r _John Fletcher_.

_So_ FLETCHER _now presents to fame
His alone selfe and unpropt name,
As Rivers Rivers entertaine,
But still fall single into th'maine,
So doth the Moone in Consort shine
Yet flowes alone into its mine,
And though her light be joyntly throwne,
When she makes silver tis her owne:
Perhaps his quill flew stronger, when
Twas weaved with his_ Beaumont's _pen;
And might with deeper wonder hit,
It could not shew more his, more wit;
So Hercules came by sexe and Love,
When Pallas sprang from single Jove;
He tooke his_ BEAUMONT _for Embrace,
Not to grow by him, and increase,
Nor for support did with him twine,
He was his friends friend, not his vine.
His witt with witt he did not twist
To be Assisted, but t' Assist.
And who could succour him, whose quill
Did both Run sense and sense Distill?
Had Time and Art in't, and the while
Slid even as theirs wh'are only style,
Whether his chance did cast it so
Or that it did like Rivers flow
Because it must, or whether twere
A smoothnesse from his file and care,
Not the most strict enquiring nayle
Cou'd e're finde where his piece did faile
Of entyre onenesse; so the frame,
Was Composition, yet the same.
How does he breede his Brother! and
Make wealth and estate understand?
Sutes Land to wit, makes Lucke match merit,
And makes an Eldest fitly inherit:
How was he _Ben_, when _Ben_ did write
Toth' stage, not to his judge endite?
How did he doe what _Johnson_ did.
And Earne what _Johnson_ wou'd have s'ed?

Jos. Howe of Trin. Coll. Oxon.

Master _John Fletcher_ his dramaticall
Workes now at last printed.

I Could prayse _Heywood_ now: or tell how long,
_Falstaffe_ from cracking Nuts hath kept the throng:
But for a _Fletcher_, I must take an Age,
And scarce invent the Title for one Page.
Gods must create new Spheres, that should expresse
The sev'rall Accents, _Fletcher_, of thy Dresse:
The Penne of Fates should only write thy Praise:
And all _Elizium_ for thee turne to Bayes.
Thou feltst no pangs of Poetry, such as they.
Who the Heav'ns quarter still before a Play,
And search the _Ephemerides_ to finde,
When the Aspect for Poets will be kinde.
Thy Poems (sacred Spring) did from thee flow,
With as much pleasure, as we reads them now.
Nor neede we only take them up by fits,
When love or Physicke ha