 | The Mad Lover |  |
Vpon the ever to be admired Mr. John Fletcher and His PLAYES.
What
's all this preparation for? or why
Such suddain Triumphs? Fletcher the people cry!
Just so, when Kings approach, our Conduits run
Claret, as here the spouts slow Helicon;
See, every sprightfull Muse dress'd trim and gay
Strews hearbs and scatters roses in his way.
Such suddain Triumphs? Fletcher the people cry!
Just so, when Kings approach, our Conduits run
Claret, as here the spouts slow Helicon;
See, every sprightfull Muse dress'd trim and gay
Strews hearbs and scatters roses in his way.
Thus th'outward yard set round with bayes w'have seene,
Which from the garden hath transplanted been:
Thus, at the Prætor's feast, with needlesse costs
Some must b'employd in painting of the posts:
And some as dishes made for sight, not taste,
Stand here as things for shew to Fletchers feast.
Oh what an honour! what a Grace 'thad beene
T'have had his Cooke in Rollo serv'd them in!
Which from the garden hath transplanted been:
Thus, at the Prætor's feast, with needlesse costs
Some must b'employd in painting of the posts:
And some as dishes made for sight, not taste,
Stand here as things for shew to Fletchers feast.
Oh what an honour! what a Grace 'thad beene
T'have had his Cooke in Rollo serv'd them in!
Fletcher the King of Poets? such was he,
That earn'd all tribute, claim'd all soveraignty;
And may be that denye's it, learn to blush
At's loyall Subject, starve at's Beggars bush:
And if not drawn by example, shame, nor Grace,
Turne o're to's Coxcomb, and the Wild-goose Chase
That earn'd all tribute, claim'd all soveraignty;
And may be that denye's it, learn to blush
At's loyall Subject, starve at's Beggars bush:
And if not drawn by example, shame, nor Grace,
Turne o're to's Coxcomb, and the Wild-goose Chase
Monarch of Wit! great Magazine of wealth!
From whose rich Banke, by a Promethean-stealth,
Our lesser flames doe blaze! His the true fire,
When they like Glo-worms, being touch'd, expire.
'Twas first beleev'd, because he alwayes was,
The Ipse dixit, and Pythagoras
To our Disciple-wits; His soule might run
(By the same-dream't-of Transmigration)
Into their rude and indigested braine,
And so informe their Chaos-lump againe;
For many specious brats of this last age
Spoke Fletcher perfectly in every Page.
This rowz'd his Rage to be abused thus:
Made's Lover mad, Lieutenant humerous.
Thus Ends of Gold and Silver-men are made
(As th'use to say) Goldsmiths of his owne trade;
Thus Rag-men from the dung-hill often hop,
And publish forth by chance a Brokers shop:
But by his owne light, now, we have descri'd
The drosse, from that hath beene so purely tri'd.
Proteus of witt! who reads him doth not see
The manners of each sex of each degree!
His full stor'd fancy doth all humours fill
From th'Queen of Corinth to the maid o'th mill.
His Curate, Lawyer, Captain, Prophetesse
Shew he was all and every one of these;
Hee taught (so subtly were their fancies seiz'd)
To Rule a Wife, and yet the Women pleas'd.
Parnassus is thine owne, Claime't as merit,
Law makes the Elder Brother to inherit.
From whose rich Banke, by a Promethean-stealth,
Our lesser flames doe blaze! His the true fire,
When they like Glo-worms, being touch'd, expire.
'Twas first beleev'd, because he alwayes was,
The Ipse dixit, and Pythagoras
To our Disciple-wits; His soule might run
(By the same-dream't-of Transmigration)
Into their rude and indigested braine,
And so informe their Chaos-lump againe;
For many specious brats of this last age
Spoke Fletcher perfectly in every Page.
This rowz'd his Rage to be abused thus:
Made's Lover mad, Lieutenant humerous.
Thus Ends of Gold and Silver-men are made
(As th'use to say) Goldsmiths of his owne trade;
Thus Rag-men from the dung-hill often hop,
And publish forth by chance a Brokers shop:
But by his owne light, now, we have descri'd
The drosse, from that hath beene so purely tri'd.
Proteus of witt! who reads him doth not see
The manners of each sex of each degree!
His full stor'd fancy doth all humours fill
From th'Queen of Corinth to the maid o'th mill.
His Curate, Lawyer, Captain, Prophetesse
Shew he was all and every one of these;
Hee taught (so subtly were their fancies seiz'd)
To Rule a Wife, and yet the Women pleas'd.
Parnassus is thine owne, Claime't as merit,
Law makes the Elder Brother to inherit.
G. Hills.
| The Mad Lover | |