Yet _Great Goods have their Ills_: Should we _transmit_
To _Future Times_, the _Pow'r_ of _Love_ and _Wit_,
In _this Example_: would they not _combine_
To make _Our Imperfections Their Designe?_
They'd _study_ our _Corruptions_; and take more
_Care_ to be _Ill_, then to be _Good_, _before_.
For _nothing but so great Infirmity,
Could make Them worthy of such Remedy.

Have you not scene the Suns almighty Ray
Rescue th' affrighted World_, and _redeeme Day_
From _blacke despaire_: how his _victorious Beame_
_Scatters_ the _Storme_, and _drownes_ the _petty flame_
Of _Lightning_, in the _glory_ of his _eye_:
How _full_ of _pow'r_, how _full_ of _Majesty?_
When to _us Mortals, nothing_ else was _knowne_,
But the _sad doubt_, whether to _burne_, or _drowne_.

_Choler_, and _Phlegme, Heat_, and _dull Ignorance,_
Have cast _the people_ into _such_ a _Trance_,
That _feares_ and _danger_ seeme _Great equally_,
And no _dispute_ left now, but _how_ to _dye_.
Just in _this nicke, Fletcher sets the world cleare_
Of all disorder and reformes us here.

The _formall Youth_, that knew _no_ other _Grace_,
Or _Value_, but his _Title_, and his _Lace_,
_Glasses himselfe_: and in _this faithfull Mirrour_,
_Views, disaproves, reformes, repents_ his _Errour_.