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Comedies, Tragi-comedies, With other Poems

by Mr William Cartwright ... The Ayres and Songs set by Mr Henry Lawes

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To Mr Thomas Killegrew on his two Playes, the Prisoners, and Claracilla.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

To Mr Thomas Killegrew on his two Playes, the Prisoners, and Claracilla.

Worthy Sir,

Manners and Men transcrib'd, Customes express'd,
The Rules and Laws Dragmatique not transgress'd,
The Points of Place and Time observ'd and hit,
The Words to things, and things to Persons fit,
The Persons Constant to themselves throughout,
The Machin turning fire not forc'd about;
As Wheels by Wheels, part mov'd, and urg'd by part;
And Choice Materials Work'd with Choicer Art;
Those though at last begg'd from long sweat and Toyl,
Fruits of the Forge, the Anvill, and the File,
Snatch Reverence from Our Judgements; and we do
Admire those Raptures with new Raptures too.
But you whose thoughts are Extasies; who know
No other Mould but that you'l cast it so;
Who in an Even Web rich Fancies twist,
Your self th' Appollo, to your self the Priest;
Whose first unvext Conceptions do come forth,
Like flowers with Kgs' names, stamp'd with native worth;
By Art unpurchas'd make the same things thought
Far greater when begot, than when they're Taught,

259

So the Ingenuous Fountain clearer flows,
And yet no food besides it's own Spring knows.
Others great gathering Wits there are who like
Rude Scholers, steal this Posture from Van Dick,
That Hand or Eye from Titian, and do than
Draw that a Blemish was design'd a Man;
(As that wich goes in Spoyl and Theft we see
For the Most part Comes out Impropriety)
But here no small stoln Parcels slyly lurk,
Nor are your Tablets such Mosaique Work,
The Web, and Woof, are both your own, the peece
One, and no sailing for the Art, or Fleece;
All's from your Self, unchalleng'd All, All so,
That breathing Spices do not freer flow;
No Thrifty Spare or manage of dispence
But things hurl'd out with gracefull Negligence;
A generous Cariage of unwrested VVit;
Expressions like your Manners freely fit;
No Lines that wrack the Reader with such guess,
That some interpret Oracles with less;
Your VVritings are all Christall, such as do
Please Criticks Palats without Criticks too;
You have not what diverts some Men from Sense,
Those two Mysterious things Greek and Pretence;
And happily you want those Shadows, where
Their Absence makes your Graces seem more Clear.
Nor are you he whose Vow wears out a Quill,
In writing to the Stage, and then sits still;
Or as the Elephant breeds (Once in ten years,
And those ten years but once) with labour Bears
A secular Play. But you go on, and shew,
Your Vein is Rich, and full, and can still flow:
That this doth open, not exhaust your Store;
And you can give yet two, and yet two more:

260

Those great eruptions of your Beams do say
VVhen Others Suns are set you'l have a day;
And if Mens approbations be not Lot,
And my Prophetique Bayes seduce me not;
VVhiles he who strains for swelling Scenes, lyes dead
Or only prais'd, you shall live prais'd and read.
Thus trusting to your self you Raign; and do
Prescribe to Others, because none to you.