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71
On the Edition of M. Fletchers Works.
Fletcher
, (whose Fame no Age can ever wast;
Envie of ours, and glory of the last)
Is now alive again; and with his Name
His sacred ashes wak'd into a Flame;
Such as before did by a secret Charm
The wildest Heart subdue, the coldest warm,
And lend the Ladies Eyes a power more bright,
Dispensing thus to either, Heat and Light.
Envie of ours, and glory of the last)
Is now alive again; and with his Name
His sacred ashes wak'd into a Flame;
Such as before did by a secret Charm
The wildest Heart subdue, the coldest warm,
And lend the Ladies Eyes a power more bright,
Dispensing thus to either, Heat and Light.
He to a sympathie those Souls betray'd
Whom Love or Beauty never could perswade;
And in each mov'd Spectator could beget
A real passion by a Counterfeit:
When first Bellario bled, what Ladie there
Did not for every drop let fall a tear?
And when Aspasia wept, not any Eye
But seem'd to wear the same sad Livery;
By him inspir'd the feign'd Lucina drew
More streams of melting sorrow then the true;
But then the Scornful Ladie did beguile
Their easie griefs, and teach them all to smile.
Whom Love or Beauty never could perswade;
And in each mov'd Spectator could beget
A real passion by a Counterfeit:
When first Bellario bled, what Ladie there
Did not for every drop let fall a tear?
And when Aspasia wept, not any Eye
But seem'd to wear the same sad Livery;
By him inspir'd the feign'd Lucina drew
More streams of melting sorrow then the true;
But then the Scornful Ladie did beguile
Their easie griefs, and teach them all to smile.
Thus he Affections could, or raise or lay;
Love, Grief, and Mirth thus did his Charms obey:
He Nature taught her passions to out-do,
How to refine the old, and create new;
Which such a happy likenesse seem'd to bear,
As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were.
Love, Grief, and Mirth thus did his Charms obey:
72
How to refine the old, and create new;
Which such a happy likenesse seem'd to bear,
As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were.
Yet all had nothing been, obscurely kept
In the same Urn wherein his Dust hath slept,
Nor had he ris' the Delphick Wreath to claim,
Had not the dying Scene expir'd his Name.
O, the indulgent Justice of this Age,
To grant the Press, what it denies the Stage!
Despair our Joy hath doubled; He is come
Twice welcome by this Postliminium;
His losse preserv'd him; They that silenc'd Wit
Are now the Authors to eternize it:
Thus Poets are in spight of Fate reviv'd,
And Playes by intermission longer liv'd.
In the same Urn wherein his Dust hath slept,
Nor had he ris' the Delphick Wreath to claim,
Had not the dying Scene expir'd his Name.
O, the indulgent Justice of this Age,
To grant the Press, what it denies the Stage!
Despair our Joy hath doubled; He is come
Twice welcome by this Postliminium;
His losse preserv'd him; They that silenc'd Wit
Are now the Authors to eternize it:
Thus Poets are in spight of Fate reviv'd,
And Playes by intermission longer liv'd.
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