efore
Inferiour ones, thrust in, by many a score,
As formerly, before_ Tom Coryate,
_Whose Worke before his Praysers had the Fate
To perish: For the Witty Coppies tooke
Of his_ Encomiums _made themselves a_ Booke.
_Here's no such subject for you to out-doe,
Out-shine, out-live (though well you may doe too
In other Spheres:) For_ Fletchers _flourishing Bayes
Must never fade while_ Phoebus _weares his Rayes.
Therefore forbeare to presse upon him thus.
Why, what are you (cry some) that prate to us?
Doe not we know you for a flashy Meteor?
And stil'd (at best) the_ Muses _Serving-creature?_
_Doe you comptroll? Y'have had your Jere: Sirs, no;
But, in an humble manner, let you know
Old Serving-creatures oftentimes are fit
T' informe young Masters, as in Land, in Wit,
What they inherit; and how well their Dads
Left one, and wish'd the other to their Lads.
And from departed Poets I can guesse
Who has a greater share of Wit, who lesse.
'Way Foole, another says. I, let him raile,
And 'bout his own eares flourish his Wit-flayle,
Till with his Swingle he his Noddle breake;
While this of_ Fletcher _and his_ Works _I speake:
His_ Works (_says_ Momus) _nay, his_ Plays _you'd say:
Thou hast said right, for that to him was Play
Which was to others braines a toyle: with ease
He playd on Waves which were Their troubled Seas.
His nimble Births have longer liv'd then theirs
That have, with strongest Labour, divers yeeres
Been sending forth [t]he issues of their Braines
Upon the_ Stage; _and shall to th'_ Stationers _gaines
Life after life take, till some After-age
Shall put down_ Printing, _as this doth the_ Stage;
_Which nothing now presents unto the Eye,
But in_ Dumb-shews _her own sad_ Tragedy.
_'Would there had been no sadder Works abroad,
Since her decay, acted in Fields of Blood._
_But to the Man againe, of whom we write,
The_ Writer _that made Writing his Delight,
Rather then Worke. He did not pumpe, nor drudge,
To beget_ Wit, _or manage it: nor trudge
To Wit-conventions with Note-booke, to gleane
Or steale some Jests to foist into a Scene:
He scorn'd those shifts. You that have known him, know
The common talke that from his Lips did flow,
And run at waste, did savour more of Wit,
Then any of his time, or since have writ,
(But few excepted) in the Stages way:
His_ Scenes _were_ Acts, _and every_ Act _a_ Play.
_I knew