Silence in Love betrays more Wo
Than Words, though ne'r so Wittie:
The Beggar that is DUMB, you know,
Deserves a DOUBLE PITTIE.
But be the Comoedie at your Mercy as We are. Onely we wish, that you may have the same Kind Joy in Perusing of it, as we had in the Acting.
So Exeunt
Your Gratefull Servants,
JOHN LOWIN, }
JOSEPH TAYLOR.}
On the best, last, and only
remaining Comoedy of Mr.
FLETCHER.
I' Mun-o'reclowded too! Clear from the Mist!
The blind and late Heaven's Ey's Great Oculist
Obscur'd with the False Fiers of his Sceme
Not halfe those Souls are Lightned by this Theme.
Unhappy Murmurers that still repine
(After th' Eclipse our Sunne doth brighter shine)
Recant your False Grief and your True joyes knowe,
Your Bliss is Endles as you fear'd your Woe!
What Fort'nate Flood is this? what storm of Witt?
Oh who would live and not orewhelm'd in it?
No more a Fatall Diluge shall be hurl'd,
This Inundation hath sav'd the World.
Once more the Mighty FLETCHER doth arise
Roab'd in a Vest, Studded with Starrs and Eyes
Of all his former Glories; His last Worth
Imbroydered with what yet Light e're brought forth.
See! in this glad Farewell he doth appeare
Stuck with the Constellations of his Sphere,
Fearing we num'd fear'd no Flagration
Hath curled all his Fyres in this one ONE,
Which (as they guard his hallowed Chast Urn)
The dull approaching Hereticks do burn.
FLETCHER at his Adieu Carouses thus
To the Luxurious Ingenious.
A Cleopatra did of Old out-vie
Th' un-numbred dishes of her Anthonie
When (He at th' emptie Board a Wonderer)
Smiling shee call's for Pearl and Vineger;
First pledges Him in's Breath, then at one Draught
Swallowes Three Kingdomes off to His best Thought.
Hear Oh ye Valiant Writers and subscribe!
(His Force set by) y'are Conquer'd by this Bribe;
Though you Hold out your selves, He doth commit
In this a Sacred Treason on your Witt;
Although in Poëms desperately Stout,
Give up; This Overture must buy you out.
Thus with some Prodigall Us'rer 't doth fare
That keepes his Gold still veyl'd, his steel-breast bare,
That doth exclude his Coffers all but's Eye
And his Ey's Idoll the Wing'd Deitie;
That cannot lock his Mines with half the Art
As some Rich Beauty doth his wretched heart:
Wild at his reall Poverty, and so wise
To winne her, turnes Himselfe into a Prise.
First startles Her with th' Emerald-Mad-lover
The Rubie-Arcas; lest shee should recover
Her das'led Thought a Diamond He throwes
Splendid in all the bright Aspatia's woes;
Then to summe up the Abstract of his store
He flings a Rope of Pearl of Forty more.
Ah see! the stag'ring Vertue faints! which He
Beholding, darts his Wealth's Epitome,
And now to Consumate her wished Fall
Shewes this one Carbuncle that darkens All.
Richard Lovelace.
ON
Mr. FLETCHERS
excellent Play,
THE