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The Mad Lover

Fletcher, John (1579-1625)
  
THE MAD LOVER.
  
[epigraph]
  
[dedication]
  
To the Stationer.
  
IN MEMORY OF Mr. Iohn Fletcher.
  
On Mr John Fletcher, and his Workes, never before published.
  
ON Mr Fletchers Works.
  
ON THE Deceased Authour, Mr John Fletcher, his Plays; and especially, The Mad Lover.
  
Upon the Works of Beaumont, and Fletcher.
  
On the Works of the most excellent Dramatick Poet, Mr. John Fletcher, never before Printed.
  
To the memory of my most honoured kinsman, Mr. Francis Beaumont.
  
On Mr. JOHN FLETCHER'S VVorkes.
  
Vpon Mr. John Fletcher's Playes.
  
To FLETCHER Reviv'd.
  
On Master JOHN FLETCHERS Dramaticall Poems.
  
Vpon Master FLETCHERS Dramaticall Workes.
  
On the Edition.
  
On the Edition of Mr Francis Beaumonts, and Mr John Fletchers Playes never printed before.
  
On the Dramatick Poems of Mr John Fletcher.
  
To the Manes of the celebrated Poets and Fellow-writers, Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, upon the Printing of their excellent Dramatick Poems.
  
To the desert of the Author in his most Ingenious Pieces.
  
On Mr BEAVMONT. (Written thirty yeares since, presently after his death.)
  
UPON Mr FLETCHERS Incomparable Playes.
  
On the Workes of Beaumont and Fletcher, now at length printed.
  
Upon the report of the printing of the Dramaticall Poems of Master John Fletcher, collected before, and now set forth in one Volume.
  
Another.
  
On Mr Francis Beaumont (then newly dead.)
  
To Mr Francis Beaumont (then living.)
  
Upon Master Fletchers Incomparable Playes.
  
On the happy Collection of Master FLETCHER'S Works, never before Printed.
  
To the memorie of Master FLETCHER.
  
Vpon the ever to be admired Mr. John Fletcher and His PLAYES.
  
IN HONOUR OF Mr John Fletcher.
  
Master John Fletcher his dramaticall Workes now at last printed.
  
Upon the unparalelld Playes written by those Renowned Twinnes of Poetry Beaumont & Fletcher.
  
On the Death and workes of Mr John Fletcher.
  
On Mr. John Fletcer's ever to be admired Dramaticall Works.
  
To the memory of the deceased but ever-living Authour in these his Poems, Mr. JOHN FLETCHER.
  
Upon the Printing of Mr. Iohn Fletchers workes.
  
THE STATIONER.
  
POSTCRIPT.

expand section1. 
Actus primus.
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Actus Secundus.
expand section3. 
Actus Tertius.
expand section4. 
Actus Quartus.
expand section5. 
Actus Quintus.

  
Prologue.
  
Epilogue.
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ON Mr Fletchers Works.

Though Poets have a licence which they use
As th'ancient priviledge of their free Muse;
Yet whether this be leave enough for me
To write, great Bard, an Eulogie for thee:
Or whether to commend thy Worke, will stand
Both with the Lawes of Verse and of the Land,
Were to put doubts might raise a discontent
Between the Muses and the—
I'le none of that. There's desperate wits that be
(As their immortall Lawrell) Thunder-free;
Whose personall vertues, 'bove the Lawes of Fate,
Supply the roome of personall estate:
And thus enfranchis'd, safely may rehearse,
Rapt in a lofty straine, theirs own neck-verse.
For he that gives the Bayes to thee, must then
First take it from the Militarie Men;
He must untriumph conquests, bid 'em stand,
Question the strength of their victorious hand.
He must act new things, or go neer the sin,
Reader, as neer as you and I have been:
He must be that, which He that tryes will swear
It is not good being so another Yeare.
And now that thy great name I've brought to this,
To do it honour is to do amisse,
What's to be done to those, that shall refuse
To celebrate, great Soule, thy noble Muse?
Shall the poore State of all those wandring things,
Thy Stage once rais'd to Emperors and Kings?
Shall rigid forfeitures (that reach our Heires)
Of things that only fill with cares and feares?
Shall the privation of a friendlesse life,
Made up of contradictions and strife?
Shall He be entitie, would antedate
His own poore name, and thine annihilate?
Shall these be judgements great enough for one
That dares not write thee an Encomion?

Then where am J? but now I've thought upon't,
I'le prayse thee more then all have ventur'd on't.
I'le take thy noble Work (and like the trade
Where for a heap of Salt pure Gold is layd)
I'le lay the Volume, that Huge Tome of wit,
About in Ladies Closets, where they sit
Enthron'd in their own wills; and if she bee
A Laick sister, shee'l straight flie to thee:
But if a holy Habit shee have on,
Or be some Novice, shee'l scarce looke upon
Thy Lines at first; but watch Her then a while,
And you shall see Her steale a gentle smile
Vpon thy Title, put thee neerer yet,
Breath on thy Lines a whisper, and then set
Her voyce up to the measures; then begin
To blesse the houre, and happy state shee's in.
Now shee layes by her Characters, and lookes
With a stern eye on all her pretty Bookes.
Shee's now thy Voteresse, and the just Crowne
She brings thee with it, is worth half the Towne.
I'le send thee to the Army, they that fight
Will read thy tragedies with some delight,
Be all thy Reformadoes, fancy scars,
And pay too, in thy speculative wars.
I'le send thy Comick scenes to some of those
That for a great while have plaid fast and loose;
New universalists, by changing shapes,
Have made with wit and fortune faire escapes.
Then shall the Countrie that poor Tennis-ball
Of angry fate, receive thy Pastorall,
And from it learn those melancholy straines
Fed the afflicted soules of Primitive swaines.
Thus the whole World to reverence will flock
Thy Tragick Buskin and thy Comick Stock:
And winged fame unto posterity
Transmit but onely two, this Age, and Thee.
Thomas Peyton. Agricola Anglo-Cantianus.
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