Rare_ FLETCHER'S _quill_ had soar'd up to the sky,
And drawn down Gods to see the tragedy:
Live famous Dramatist, let every _spring_
Make thy Bay flourish, and fresh_ Bourgeons _bring:
And since we cannot have Thee trod o'th' stage,
Wee will applaud Thee in this silent Page_.

JA. HOWELL. _P.C.C._


On the Edition.

Fletcher _(whose Fame no Age can ever wast;
Envy of Ours, and glory of the last)
Is now alive againe; and with his Name
His sacred Ashes wak'd into a Flame;
Such as before did by a secret charme
The wildest Heart subdue, the coldest warme,
And lend the Lady's eyes a power more bright,
Dispensing thus to either, Heat and Light.
He to a Sympathie those soules betrai'd
Whom Love or Beauty never could perswade;
And in each mov'd spectatour could beget
A reall passion by a Counterfeit:
When first_ Bellario _bled, what Lady there
Did not for every drop let fall a teare?
And when_ Aspasia _wept, not any eye
But seem'd to weare the same sad livery;
By him inspired the feigned_ Lucina _drew
More streams of melting sorrow then the true;