University of Virginia Library

On the Works of Beaumont and Fletcher, now at length printed.

Great pair of Authors, whon one equal star
Begot so like in Genius, that you are
In Fame, as well as writings, both so knit,
That no man knows where to divide your wit,
Much less your praise; you, who had equal fire,
And did each other mutually inspire;
Whether one did contrive, the other write,
Or one fram'd the plot, the other did indite;
Whether one found the matter, th'other dress,
Or th'one dispos'd what th'other did express;
Where e're your parts between your selves lay, we
In all things which you did but one thread see,
So evenly drawn out, so gently spun,
That art with nature ne're did smoother run.
Where shall I fix my praise then? or what part
Of all your numerous Labours hath desert
More to be fam'd than other? shall I say,
I've met a lover so drawn in your Play,
So passionately written, so inflam'd,
So jealously inrag'd, then gently tam'd,
That I in reading have the Person seen,
And your Pen hath part stage and Actor been?
Or shall I say, that I can scarce forbear
To clap, when I a Captain do meet there,
So lively in his own vain humour drest,
So braggingly, and like himself exprest,
That modern Cowards, when they saw him plaid,
Saw, blusht, departed guilty, and betraid?
You wrote all parts right; whatsoe're the stage
Had from you, was seen there as in the age,
And had their equal life: Vices which were
Manners abroad, did grow corrected there:
They who possest a Box, and half Crown spent
To learn obsceneness, return'd innocent,
And thankt you for this coz'nage whose chast Scene
Taught Loves so noble, so reform'd, so clean,
That they who brought foul fires, and thither came
To bargain, went thence with a holy flame.
Be't to your praise too, that your stock and Vein
Held both to Tragick and to Comick strain;
Where e're you listed to be high and grave,
No Buskin shew'd more solemn, no quill gave
Such feeling objects to draw tears from eyes,
Spectators sate part in your Tragedies.
And where you listed to be low, and free,
Mirth turn'd the whole house into Comedy;
So piercing (where you pleas'd) hitting a fault,
That humours from your Pen issued all salt.
Nor were you thus in works and Poems knit,
As to be but two halfs, and make one wit;
But as some things we see, have double cause,
And yet the effect it self from both whole draws;
So though you were thus twisted and combin'd
As two bodies, to have but one fair mind;
Yet if we praise you rightly, we must say
Both joyn'd, and both did wholly make the Play,
For that you could write singly, we may guess
By the divided pieces which the Press
Hath severally sent forth; nor were gone so
(Like some our Modern Authors) made to go
One meerly by the help of th'other, who
To purchase fame do come forth one of two;
Nor wrote you so, that ones part was to lick
The other into shape, nor did one stick
The others cold inventions with such wit,
As serv'd like spice, to make them quick and fit;
Nor out of mutual want, or emptiness,
And you conspire to go still Twins to th'Press;
But when thus join'd you wrote, might have come forth
As good from each, and stor'd with the same worth
That thus united them, you did join sence
In you 'twas League, in others impotence;
And the Press which both thus amongst us sends,
Sends us one Poet in a pair of friends.