University of Virginia Library

To my most ingenious friend, Mr. ALEX. BROME Upon his setting forth Mr. RICH. BROMES PLAYES:

This, Sir, is double Piety, and you
In this oblige the dead and living too.
As the last trumpet with one pow'rful sound
Raises forgotten Bodies from the ground,
And betters those that yet remain alive:
So you an equal happiness do give
Unto his dust, and us, at once engage
His sacred Ashes, and the present age.
Nor can I tell to whom we more are bound,
Or to his wit, or you that have it found.
When Thetis Son amongst the maids lay hid,
And for their softer wars the Trojan fled;
He that discover'd him, did justly claim
An equal share in th' honour of his name;
And dar'd to call Achilles victories,
All those exploits, and all those Trophies his:
So you that have this noble wit reveal'd
And made it be (which was before conceal'd)
Known and commended, may as well receive
Part in those Lawrels we to him do give.
He made the oyl, but you enlightned it,
He gave the salt, but you have made it white,
And dug it from the Pit where it once lay
Unseen, or by the eyes of men or day:
He made the branches of this Coral grow,
Hid in its private Sea untouch'd; but you
By drawing it into the open air,
Have made it turn more pretious, and more fair.
He spake with such a full and easie strain,
With such a soft, and such a flowing vein,
As if 'twere Nature all, yet there was Art,
Yet there was Skill in every limb and Part.
So gently came all that he thought or writ,
As if he made it not, but did repeat.
His fancy like the blood did alwayes flow,
Yet full of life and full of spirts too.
His Wit and Angels did in this agree,
Their motion is most nimble, quick, and free,
And perfect too. And as the world was made,
(Which no delayes of spring and summer had,
No ages or increases, but on all
At first a ripeness, and full growth did fall;
So all that from his happy Pen did come
Was ripe and grown at first, and left no room
For after change, no second hand could give
More strength to it, or it more strength receive.
When he doth speak of love, himself he arms
With such resistless, and such conquering charms,
Acts such sweet hopes, such innocent fears, and joyes,
That we or love his Mistress, or his voice,
As eccho did. When he would make us smile,
Thousand Anacreons play about his style.
When he commands our sorrow, straight our eyes
Into salt streams, our hearts to sighings rise.
When he doth laugh again, the clouds are gone,
Our minds into a sudden calmness run:
He so dispos'd our thoughts, as when the hand,
Or eye of the chief Gen'ral doth command,
Whole Armies act what his example led,
Follow his postures with such willing speed,
Into obedience with such easiness fall,
As if one soul and spring did move them all.
When he strook vice, he let the person go,
Wounded not men but manners; nor did do
Like him who when he painted heaven & hel,
Amongst the damned shades and those that fell,
Did draw his Enemies face, that all might say
Who there condemned by the Painter lay:
But as the Surgeon at once hides and cures,
And bindeth up the limb which most indures
The sore and pain: so he with gentle hand
Did heal the wound, and yet conceal the man.
His Scenes mens Actions, Tempers, Humours shew,
And copy out what the great world doth do.
His words are like the shapes which Angels take,
And for themselves of finest air do make,
That are so much like men, that clearest eyes
Cannot discern where the smal difference lies.
In them we see ourselves, in them we find
Whatever Time or Custom taught mankind.
We see with what expressiveness and life
He painteth anger, hatred, joy, or grief,
Or all the other winds that do enrage
The hearts of men, nor in that living Stage
(Woere all he writ was acted first) mans breast,
They more to th' full and nature are exprest.
This we by him have gain'd, by him and you,
For we as much unto the Merchant owe,
Whose care and pains brought the rich Jewels home,
As to the Indiaes whence those Jewels come.