a poet of the reign of Charles I. and author of four plays enumerated in the Biographia Dramatica. From 1657 to 1663, he furnished pageants for the Lord Mayor's day, in the quality of city poet."

Had the poets lived to publish their own drama, it can scarcely be imagined that they would have suffered this deplorable balderdash to be prefixed to it.

+ Delights of the Muses, 1646.