_Me thought our_ Fletcher _weary of this croud,

THE WORKS OF FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER

In ten volumes

Vol. I

FRANCIS BEAUMONT

Born 1584

Died 1616

JOHN FLETCHER

Born 1579

Died 1625

THE MAIDS TRAGEDY

PHILASTER

A KING, AND NO KING

THE SCORNFUL LADY

THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY

THE TEXT EDITED BY

ARNOLD GLOVER, M.A.

OF TRINITY COLLEGE AND THE INNER TEMPLE

NOTE.

The first collected edition of the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher was

published in 1647, in folio (12 1/2 ins. x 8 1/8 ins. is the measurement

of the copy used for the purpose of collation). The title-page runs

thus:--

Comedies | and | Tragedies |

{ Francis Beaumont }

|written by { And } Gentlemen. |

{ John Fletcher }

Never printed before, | And now published by

the Authours | Originall Copies. | _Si quid habent

veri Vatum præsagia, vivam.|London_, | Printed for

_Humphrey Robinson_, at the three _Pidgeons_, and for |

_Humphrey Moseley_ at the _Princes Armes in St Pauls_.

This collection, which is referred to as the First Folio throughout the

present edition, contained all the authors' previously unpublished plays

(34) except _The Wild-Goose Chase_, which, at the date of the Folio, was

supposed to be lost. The dedicatory epistles, commendatory poem, and

Catalogue of Plays, prefixed to the First Folio, are reprinted in the

preliminary pages at the end of this Note (pp. ix--lvii).

The second collected edition appeared in 1679 in folio (14-3/8 ins.

x 8-1/4 ins.); a reprint of the title-page is given on p. lix of the

present volume. This collection, referred to henceforth as the Second

Folio, contained (i) all the plays included in the First Folio, (ii) _The

Wild-Goose Chase_, which had been published in folio in 1652, (iii)

all the other then known plays of the authors which had been published

previously to 1679.

William Marshall's portrait of John Fletcher faces the title-page of both

folios with the following inscription engraved underneath:--

_Felicis ævi ac_ Præsulis _Natus; comes_ Beaumontis; _sic, quippe

Parnassus_, biceps; FLETCHERUS _unam in Pyramida furcas agens. Struxit

chorum plus simplicem Vates Duplex; Plus duplicem solus: nec ullum

transtulit; Nec transferendus: Dramatum æterni sales,_ Anglo _Theatro,

Orbe, Sibi, superstites_.

_FLETCHERE, facies absqz vultu pingitur; Quantus! vel_ umbram _circuit

nemo tuam._

J. Berkenhead.

Later collected editions of the works were published in 1711 (7 vols.);

1750, edited by Lewis Theobald, Thomas Seward and J. Sympson (10 vols.);

1778, edited by George Colman (10 vols.); 1812, edited by Henry Weber (14

vols.); 1843, edited by Alexander Dyce (11 vols.). It is unnecessary to

refer in detail to these later editions which, very widely as they differ

among themselves, agree in presenting an eclectic text, a text formed

partly by a collation of the various old editions and partly by the

adoption of conjectural emendations. During the progress of work upon

the present issue another edition has been announced, under the general

editorship of Mr A. H. Bullen, and the first volume was published last

year. It follows the lines of its predecessors in presenting a modernised

text, giving 'a fuller record than had been given by Dyce of _variæ

lectiones_,' and pleading, in its prospectus, that, 'for the use of

scholars, there should be editions of all our old authors in old

spelling.'

The objects of the present edition, in accordance with the scheme of the

series of ENGLISH CLASSICS of which it is a part, are to provide (i) a

text in which there shall be no deviation from that adopted as its basis,

in the matter of spelling, punctuation, the use of capitals and italics,

save as recorded, and to give (ii) an apparatus of variant readings as an

Appendix, comprising the texts of all the early issues, that is to say,

of all editions prior to and including the Second Folio. Within these

limits, and apart from mere variations in spelling and punctuation, every

variation, whether deemed important or not, is recorded in the Appendixes

to these volumes.

Of the 52 Plays in the Second Folio only 5 were published before the

death of Beaumont and 9 before the death of Fletcher. The text has,

therefore, given rise to a fruitful crop of conjectural emendations,

but it has not been deemed a part of the editor's duty to garner them.

Leaving these on one side, and desirous mainly of collecting every

alternative reading in all the Quartos and in the two Folios, the text

used in the preparation of the present edition, chosen after careful

consideration, is that of the Second Folio, obvious printers' errors

being corrected, recorded in the Appendix, and indicated in the text

by the insertion of square brackets. This text is the latest with

any pretence to authority, it includes all the plays, and it forms a

convenient limit, beyond which no notice has been taken of alternative

readings, and to which the variants, chronologically arranged from the

earliest to the latest Quartos, can easily be referred. Some of the early

Quartos no doubt offer better texts of some of the plays, especially in

the matter of verse and prose arrangement, and had it been intended to

print one text, and one text only, unaccompanied by a full apparatus of

variorum readings, something might be said in favour of a choice among

the Quartos and Folios, selecting here and there, in the case of each

play, the particular text that seemed the best. But such choice could

only be an extension of the eclectic method that has been rejected in

dealing with alternative readings, it seemed to be equally unscientific,

and, in view of the material in the Appendixes, needless.

In common with all the Quartos and the First Folio the Second Folio

has failings, which will be noted in due course, but these have been

exaggerated, and against them may be set the advantages detailed in the

address of 'The Booksellers to the Reader,' reprinted on p. lx.

It has been thought that it would be useful to students to give lists

of the different arrangements of prose and verse that obtain in the

different quartos, and these will be found in the Appendix after the

variants of each play.

The remaining volumes of this edition will follow as soon as can be

arranged.

* * * * *

The Syndics of the University Press have asked me to complete the work

begun by Arnold Glover. It was a work greatly to his mind: he spent much

labour upon it, being always keenly interested in critical, textual and

bibliographical work in English literature; he welcomed a return to his

earlier studies among the Elizabethans after five years given to the

works of one of their most discerning critics; but he did not live to see

the publication of the first volume of his new work. When he died in the

January of this year, the text of volumes one and two had been passed for

press, the material accumulated for the Appendixes to those volumes and

the draft of the above 'Note' partly written. With the assistance of Mrs

Arnold Glover, who had helped him in the laborious work of collation, I

have checked and arranged this editorial material for press. I hope I

have not let any error escape me which he would have detected.

A. R. WALLER.

CAMBRIDGE,

2 _August_, 1905.

CONTENTS

Epistle Dedicatorie to the First Folio

Ja. Shirley to the Reader (First Folio)

The Stationer to the Readers (First Folio)

Commendatory Verses (First Folio)

A Catalogue of all the Comedies and Tragedies (First Folio)

Title-page of the Second Folio

The Booksellers to the Reader (Second Folio)

A Catalogue of all the Comedies and Tragedies (Second Folio)

The Maids Tragedy

Philaster: or, Love lies a Bleeding

A King, and no King

The Scornful Lady, a Comedy

The Custom of the Country

Appendix

TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

PHILIP

Earle of Pembroke and Mountgomery:

Baron Herbert of Cardiffe and Sherland,

Lord Parr and Ross of Kendall; Lord Fitz-Hugh,

Marmyon, and Saint Quintin; Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter;

and one of His Majesties most Honourable Privie Councell: And our

Singular Good Lord.

My Lord, _There is none among all the_ Names _of_ Honour, _that hath A

more encouraged the_ Legitimate Muses _of this latter Age, then that

which is owing to your_ Familie; _whose_ Coronet _shines bright with the

native luster of its owne_ Jewels, _which with the accesse of some Beames

of_ Sydney, _twisted with their_ Flame _presents a_ Constellation, _from

whose_ Influence _all good may be still expected upon Witt and Learning_.

_At this_ Truth _we rejoyce, but yet aloofe, and in our owne valley, for

we dare not approach with any capacity in our selves to apply your

Smile, since wee have only preserved as_ Trustees _to the_ Ashes _of the

Authors, what wee exhibit to your_ Honour, _it being no more our owne,

then those_ Imperiall Crownes _and_ Garlands _were the Souldiers, who

were honourably designed for their Conveyance before the_ Triumpher _to

the_ Capitol.

_But directed by the example of some, who once steered in our qualitie,

and so fortunately aspired to choose your_ Honour, _joyned with your (now

glorified_) Brother, Patrons _to the flowing compositions of the then

expired sweet_ Swan _of_ Avon SHAKESPEARE; _and since, more particularly

bound to your_ Lordships _most constant and diffusive_ Goodnesse, _from

which, wee did for many calme yeares derive a subsistence to our

selves, and Protection to the Scene (now withered, and condemned, as we

feare, to a long Winter and sterilitie) we have presumed to offer to your_

Selfe, _what before was never printed of these_ Authours.

_Had they beene lesse then all the_ Treasure _we had contrasted in the

whole Age of_ Poesie _(some few Poems of their owne excepted, which

already published, command their entertainement, with all lovers of_ Art

_and_ Language) _or were they not, the most justly admir'd, and beloved

Pieces of_ Witt _and the_ World, _wee should have taught our selves a

lesse Ambition.

Be pleased to accept this humble tender of our duties, and till we faile

in our obedience to all your Commands, vouchsafe, we may be knowne by

the_ Cognizance _and_ Character _of_

MY LORD,

Your Honours most bounden

_John Lowin

Richard Robinson

Eyloerd Swanston

Hugh Clearke

Stephen Hammerton

Joseph Taylor

Robert Benfeild

Thomas Pollard

William Allen

Theophilus Byrd_.

TO THE READER.

Poetry _is the_ Child _of_ Nature, _which regulated and made beautifull by

Art, presenteth the most Harmonious of all other compositions; among

which (if we rightly consider) the_ Dramaticall _is the most absolute,

in regard of those transcendent_ Abilities, which should waite upon the_

Composer; _who must have more then the instruction of Libraries which

of it selfe is but a cold contemplative knowledge there being required

in him a_ Soule _miraculously knowing, and conversing with all mankind,

inabling him to expresse not onely the Phlegme and folly of_ thick-skin'd

men, _but the strength and maturity of the wise, the Aire and

insinuations of the_ Court, _the discipline and Resolution of the

Soldier, the Vertues and passions of every noble condition, nay the

councells and charailers of the greatest Princes.

This you will say is a vast comprehension, and hath not hapned in many

Ages. Be it then remembred to the Glory of our owne, that all these are

Demonstrative and met in_ BEAUMONT & FLETCHER, _whom but to mention is to

throw a cloude upon all former names and benight Posterity; This Book

being, without flattery, the greatest_ Monument _of the Scene that Time

and Humanity have produced, and must Live, not only the_ Crowne _and

sole_ Reputation _of our owne, but the stayne of all other_ Nations _and_

Languages, _for it may be boldly averred, not one indiscretion hath

branded this Paper in all the Lines, this being the Authentick witt that

made Blackfriers an Academy, where the three howers spectacle while_

Beaumont _and_ Fletcher _were presented, were usually of more advantage

to the hopefull young Heire, then a costly, dangerous, forraigne Travell,

with the assistance of a governing Mounsieur, or Signior to boot; And it

cannot be denied but that the young spirits of the Time, whose Birth &

Quality made them impatient of the sowrer wayes of education, have from

the attentive hearing these pieces, got ground in point of wit and

carriage of the most severely employed Students, while these Recreations

were digested into Rules, and the very Pleasure did edifie. How many

passable discoursing dining witts stand yet in good credit upon the bare

stock of two or three of these single Scenes.

And now Reader in this_ Tragicall Age _where the_ Theater _hath been so

much out-ailed, congratulate thy owne happinesse, that in this silence of

the Stage, thou hast a liberty to reade these inimitable Playes, to dwell

and converse in these immortall Groves, which were only shewd our Fathers

in a conjuring glasse, as suddenly removed as represented, the Landscrap

is now brought home by this optick, and the Presse thought too pregnant

before, shall be now look'd upon as greatest Benefactor to Englishmen,

that must acknowledge all the felicity of_ witt _and_ words _to this

Derivation.

You may here find passions raised to that excellent pitch and by such

insinuating degrees that you shall not chuse but consent, and & go along

with them, finding your self at last grown insensibly the very same

person you read, and then stand admiring the subtile Trackes of your

engagement. Fall on a Scene of love and you will never believe the

writers could have the least roome left in their soules for another

passion, peruse a Scene of manly Rage, and you would sweare they cannot

be exprest by the same hands, but both are so excellently wrought, you

must confesse none, but the same hands, could worke them.

Would thy Melancholy have a cure? thou shalt laugh at_ Democritus

_himselfe, and but reading one piece of this Comick variety, finde thy

exalted fancie in Elizium; And when thou art sick of this cure, (for the

excesse of delight may too much dilate thy_ soule,) _thou shalt meete

almost in every leafe a soft purling passion or_ spring _of sorrow so

powerfully wrought high by the teares of innocence, and_ wronged Lovers,

_it shall persuade thy eyes to weepe into the streame, and yet smile when

they contribute to their owne ruines.

Infinitely more might be said of these rare Copies, but let the ingenuous

Reader peruse them & he will finde them so able to speake their own

worth, that they need not come into the world with a trumpet, since any

one of these incomparable pieces well understood will prove a_ Preface _to

the rest, and if the Reader can fast the best wit ever trod our English

Stage, he will be forced himselfe to become a_ breathing Panegerick _to

them all.

Not to detaine or prepare thee longer, be as capritious and sick-brain'd,

as ignorance & malice can make thee, here thou art rectified, or be as

healthfull as the inward calme of an honest_ Heart, Learning, _and_

Temper _can state thy disposition, yet this booke may be thy fortunate_

concernement _and Companion.

It is not so remote in Time, but very many Gentlemen may remember these

Authors & some familiar in their conversation deliver them upon every

pleasant occasion so fluent, to talke a Comedy. He must be a bold man

that dares undertake to write their Lives. What I have to say is, we have

the precious_ Remaines, _and as the wisest contemporaries acknowledge

they Lived a_ Miracle, _I am very confident this volume cannot die without

one.

What more specially concerne these Authors and their workes is told

thee by another hand in the following Epistle of the_ Stationer to the

Readers.

_Farwell, Reade, and feare not thine owne understanding, this Booke will

create a cleare one in thee, and when thou hast considered thy purchase,

thou wilt call the price of it a Charity to thy selfe, and at the same

time forgive thy friend, and these Authors humble admirer_,

JA. SHIRLEY.

The Stationer to the Readers.

_Gentlemen,_ before you engage farther, be pleased to take notice of

these Particulars. You have here a _New Booke_; I can speake it clearely;

for of all this large Volume of _Comedies_ and _Tragedies_, not one, till

now, was ever printed before. A _Collection of Playes_ is commonly but a

_new Impression_, the scattered pieces which were printed single, being

then onely Republished together: 'Tis otherwise here.

Next, as it is all New, so here is not any thing _Spurious_ or _impos'd_;

I had the Originalls from such as received them from the Authours

themselves; by Those, and none other, I publish this Edition.

And as here's nothing but what is genuine and Theirs, so you will finde

here are no _Omissions_; you have not onely All I could get, but All that

you must ever expect. For (besides those which were formerly printed)

there is not any Piece written by these _Authours_, either Joyntly or

Severally, but what are now publish'd to the World in this _Volume_. One

only Play I must except (for I meane to deale openly) 'tis a _COMEDY_

called the _Wilde-goose Chase_, which hath beene long lost, and I feare

irrecoverable; for a _Person of Quality_ borrowed it from the _Actours_

many yeares since, and (by the negligence of a Servant) it was never

return'd; therefore now I put up this _Si quis_, that whosoever hereafter

happily meetes with it, shall be thankfully satisfied if he please to

send it home.

Some _Playes_ (you know) written by these _Authors_ were heretofore

Printed: I thought not convenient to mixe them with this _Volume_, which

of it selfe is entirely New. And indeed it would have rendred the Booke

so Voluminous, that _Ladies_ and _Gentlewomen_ would have found it

scarce manageable, who in Workes of this nature must first be remembred.

Besides, I considered those former Pieces had been so long printed and

re-printed, that many Gentlemen were already furnished; and I would have

none say, they pay twice for the same Booke.

One thing I must answer before it bee objected; 'tis this: When these

_Comedies_ and _Tragedies_ were presented on the Stage, the _Actours_

omitted some _Scenes_ and Passages (with the _Authour's_ consent) as

occasion led them; and when private friends desir'd a Copy, they then

(and justly too) transcribed what they _Acted_. But now you have both All

that was _Acted_, and all that was not; even the perfect full Originalls

without the least mutilation; So that were the _Authours_ living, (and

sure they can never dye) they themselves would challenge neither more nor

lesse then what is here published; this Volume being now so compleate and

finish'd, that the Reader must expect no future Alterations.

For _literall Errours_ committed by the Printer, 'tis the fashion to aske

pardon, and as much in fashion to take no notice of him that asks it;

but in this also I have done my endeavour. 'Twere vaine to mention the

_Chargeablenesse_ of this Work; for those who own'd the _Manuscripts_,

too well knew their value to make a cheap estimate of any of these

Pieces, and though another joyn'd with me in the _Purchase_ and Printing,

yet the _Care & Pains_ was wholly mine, which I found to be more then

you'l easily imagine, unlesse you knew into how many hands the Originalls

were dispersed. They are all now happily met in this Book, having escaped

these _Publike Troubles_, free and unmangled. Heretofore when Gentlemen

desired but a Copy of any of these _Playes_, the meanest piece here (if

any may be called Meane where every one is Best) cost them more then

foure times the price you pay for the whole _Volume_.

I should scarce have adventured in these slippery times on such a work

as this, if knowing persons had not generally assured mee that these

_Authors_ were the most unquestionable Wits this Kingdome hath afforded.

Mr. _Beaumont_ was ever acknowledged a man of a most strong and searching

braine; and (his yeares considered) the most _Judicious Wit_ these later

Ages have produced; he dyed young, for (which was an invaluable losse to

this Nation) he left the world when hee was not full thirty yeares old.

Mr. _Fletcher_ survived, and lived till almost fifty; whereof the World

now enjoyes the benefit. It was once in my thoughts to have Printed Mr.

_Fletcher's_ workes by themselves, because single & alone he would make

a _Just Volume_: But since never parted while they lived, I conceived it

not equitable to seperate their ashes.

It becomes not me to say (though it be a knowne Truth) that these

_Authors_ had not only High unexpressible gifts of _Nature_, but also

excellent _acquired Parts_, being furnished with Arts and Sciences by

that liberall education they had at the _University_, which sure is the

best place to make a great Wit understand it selfe; this their workes

will soone make evident. I was very ambitious to have got Mr. Beaumonts

picture; but could not possibly, though I spared no enquirie in those

_Noble Families_ whence he was descended, as also among those Gentlemen

that were his acquaintance when he was of the _Inner Temple_: the best

Pictures and those most like him you'll finde in this _Volume_. This

figure of Mr. _Fletcher_ was cut 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,

Since it brought forth one full of beauties charmes,

As was his Pallas, and as bold in Armes; [-King and no King.-]

But when he the brave_ Arbases _saw, one

That saved his peoples dangers by his own,

And saw_ Tigranes _by his hand undon

Without the helpe of any_ Mirmydon,

_He then confess'd when next hee'd Hector slay,

That he must borrow him from Fletchers Play;

This might have beene the shame, for which he bid

His_ Iliades _in a Nut-shell should be hid_:

Virgill _of his_ Æneas _next begun,

Whose God-like forme and tongue so soone had wonne;

That Queene of_ Carthage _and of beauty too,

Two powers the whole world else were slaves unto,

Urging that Prince for to repaire his faulte

On earth, boldly in hell his Mistresse sought; [-The Maides Tragedy.-]

But when he_ Amintor _saw revenge that wrong,

For which the sad_ Aspasia _sigh'd so long,

Upon himselfe, to shades hasting away,

Not for to make a visit but to stay;

He then did modestly confesse how farr_

Fletcher _out-did him in a Charactar.

Now lastly for a refuge_, Virgill _shewes

The lines where_ Corydon Alexis _woes;

But those in opposition quickly met [-The faithfull Shepherdesse.-]

The smooth tongu'd_ Perigot _and_ Amoret:

_A paire whom doubtlesse had the others seene,

They from their owne loves had_ Apostates _beene;

Thus_ Fletcher _did the fam'd laureat exceed,

Both when his Trumpet sounded and his reed;

Now if the Ancients yeeld that heretofore,

None worthyer then those ere Laurell wore;

The least our age can say now thou art gon,

Is that there never will be such a one:

And since t' expresse thy worth, our rimes too narrow be,

To help it wee'l be ample in our prophesie_.

H. HOWARD.

On Mr John Fletcher, and his Workes, never before published.

_To flatter living fooles is easie slight:

But hard, to do the living-dead men right.

To praise a Landed Lord, is gainfull art:

But thanklesse to pay Tribute to desert.

This should have been my taske: I had intent

To bring my rubbish to thy monument,

To stop some crannies there, but that I found

No need of least repaire; all firme and sound.

Thy well-built fame doth still it selfe advance

Above the Worlds mad zeale and ignorance,

Though thou dyedst not possest of that same pelfe

(Which Nobler soules call durt,) the City wealth:

Yet thou hast left 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 then all have ventur'd on't.

I'le take thy noble Work (and like the trade

Where for a heap of Salt pure Gold is layd)

I'le lay thy Volume, that Huge Tome of wit,

About in Ladies Closets, where they sit

Enthron'd in their own wills; and if she bee

A Laick sister, shee'l straight flie to thee:

But if a holy Habit shee have on,

Or be some Novice, shee'l scarce looks upon

Thy Lines at first; but watch Her then a while,

And you shall see Her steale a gentle smile

Upon thy Title, put thee neerer yet,

Breath on thy Lines a whisper, and then set

Her voyce up to the measures; then begin

To blesse the houre, and happy state shee's in.

Now shee layes by her Characters, and lookes

With a stern eye on all her pretty Bookes.

Shee's now thy Voteresse, and the just Crowne

She brings thee with it, is worth half the Towne.

I'le send thee to the Army, they that fight

Will read thy tragedies with some delight,

Be all thy Reformadoes, fancy scars,

And pay too, in thy speculative wars.

I'le send thy Comick scenes to some of those

That for a great while have plaid fast and loose;

New universalists, by changing shapes,

Have made with wit and fortune faire escapes.

Then shall the Countrie that poor Tennis-ball

Of angry fate, receive thy Pastorall,

And from it learn those melancholy straines

Fed the afflicted soules of Primitive swaines.

Thus the whole World to reverence will flock

Thy Tragick Buskin and thy Comick Stock;

And winged fame unto posterity

Transmit but onely two, this Age, and Thee._

THOMAS PEYTON.

_Agricola Anglo-Cantianus._

VERSES

ON THE

Deceased Authour, Mr John Fletcher,

his Plays; and especially, _The Mad Lover_.

_Whilst his well organ'd body doth retreat,

To its first matter, and the formall heat

Triumphant sits in judgement to approve

Pieces above our Candour and our love:

Such as dare boldly venter to appeare

Unto the curious eye, and Criticke eare:

Lo the_ Mad Lover _in these various times

Is pressed to life, t' accuse us of our crimes.

While_ Fletcher _liv'd, who equall to him writ

Such lasting Monuments of naturall wit?

Others might draw: their lines with sweat, like those

That (with much paines) a Garrison inclose;

Whilst his sweet fluent veine did gently runne

As uncontrold, and smoothly as the Sun.

After his death our Theatres did make

Him in his own unequald Language speake:

And now when all the Muses out of their

Approved modesty silent appeare,

This Play of_ Fletchers _braves the envious light

As wonder of our eares once, now our sight.

Three and fourfold blest Poet, who the Lives

Of Poets, and of Theaters survives!

A Groome, or Ostler of some wit may bring

His Pegasus to the Castalian spring;

Boast he a race o're the Pharsalian plaine,

Or happy_ Tempe _valley dares maintaine:

Brag at one leape upon the double Cliffe

(Were it as high as monstrous Tennariffe)

Of farre-renown'd Parnassus he will get,

And there (t' amaze the World) confirme his state:

When our admired_ Fletcher _vaunts not ought,

And slighted everything he writ as naught:

While all our English wondring world (in's cause)

Made this great City eccho with applause.

Read him therefore all that can read, and those

That cannot learne, if y' are not Learnings foes,

And wilfully resolved to refuse

The gentle Raptures of this happy Muse.

From thy great constellation (noble Soule)

Looke on this Kingdome, suffer not the whole

Spirit of Poesie retire to Heaven,

But make us entertains what thou hast given.

Earthquakes and Thunder Diapasons make

The Seas vast roare, and irresistlesse shake

Of horrid winds, a sympathy compose;

So in these things there's musicke in the close:

And though they seem great Discords in our eares,

They are not so to them above the Spheares.

Granting these Musicke, how much sweeter's that_

Mnemosyne's _daughter's voyces doe create?

Since Heaven, and Earth, and Seas, and Ayre consent

To make an Harmony (the Instrument,

Their man agreeing selves) shall we refuse

The Musicke which the Deities doe use?_

Troys _ravisht_ Ganymed _doth sing to_ Jove,

_And_ Phoebus _selfe playes on his Lyre above.

The Cretan Gods, or glorious men, who will

Imitate right, must wonder at thy skill,

Best Poet of thy times, or he will prove

As mad as thy brave_ Memnon _was with love._

ASTON COKAINE, Baronet.

Upon the Works of BEAUMONT,

and FLETCHER.

_How_ Angels (_cloyster'd in our humane Cells_)

_Maintaine their parley,_ Beaumont-Fletcher _tels;

Whose strange unimitable Intercourse

Transcends all Rules, and flyes beyond the force

Of the most forward soules; all must submit

Untill they reach these_ Mysteries _of Wit.

The_ Intellectuall Language _here's exprest,

Admir'd in better times, and dares the Test

Of Ours; for from_ Wit, Sweetnesse, Mirth, _and_ Sence,

_This Volume springs a new true_ Quintessence.

JO. PETTUS, Knight.

On the Works of the most excellent Dramatick Poet, Mr. _John F[l]etcher_,

never before Printed.

Haile_ Fletcher, _welcome to the worlds great Stage;

For our two houres, we have thee here an age

In thy whole Works, and may th'_ Impression _call

The_ Pretor _that presents thy Playes to all:

Both to the People, and the_ Lords _that sway

That_ Herd, _and Ladies whom those Lords obey.

And what's the Loadstone can such guests invite

But moves on two Poles,_ Profit _and_ Delight,

_Which will be soon, as on the Rack, confest

When every one is tickled with a jest:

And that pure_ Fletcher, _able to subdue

A_ Melancholy _more then_ Burton _knew.

And though upon the by, to his designes

The_ Native _may learne English from his lines,

And_ th' Alien _if he can but construe it,

May here be made free_ Denison _of wit.

But his maine end does drooping_ Vertue _raise,

And crownes her beauty with eternall_ Bayes;

_In Scænes where she inflames the frozen soule,

While_ Vice _(her paint washt off) appeares so foule;

She must this_ Blessed Isle _and Europe leave,

And some new_ Quadrant _of the_ Globe _deceive:

Or hide her Blushes on the_ Affrike _shore

Like_ Marius, _but ne're rise to_ triumph _more;

That_ honour _is resign'd to_ Fletchers _fame;

Adde to his Trophies, that a_ Poets _name

(Late growne as odious to our_ Moderne _states

As that of_ King _to Rome) he vindicates

From black aspertions, cast upon't by those

Which only are inspir'd to lye in prose.

_And_, By the Court of Muses be't decreed,

_What graces spring from Poesy's richer seed,

When we name_ Fletcher _shall be so proclaimed,

As all that's_ Royall _is when_ Cæsar's _nam'd.

ROBERT STAPYLTON Knight.

To the memory of my most honoured kinsman, Mr. _Francis Beaumont_.

_I'le not pronounce how strong and cleane thou writes,

Nor by what new hard Rules thou took'st thy Flights,

Nor how much_ Greek _and_ Latin _some refine

Before they can make up six words of thine,

But this I'le say, thou strik'st our sense so deep,

At once thou mak'st us Blush, Rejoyce, and Weep.

Great Father_ Johnson _bow'd himselfe when hee

(Thou writ'st so nobly) vow'd he _envy'd thee_.

Were thy_ Mardonius _arm'd, there would be more

Strife for his Sword then all_ Achilles _wore,

Such wise just Rage, had Hee been lately tryd

My life on't Hee had been o'th' Better side,

And where hee found false odds, (through Gold or Sloath)

There brave_ Mardonius _would have beat them Both.

Behold, here's FLETCHER too! the World ne're knew

Two Potent Witts co-operate till You;

For still your fancies are so wov'n and knit,

'Twas FRANCIS FLETCHER, or JOHN BEAUMONT writ.

Yet neither borrow'd, nor were so put to't

To call poore Godds and Goddesses to do't;

Nor made Nine Girles your_ Muses _(you suppose

Women ne're write, save_ Love-Letters in prose)

_But are your owne Inspirers, and have made

Such pow'rfull Sceanes, as when they please, invade.

Tour Plot, Sence, Language, All's so pure and fit,

Hee's Bold, not Valiant, dare dispute your Wit_.

GEORGE LISLE Knight.

On Mr. _JOHN FLETCHER'S_ Workes.

_So shall we joy, when all whom Beasts and Wormes

Had turned to their owne substances and formes,

Whom Earth to Earth, or fire hath chang'd to fire,

Wee shall behold more then at first intire

As now we doe, to see all thine, thine owne

In this thy Muses Resurrection,

Whose scattered parts, from thy owne Race, more wounds

Hath suffer'd, then_ Acteon _from his hounds;

Which first their Braines, and then their Bellies fed,

And from their excrements new Poets bred.

But now thy Muse inraged from her urne

Like Ghosts of Murdred bodyes doth returne

To accuse the Murderers, to right the Stage,

And undeceive the long abused Age,

Which casts thy praise on them, to whom thy Wit

Gives not more Gold then they give drosse to it:

Who not content like fellons to purloyne,

Adde Treason to it, and debase thy Coyne.

But whither am I strayd? I need not raise

Trophies to thee from other Mens dispraise;

Nor is thy fame on lesser Ruines built,

Nor needs thy juster title the foule guilt

Of Easterne Kings, who to secure their Raigne,

Must have their Brothers, Sonnes, and Kindred slaine.

Then was wits Empire at the fatall height,

When labouring and sinking with its weight,

From thence a thousand lesser Poets sprong

Like petty Princes from the fall of_ Rome.

When_ JOHNSON, SHAKESPEARE, _and thy selfe did sit,

And sway'd in the Triumvirate of wit--

Yet what from_ JOHNSONS _oyle and sweat did flow,

Or what more easie nature did bestow

On_ SHAKESPEARES _gentler Muse, in thee full growne

Their Graces both appeare, yet so, that none

Can say here Nature ends, and Art begins

But mixt like th'Elemcnts, and borne like twins,

So interweav'd, so like, so much the same,

None this meere Nature, that meere Art can name:

'Twas this the Ancients meant, Nature and Skill

Are the two topps of their_ Pernassus _Hill_.

J. DENHAM.

Upon Mr. _John Fletcher's_ Playes.

Fletcher, _to thee, wee doe not only owe

All these good Playes, but those of others too:

Thy wit repeated, does support the Stage,

Credits the last and entertaines this age.

No Worthies form'd by any Muse but thine

Could purchase Robes to make themselves so fine:

What brave Commander is not proud to see

Thy brave_ Melantius _in his Gallantry,

Our greatest Ladyes love to see their scorne

Out done by Thine, in what themselves have worne:

Th'impatient Widow ere the yeare be done

Sees thy_ Aspasia _weeping in her Gowne:

I never yet the Tragick straine assay'd

Deterr'd by that inimitable_ Maid:

_And when I venture at the Comick stile

Thy_ Scornfull Lady _seemes to mock my toile:

Thus has thy Muse, at once, improv'd and marr'd

Our Sport in Playes, by rendring it too hard.

So when a sort of lusty Shepheards throw

The barre by turns, and none the rest outgoe

So farre, but that the best are measuring casts,

Their emulation and their pastime lasts;

But if some Brawny yeoman, of the guard

Step in and tosse the Axeltree a yard

Or more beyond the farthest Marke, the rest

Despairing stand, their sport is at the best._

EDW. WALLER.

To FLETCHER Reviv'd.

_How have I been Religious? what strange Good

Ha's scap't me that I never understood?

Have I Hell guarded_ Hæresie _o'rethrowne?

Heald wounded States? made Kings and Kingdomes one?

That_ Fate _should be so mercifull to me,

To let me live t'have said I have read thee.

Faire Star ascend! the Joy! the Life! the Light

Of this tempestuous Age, this darke worlds sight!

Oh from thy Crowne of Glory dart one flame

May strike a sacred Reverence, whilest thy Name

(Like holy_ Flamens _to their God of Day)

We bowing, sing; and whilst we praise, we pray.

Bright Spirit! whose Æternall motion

Of Wit, like_ Time _still in it selfe did runne;

Binding all others in it and did give

Commission, how far this, or that shall live:

Like_ Destinie _of Poems, who, as she

Signes death to all, her selfe can never dye.

And now thy purple-robed_ Tragoedie,

_In her imbroiderd Buskins, calls mine eye,

Where brave_ Atëius _we see betrayed, [-Valentinian-]

T'obey his Death, whom thousand lives obeyed;

Whilst that the_ Mighty Foole _his Scepter breakes,

And through his_ Gen'rals _wounds his owne dooms speaks,

Weaving thus richly_ Valentinian

_The costliest Monarch with the cheapest man.

Souldiers may here to their old glories adde_, [-The Mad Lover.-]

The Lover _love, and be with reason_ mad:

_Not as of old_, Alcides _furious,

Who wilder then his Bull did teare the house,

(Hurling his Language with the Canvas stone)

'Twas thought the Monster roar'd the sob'rer Tone.

But ah, when thou thy sorrow didst inspire [-Tragi-comedies.-]

With Passions, blacke as is her darke attire,

Virgins as_ Sufferers _have wept to see [-Arcas.-]

So white a Soule, so red a Crueltie; [-Bellario.-]

That thou hast grieved, and with unthought redresse,

Dri'd their wet eyes who now thy mercy blesse;

Yet loth to lose thy watry Jewell, when [-Comedies.-]

Joy wip't it off, Laughter straight sprung't agen.

[-The Spanish Curate.-]

Now ruddy-cheeked_ Mirth _with Rosie wings,

Fanns ev'ry brow with gladnesse, whilest she sings

[-The Humorous Lieutenant.-]

Delight to all, and the whole Theatre

A Festivall in Heaven doth appeare:

Nothing but Pleasure, Love, and (like the Morne) [-The Tamer Tam'd.-]

Each face a generall smiling doth adorne. [-The little french Lawyer.-]

Heare ye foule Speakers, that pronounce the Aire

[The custom of the Countrey-]

Of Stewes and Shores, I will informe you where

And how to cloathe aright your wanton wit,

Without her nasty Bawd attending it.

View here a loose thought said with such a grace,

Minerva might have spoke in Venus face;

So well disguis'd, that t'was conceiv'd by none

But Cupid had Diana's linnen on;

And all his naked parts so vail'd, th' expresse

The Shape with clowding the uncomlinesse;

That if this Reformation which we

Receiv'd, had not been buried with thee,

The Stage (as this work) might have liv'd and lov'd;

Her Lines; the austere Skarlet had approv'd,

And th' Actors wisely been from that offence

As cleare, as they are now from Audience.

Thus with thy Genius did the Scæne expire,

Wanting thy Active and inliv'ning fire,

That now (to spread a darknesse over all,)

Nothing remaines but Poesie to fall.

And though from these thy Embers we receive

Some warmth, so much as may be said, we live,

That we dare praise thee, blushlesse, in the head

Of the best piece Hermes to Love e're read,

That We rejoyce and glory in thy Wit,

And feast each other with remembring it,

That we dare speak thy thought, thy Acts recite:

Yet all men henceforth be afraid to write_.

RICH. LOVELACE.

On Master JOHN FLETCHERS

Dramaticall Poems.

_Great tutelary Spirit of the Stage_!

FLETCHER! _I can fix nothing but my rage

Before thy Workes, 'gainst their officious crime

Who print thee now, in the worst scæne of Time.

For me, uninterrupted hadst thou slept

Among the holly shades and close hadst kept

The mistery of thy lines, till men might bee

Taught how to reade, and then, how to reade thee.

But now thou art expos'd to th' common fate,

Revive then (mighty Soule!) and vindicate

From th' Ages rude affronts thy injured fame,

Instruct the Envious, with how chast a flame

Thou warmst the Lover; how severely just

Thou wert to punish, if he burnt to lust.

With what a blush thou didst the Maid adorne,

But tempted, with how innocent a scorne.

How Epidemick errors by thy_ Play

_Were laught out of esteeme, so purged away.

How to each sence thou so didst vertue fit,

That all grew vertuous to be thought t' have wit.

But this was much too narrow for thy art,

Thou didst frame governments, give Kings their part,

Teach them how neere to God, while just they be;

But how dissolved, stretcht forth to Tyrannie.

How Kingdomes, in their channell, safely run,

But rudely overflowing are undone.

Though vulgar spirits Poets scorne or hate;

Man may beget, A Poet can create_.

WILL. HABINGTON.

Upon Master FLETCHERS Dramaticall Workes.

_What? now the Stage is down, darst thou appeare

Bold_ FLETC[H]ER _in this tottr'ing Hemisphear?

Yes;_Poets are like Palmes which, the more weight

You cast upon them, grow more strong & streight,

'Tis not _love's_ Thunderbolt, nor _Mars_ his Speare,

Or _Neptune's_ angry Trident, Poets fear.

_Had now grim_ BEN _bin breathing, 'with what rage,

And high-swolne fury had Hee lash'd this age_,

SHAKESPEARE _with_ CHAPMAN _had grown madd, and torn

Their gentle_ Sock, _and lofty_ Buskins _worne,

To make their Muse welter up to the chin

In blood; of_ faigned _Scenes no need had bin_,

England _like_ Lucians _Eagle with an Arrow_

Of her owne Plumes piercing her heart quite thorow,

Had bin a Theater and subject fit

To exercise in_ real _truth's their wit:

Tet none like high-wing'd_ FLETCHER _had bin found

This Eagles tragick-destiny to sound,

Rare_ FLETCHER'S _quill_ had soar'd up to the sky,

And drawn down Gods to see the tragedy:

Live famous Dramatist, let every _spring_

Make thy Bay flourish, and fresh_ Bourgeons _bring:

And since we cannot have Thee trod o'th' stage,

Wee will applaud Thee in this silent Page_.

JA. HOWELL. _P.C.C._

On the Edition.

Fletcher _(whose Fame no Age can ever wast;

Envy of Ours, and glory of the last)

Is now alive againe; and with his Name

His sacred Ashes wak'd into a Flame;

Such as before did by a secret charme

The wildest Heart subdue, the coldest warme,

And lend the Lady's eyes a power more bright,

Dispensing thus to either, Heat and Light.

He to a Sympathie those soules betrai'd

Whom Love or Beauty never could perswade;

And in each mov'd spectatour could beget

A reall passion by a Counterfeit:

When first_ Bellario _bled, what Lady there

Did not for every drop let fall a teare?

And when_ Aspasia _wept, not any eye

But seem'd to weare the same sad livery;

By him inspired the feigned_ Lucina _drew

More streams of melting sorrow then the true;

But then the_ Scornfull Lady _did beguile

Their easie griefs, and teach them all to smile.

Thus he Affections could, or raise or lay;

Love, Griefe and Mirth thus did his Charmes obey:

He Nature taught her passions to out-doe,

How to refine the old, and create new;

Which such a happy likenesse seem'd to beare,

As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were.

Yet All had Nothing bin, obscurely kept

In the same Urne wherein his Dust hath slept,

Nor had he ris' the Delphick wreath to claime,

Had not the dying sceane expired his Name;

Dispaire our joy hath doubled, he is come,

Thrice welcome by this_ Post-liminium.

_His losse preserved him; They that silenc'd Wit,

Are now the Authours to Eternize it;

Thus Poets are in spight of Fate revived,

And Playes by Intermission longer liv'd_.

THO. STANLEY.

On the Edition of Mr _Francis Beaumonts_, and Mr _John Fletchers_ PLAYES

never printed before.

I Am _amaz'd_; and this same _Extacye_

Is both my _Glory_ and _Apology_.

_Sober Joyes are dull Passions_; they must beare

Proportion to the _Subject_: if _so_; where

_Beaumont_ and _Fletcher_ shall vouchsafe to be

_That Subject_; _That Joy_ must be _Extacye_.

_Fury_ is the _Complexion_ of _great Wits_;

The _Fooles Distemper_: Hee, thats _mad_ by _fits_,

Is _wise so_ too. It is the _Poets Muse_;

The _Prophets God_: the _Fooles_, and _my excuse_.

For (in _Me_) nothing lesse then _Fletchers Name_

Could have _begot_, or _justify'd_ this _flame_.

_Beaumont_ }

_Fletcher_ } _Return'd?_ methinks it should not be.

_No_, not in's _Works_: _Playes_ are as _dead_ as _He_.

The _Palate_ of _this age gusts_ nothing _High_;

That has not _Custard_ in't or _Bawdery_.

_Folly_ and _Madnesse_ fill the _Stage_: The _Scæne_

Is _Athens_; _where_, the _Guilty_, and the _Meane_,

The _Foole 'scapes_ well enough; _Learned_ and _Great_,

Suffer an _Ostracisme_; stand _Exulate_.

_Mankinde_ is _fall'n againe_, _shrunke_ a _degree_,

A _step_ below his very _Apostacye_.

_Nature_ her _Selfe_ is out of _Tune_; and _Sicke_

Of _Tumult_ and _Disorder_, _Lunatique_.

Yet _what World_ would not cheerfully _endure_

The _Torture_, or _Disease_, t' _enjoy_ the _Cure?_

_This Booke's_ the _Balsame_, and the _Hellebore_,

Must _preserve bleeding Nature_, and _restore_

Our _Crazy Stupor_ to a _just quick Sence_

Both of _Ingratitude_, and _Providence_.

That teaches us (at _Once_) to _feele_, and _know_,

_Two deep Points_: what we _want_, and what we _owe_.

Yet _Great Goods have their Ills_: Should we _transmit_

To _Future Times_, the _Pow'r_ of _Love_ and _Wit_,

In _this Example_: would they not _combine_

To make _Our Imperfections Their Designe?_

They'd _study_ our _Corruptions_; and take more

_Care_ to be _Ill_, then to be _Good_, _before_.

For _nothing but so great Infirmity,

Could make Them worthy of such Remedy.