t unto the times so great
A Legacy, a Treasure so compleat,
That 'twill be hard I feare to prove thy Will:
Men will be wrangling, and in doubting still
How so vast summes of wit were left behind,
And yet nor debts nor sharers they can finde.
'Twas the kind providence of fate, to lock
Some of this Treasure up; and keep a stock
For a reserve untill these sullen daies:
When scorn, and want, and danger, are the Baies
That Crown the head of merit. But now he
Who in thy Will hath part, is rich and free.
But there's a Caveat enter'd by command,
None should pretend, but those can understand._

HENRY MODY, Baronet.

ON

Mr Fletchers Works.

_Though Poets have a licence which they use
As th' ancient priviledge of their free Muse;
Yet whether this be leave enough for me
To write, great Bard, an Eulogie for thee:
Or whether to commend thy Worke, will stand
Both with the Lawes of Verse and of the Land,
Were to put doubts might raise a discontent
Between the Muses and the ----
I'le none of that. There's desperate wits that be
(As their immortall Lawrell) Thunder-free;
Whose personall vertues, 'bove the Lawes of Fate,
Supply the roome of personall estate:
And thus enfranchis'd, safely may rehearse,
Rapt in a lofty straine, [their] own neck-verse.
For he that gives the Bayes to thee, must then
First take it from the Militarie Men;
He must untriumph conquests, bid 'em stand,
Question the strength of their victorious hand.
He must act new things, or go neer the sin,
Reader, as neer as you and I have been:
He must be that, which He that tryes will swear
I[t] is not good being so another Yeare.
And now that thy great name I've brought to [this],
To do it honour is to do amisse,
What's to be done to those, that shall refuse
To celebrate, great Soule, thy noble Muse?_
_Shall the poore State of all those wandring things,
Thy Stage once rais'd to Emperors and Kings?
Shall rigid forfeitures (that reach our Heires)
Of things that only fill with cares and feares?
Shall the privation of a friendlesse life,
Made up of contradictions and strife?
Shall He be entitie, would antedate
His own poore name, and thine annihilate?
Shall these be judgements great enough for one
That dares not write thee an Encomion?
Then where am I? but now I've thought upon't,
I'le prayse thee more