University of Virginia Library

To my worthy Friend, M. D'avenant, Vpon his Excellent Play, The Iust Italian.

I'le not mispend in praise, the narrow roome
I borrow in this leafe; the Garlands bloome
From thine owne seedes, that crowne each glorious page
Of thy triumphant worke; the sullen Age
Requires a Satyre. What starre guides the soule
Of these our froward times, that dare controule,
Yet dare not learne to judge? When didst thou flie
From hence, cleare, candid Ingenuitie?
I have beheld, when pearch'd on the smooth brow
Of a faire modest troope, thou didst allow
Applause to slighter workes; but then the weake
Spectator, gave the knowing leave to speake.
Now noyse prevailes, and he is tax'd for drowth
Of wit, that with the crie, spends not his mouth.
Yet aske him, reason why he did not like;
Him, why he did; their ignorance will strike
Thy soule with scorne, and Pity: marke the places
Provoke their smiles, frownes, or distorted faces,
When, they admire, nod, shake the head; they'le be
A scene of myrth, a double Comedie.
But thy strong fancies (raptures of the braine,
Drest in Poetique flames) they entertaine
As a bold, impious reach; for they'le still slight
All that exceeds Red Bull, and Cockpit flight.
These are the men in crowded heape that throng
To that adulterate stage, where not a tong
Of th'untun'd Kennell, can a line repeat
Of serious sence: but like lips, meet like meat;
Whilst the true brood of Actors, that alone
Keepe naturall unstrain'd Action in her throne
Behold their Benches bare, though they rehearse
The terser Beaumonts or great Johnsons verse.
Repine not Thou then, since this churlish fate
Rules not the stage alone; perhaps the State
Hath felt this rancour, where men great and good,
Have by the Rabble beene misunderstood.
So was thy Play; whose cleere, yet loftie straine,
Wisemen, that governe Fate, shall entertaine.