t by severall Originall Pieces, which his
friends lent me, but withall they tell me, that his unimitable Soule
did shine through his countenance in such _Ayre_ and _Spirit_, that the
Painters confessed, it was not easie to expresse him: As much as could
be, you have here, and the _Graver_ hath done his part. What ever I have
scene of Mr. _Fletchers_ owne hand, is free from interlining; and his
friends affirme he never writ any one thing twice: it seemes he had that
rare felicity to prepare and perfect all first in his owne braine; to
shape and attire his _Notions_, to adde or loppe off, before he committed
one word to writing, and never touched pen till all was to stand as firme
and immutable as if ingraven in Brasse or Marble. But I keepe you too
long from those _friends_ of his whom 'tis fitter for you to read; only
accept of the honest endeavours of

_One that is a Servant to you all_

HUMPHREY MOSELEY.
_At the_ Princes Armes _in_
St Pauls _Church-yard_. Feb._ 14th 1646.

To the Stationer.

_Tell the sad World that now the lab'ring Presse
Has brought forth safe a Child of happinesse,
The Frontis-piece will satisfie the wise
And good so well, they will not grudge the price.
'Tis not all Kingdomes joyn'd in one could buy
(If priz'd aright) so true a Library
Of man: where we the characters may finde
Of ev'ry Nobler and each baser minde.
Desert has here reward in one good line
For all it lost, for all it might repine:
Vile and ignobler things are open laid,
The truth of their false colours are displayed:
You'l say the Poet's both best Judge and Priest,
No guilty soule abides so sharp a test
As their smooth Pen; for what these rare men writ
Commands the World, both Honesty and Wit_.

GRANDISON.

IN MEMORY OF Mr. JOHN FLETCHER.

_Me thought our_ Fletcher _weary of this croud,
Wherein so few have witt, yet all are loud,
Unto Elyzium fled, where he alone
Might his own witt admire and ours bemoane;
But soone upon those Flowry Bankes, a throng
Worthy of those even numbers which he sung,
Appeared, and though those Ancient Laureates strive
When dead themselves, whose raptures should survive,
For his Temples all their owne bayes allowes,
Not sham'd to see him crown'd with naked browes_;
Homer _his beautifull_ Achilles _nam'd,
Urging his braine with_ Joves _might well be fam'd,
Sinc