But then the_ Scornfull Lady _did beguile
Their easie griefs, and teach them all to smile.
Thus he Affections could, or raise or lay;
Love, Griefe and Mirth thus did his Charmes obey:
He Nature taught her passions to out-doe,
How to refine the old, and create new;
Which such a happy likenesse seem'd to beare,
As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were.
Yet All had Nothing bin, obscurely kept
In the same Urne wherein his Dust hath slept,
Nor had he ris' the Delphick wreath to claime,
Had not the dying sceane expired his Name;
Dispaire our joy hath doubled, he is come,
Thrice welcome by this_ Post-liminium.
_His losse preserved him; They that silenc'd Wit,
Are now the Authours to Eternize it;
Thus Poets are in spight of Fate revived,
And Playes by Intermission longer liv'd_.

THO. STANLEY.


On the Edition of Mr _Francis Beaumonts_, and Mr _John Fletchers_ PLAYES
never printed before.

I Am _amaz'd_; and this same _Extacye_
Is both my _Glory_ and _Apology_.
_Sober Joyes are dull Passions_; they must beare
Proportion to the _Subject_: if _so_; where
_Beaumont_ and _Fletcher_ shall vouchsafe to be