Thy gentle soule meant for the shade, and ease,
Withdrew betimes into the Land of Peace.
So neasted in some hospitable shore

The hermit-angler, when the mid-seas roare
Packs up his lines, and—ere the tempest raves—
Retyres, and leaves his station to the waves.
Thus thou died'st almost with our peace, and wee
This breathing time thy last faire issue see,
Which I think such-if needless ink not soyle
So choice a Muse-others are but thy foile;
This, or that age may write, but never see
A wit that dares run paralell with thee.
True, BEN1 must live! but bate him, and thou
hast

Undone all future wits, and match'd the past.

UPON THE POEMS AND PLAYES OF THE EVER-MEMORABLE MR. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.2

阿

DID but see thee! and how vain it is

To vex thee for it with Remonstrances,

Though things in fashion; let those judge, who sit

2 This forms one of the many laudatory verses found in

Their twelve pence out, to clap their hands at wit;
I fear to sinne thus neer thee; for-great saint!—
'Tis known, true beauty hath no need of paint.
Yet, since a labell fixt to thy fair hearse
Is all the mode, and tears put into verse
Can teach posterity our present griefe

And their own losse, but never give reliefe;
I'le tell them—and a truth which needs no passe—
That wit in Cartwright at her zenith was,
Arts, fancy, language, all conven'd in thee,
With those grand miracles which deifie

The old world's writings, kept yet from the fire
Because they force these worst times to admire.
Thy matchless genius, in all thou didst write,
Like the sun, wrought with such stayd heat, and
light,

the volume of Cartwright's Comedies, Tragi-Comedies, with other Poems' (1651). I note here an overlooked reference by the Fletchers' friend, T. BENLOWES, to these Cartwright' Verses', in lines to his brother, author of 'Theophila', to which Poem they are prefixed:

"Here heav'n-born Suadas star-like, gild each dresse Of the bride-soul espous❜d to happinesse :

Here Poetrie informs poetick art;

As all in all, and all in every part,

For all these dy'd not with fam'd Cartwright, though
A score of poets joyn'd to have it so." G.

That not a line-to the most critick he-
Offends with flashes, or obscuritie.

When thou the wild of humours trackst, thy pen So imitates that motley stock in men,

As if thou hadst in all their bosomes been,
And seen those leopards that lurk within:
The am'rous youth steals from thy courtly page
His vow'd addresse, the souldier his brave rage;
And those soft beauteous readers whose looks can
Make some men poets, and make any man
A lover, when thy Slave but seemes to dye,
Turn all his mourners, and melt at the eye.
Thus, thou thy thoughts hast drest in such a

strain

As doth not only speak, but rule and raign;
Nor are those bodyes they assum'd, dark clouds,
Or a thick bark, but clear, transparent shrouds,
Which who lookes on, the rayes so strongly beat
They'l brushe and warm him with a quickning
heat;

So soul's shine at the eyes, and pearls display
Through the loose chrystal-streams a glaunce of day:
But what's all this unto a royall test?

Thou art the man, whom great Charles so exprest! Then let the crowd refrain their needless humme, When thunder speaks, then squibs and winds are dumb.

TO THE BEST, AND MOST ACCOMPLISH'D

B

COUPLE

LESSINGS as rich and fragrant crown your heads

As the mild Heav'n on roses sheds,

When at their cheeks-like pearls-they weare
The clouds that court them in a teare;
And may they be fed from above

By Him which first ordain'd your love!

Fresh as the houres, may all your pleasures be,
And healthfull as eternitie!

Sweet as the flowres' first breath, and close
As th' unseen spreadings of the rose,
When he unfolds his curtain'd head,

And makes his bosome the sun's bed.

Soft as your selves, run your whole lifes, and cleare

As your own glasse, or what shines there;
Smooth as heav'ns face, and bright as he
When without mask, or tiffanie ;1

In all your time not one jarre meet
But peace as silent as his feet.

1 Gauze-veil. G.

Like the daye's warmth may all your comforts be,
Untoil'd for, and serene as he,

Yet free and full as is that sheafe
Of sun-beams gilding ev'ry leafe,
When now the tyrant-heat expires
And his cool'd locks breath milder fires.

And as those parcell'd glories he doth shed
Are the faire issues of his head,

Which ne'r so distant are soon known

By th' heat and lustre for his own;

So

may each branch of yours wee see
Your coppyes, and our wonders be!

And when no more on Earth you must remain
Invited hence to Heav'n again,

Then may your vertuous, virgin-flames
Shine in those heires of your fair names,
And teach the world that mysterie,
Your selves in your posteritie!

So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring, And gather'd up to heav'n, leave her a spring.