t
To come upon the Stage,_ Beaumont _was faine
To bid thee be more dull, that's write againe,
And bate some of thy fire, which from thee came
In a cleare, bright, full, but too large a flame;
And after all (finding thy Genius such)
That blunted, and allayed, 'twas yet too much;
Added his sober spunge, and did contract
Thy plenty to lesse wit to make't exact:
Yet we through his corrections could see
Much treasure in thy superfluity,
Which was so fil'd away, as when we doe
Cut Jewels, that that's lost is jewell too:
Or as men use to wash Gold, which we know
By losing makes the streame thence wealthy grow.
They who doe on thy worker severely sit,
And call thy store the over-births of wit,
Say thy miscarriages were rare, and when
Thou wert superfluous, that thy fruitfull Pen
Had no fault but abundance, which did lay
Out in one Scene what might well serve a Play;
And hence doe grant, that what they call excesse
Was to be reckon'd as thy happinesse,
From whom wit issued in a full spring-tide;
Much did inrich the Stage, much flow'd beside._
_For that thou couldst thine owne free fancy binde
In stricter numbers, and run so confin'd
As to observe the rules of Art, which sway
In the contrivance of a true borne Play:
These workes proclaime which thou didst write retired
From_ Beaumont, _by none but thy selfe inspired;
Where we see 'twas not chance that made them hit,
Nor were thy Playes the Lotteries of wit,
But like to_ Durers _Pencill, which first knew
The lawes of faces, and then faces drew:
Thou knowst the aire, the colour, and the place,
The simetry, which gives a Poem grace:
Parts are so fitted unto parts, as doe
Shew thou hadst wit, and Mathematicks too:
Knewst where by line to spare, where to dispence,
And didst beget just Comedies from thence:
Things unto which thou didst such life bequeath,
That they (their owne Black-Friers) unacted breath._
Johnson _hath writ things lasting, and divine,
Yet his Love-Scenes,_ Fletcher, _compar'd to thine,
Are cold and frosty, and exprest love so,
As heat with Ice, or warme fires mixt with Snow;
Thou, as if struck with the same generous darts,
Which burne, and raigne in noble Lovers hearts,
Hast cloath'd affections in such native tires,
And so describ'd them in their owne true fires;
Such moving sighes, suc[h] undissembled teares,
Such charmes of language, such hopes mix