ein
something worth your time. Take no notice of my name, for a
second work of this nature shall hardly bear it. I have no desire
to be known by a threadbare cloak, having a calling that will
maintain it woolly. Farewell.

TO HIS LOVING FRIEND THE AUTHOR,

UPON HIS TRAGEDY "THE REBELLION."

To praise thee, friend, and show the reason why,
Issues from honest love, not flattery.
My will is not to flatter, nor for spite
To praise or dispraise, but to do thee right
Proud daring rebels in their impious way
Of Machiavellian darkness this thy play
Exactly shows; speaks thee truth's satirist,
Rebellion's foe, time's honest artist.
Thy continu'd scenes, parts, plots, and language can
Distinguish (worthily) the virtuous man
From the vicious villain, earth's fatal ill,
Intending mischievous traitor Machiavel.
Him and his treach'rous 'complices, that strove
(Like the gigantic rebels war 'gainst Jove)
To disenthrone Spain's king (the Heaven's anointed),
By stern death all were justly disappointed.
Plots meet with counterplots, revenge and blood:
Rebels' ruin makes thy tragedy good.

NATH. RICHARDS.[5]

TO HIS WORTHY ESTEEMED MASTER,

THOMAS RAWLINS, ON HIS "REBELLION."

I may not wonder, for the world does know,
What poets can, and ofttimes reach unto.
They oft work miracles: no marvel, then,
Thou mak'st thy tailor here a nobleman:
Would all the trade were honest too; but he
Hath learn'd the utmost of the mystery,
Filching with cunning industry the heart
Of such a beauty, which did prove the smart
Of many worthy lovers, and doth gain
That prize which others labour'd for in vain.
Thou mak'st him valiant too, and such a spirit,
As every noble mind approves his merit.
But what renown th' hast given his worth, 'tis fit
The world should render to thy hopeful wit,
And with a welcome plaudit entertain
This lovely issue of thy teeming brain.
That their kind usage to this birth of thine
May win so much upon thee, for each line
Thou hast bequeath'd the world, thou'lt give her ten,
And raise more high the glory of thy pen.
Accomplish these our wishes, and then see
How all that love the arts will honour thee.

C. G.[6]

TO MY FRIEND MASTER RAWLINS,

UPON THIS PLAY, HIS WORK.

Friend, in the fair completeness of your play
Y' have courted truth; in these few lines to say
Something concerning it, that all may know
I pay no more o