University of Virginia Library

Upon Mr. John Fletcher's Plays.

Fletcher, to thee, we do not only owe
All these good Plays, but those of others too;
Thy Wit repeated, does support the Stage,
Credits the last, and entertains this Age;
No Worthies form'd by any Muse but thine
Could purchase Robes to make themselves so fine,
What brave Commander is not proud to see
Thy brave Melantius in his Gallantry?
Our greatest Ladies love to see their scorn
Out-done by Thine, in what themselves have worn;
Th'impatient Widow e're the year be done
Sees thy Aspasia weeping in her Gown;
I never yet the Tragick Strain assay'd,
Deterr'd by that inimitable Maid:
And when I venture at the Comick-Stile,
Thy Scornful Lady seems to mock my toil;
Thus has thy Muse, at once, improv'd and marr'd
Our sport in Plays, by rendring it too hard.
So when a sort of lusty Shepherds throw
The Bar by turns, and none the rest out-go
So far, but that the best are measuring casts,
Their emulation and their pastime lasts;
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.