kin _claim'd;
That should the Stage_ embattaile _all it's Force,_
FLETCHER _would lead the Foot,_ BEAUMONT _the Horse.
But, you were Both for Both; not Semi-witts,
Each Piece is wholly Two, yet never splits:
Y'are not Two_ Faculties (_and one_ Soule _still)
But th'_ Understanding, _Thou the quick free_ Will;
_But, as two_ Voyces _in one Song embrace,_
(FLETCHER'S _keen_ Trebble, _and deep_ BEAUMONTS Base)
_Two, full, Congeniall Soules; still Both prevail'd;
His Muse and Thine were_ Quarter'd _not_ Impal'd:
_Both brought Your Ingots, Both toil'd at the Mint,
Beat, melted, sifted, till no drosse stuck in't,
Then in each Others scales weighed every graine,
Then smooth'd and burnish'd, then weigh'd all againe,
Stampt Both your Names upon't by one bold Hit,
Then, then'twas Coyne, as well as Bullion-Wit.

Thus Twinns: But as when Fate one Eye deprives,
That other strives to double which survives:
So_ BEAUMONT _dy'd: yet left in Legacy
His Rules and Standard-wit_ (FLETCHER) _to Thee.
Still the same Planet, though not fill'd so soon,
A Two-horn'd_ Crescent _then, now one_ Full-moon.
_Joynt_ Love _before, now_ Honour _doth provoke;
So th' old Twin_-Giants _forcing a huge Oake
One slipp'd his footing, th' Other sees him fall,
Grasp'd the whole Tree and single held up all.
Imperiall_ FLETCHER! _here begins thy Raigne,
Scenes flow like Sun-beams from thy glorious Brain;
Thy swift dispatching Soule no more doth stay
Then He that built two Citties in one day;
Ever brim full, and sometimes running o're
To feede poore languid Witts that waite at doore,
Who creep and creep, yet ne're above-ground stood,
(For Creatures have most Feet which have least Blood)
But thou art still that_ Bird of Paradise
_Which hath_ no feet _and ever nobly_ flies:
_Rich, lusty Sence, such as the_ Poet _ought,
For_ Poems _if not Excellent, are Naught;
Low wit in Scenes? in state a Peasant goes;
If meane and flat, let it foot Yeoman Prose,
That such may spell as are not Readers grown,
To whom He that writes Wit, shews he hath none._
_Brave_ Shakespeare _flow'd, yet had his Ebbings too,
Often above Himselfe, sometimes below;
Thou Alwayes Best; if ought seem'd to decline,
'Twas the unjudging Rout's mistake, not Thine:
Thus thy faire_ SHEPHEARDESSE, _which the bold Heape
(False to Themselves and Thee) did prize so cheap,_
_Was found (when understood)