WILD-GOOSE CHASE.
Me thinkes I see thy angred ashes rise
FLETCHER; I feel them smarting in my eyes.
Methinks thou sayst what would this rimer have
He raises me, yet gives my fame a grave?
Me thinkes (like that Old Moralist's Complaint
What ill of mine has gain'd this ill mans prayse?)
I hear thee say, sure this Play has some taint
That this ill Poet gives his withered bayes?
Perhaps this good Philosophers life began
To make the ill man good; As in a man
To love the good's a step to being so,
Love to thy Muse may be to me so too;
Then I shall know how to commend thy Muse
When her own self the prayses shall infuse:
Till then I must sit down, confess the wonder,
'Bove which I cannot go, and, won't go under.
But where's the prayse (you'l say) to FLETCHERS wit?
I would ha giv'n but had no Offering fit.
Then let these lines be thought to FLETCHERS Muse
Not an Encomium, but an Excuse.
NORREYS JEPHSON.
An Epigram upon the long lost and fortunately recovered WILD-GOOSE CHASE, and as seasonably bestowed on Mr. JOHN LOWEN and Mr. JOSEPH TAYLOR, for their best advantage.
In this late dearth of wit, when Jose and Jack
Were hunger-bit for want of fowl and Sack,
His nobleness found out this happy meanes
To mend their dyet with these WILD-GOOSE scenes,
By which he hath revived in a day
Two Poets, and two Actors with one Play.
W. E.
To the incomparable Mr. FLETCHER,
upon his excellent Play, The
WILD-GOOSE CHASE.