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The Pictvre

A Tragaecomaedje
  
  
  
  
To his worthy friend Mr. Philip Massinger, vpon his Tragæcomædie stiled, The Picture.

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To his worthy friend Mr. Philip Massinger, vpon his Tragæcomædie stiled, The Picture.

Methinges I heere some busy Criticke say
Who's this that singly vshers on this Play?
'Tis boldnes I confesse, and yet perchance
It may be constur'd loue, not arrogance.
I do not heere vpon this leafe intrude
By praysing one, to wrong a multitude.
Nor do I thinke that all are tyed to be
(Forc'd by my vote) in the same creed with me.
Each man hath liberty to iudge; free will,
At his owne pleasure to speake good, or ill.
But yet your Muse alreadie's knowne so well
Her worth will hardly find an infidell.
Heere she hath drawne a picture, which shall lye
Safe for all future times to practisse by.
What ere shall follow are but Coppies, some
Preceding workes were types of this to come.
'Tis your owne liuely image, and setts forth
When we are dust the beauty of your worth.
He that shall dully read and not aduance
Ought that is heere betrayes his ignorance.
Yet whosoeuer beyond desert commends
Errs more by much then he that reprehends,
For prayse misplac'd, and honor set vpon
A worthlesse subiect is detraction.
I cannot sin so heere vnlesse I went
About, to stile you only excellent.
Apollo's guifts are not confind alone
To your dispose, He hath more heires then one,


And such as do deriue from this blest hand
A large inheritance in the Poets land
As well as you, nor are you I assure
My selfe so enuious, but you can endure
To heere their praise, whose worth long since was knowne
And Iustly to, prefer'd before your owne.
I know yon would take it for an iniury,
(And 'tis a well becomming modesty)
To be paraleld with Beaumont, or to heare
Your name by some to partiall friend write neere
Vnequal'd Ionson: being men whose fire
At distance and with reuerence you admir'd.
Do so and you shall find your gaine will bee
Much more by yeelding them prioritie
Then with a certainety of losse to hould
A foolish competition; Tis to bould.
A tasque, and to be shunde, nor shall my prayse
With to much waight ruine, what it would rayse.
Thomas Iay.