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On The Best, Last, And Only Remaning Comedy Of Mr. Fletcher by
Richard Lovelace |
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I'm un-ore-clowded,
too! free from the mist!
The blind and late
Heaven's-eyes great Occulist,
Obscured with the false
fires of his sceme,
Not half those souls are lightned
by this theme.
Unhappy murmurers, that still
repine
(After th' Eclipse our Sun doth brighter
shine),
Recant your false grief, and your true joys
know;
Your blisse is endlesse, as you fear'd your
woe!
What fort'nate flood is this! what storm of wit!
Oh, who would live, and not ore-whelm'd in it?
No
more a fatal Deluge shall be hurl'd:
This inundation
hath sav'd the world.
Once more the mighty Fletcher
doth arise,
Roab'd in a vest studded with stars and
eyes
Of all his former glories; his last worth
Imbroiderd with what yet light ere brought forth.
See! in this glad farewel he doth appear
Stuck with
the Constellations of his Sphere,
Fearing we numb'd
fear'd no flagration,
Hath curl'd all his fires in
this one ONE:
Which (as they guard his hallowed chast
urn)
The dull aproaching hereticks do burn.
Fletcher at his adieu carouses thus
To the luxurious
ingenious,
As Cleopatra did of old out-vie,
Th'
un-numb'red dishes of her Anthony,
When (he at th'
empty board a wonderer)
Smiling she calls for pearl
and vinegar,
First pledges him in's BREATH, then at
one draught
Swallows THREE KINGDOMS of To HIS BEST
THOUGHT.
Hear, oh ye valiant writers, and
subscribe;
(His force set by) y'are conquer'd by this
bribe.
Though you hold out your selves, he doth
commit
In this a sacred treason in your wit;
Although in poems desperately stout,
Give up: this
overture must buy you out.
Thus with some
prodigal us'rer 't doth fare,
That keeps his gold
still vayl'd, his steel-breast bare;
That doth exceed
his coffers all but's eye,
And his eyes' idol the
wing'd Deity:
That cannot lock his mines with half
the art
As some rich beauty doth his wretched heart;
Wild at his real poverty, and so wise
To win her,
turns himself into a prise.
First startles her with
th' emerald Mad-Lover
The ruby Arcas, least she
should recover
Her dazled thought, a Diamond he
throws,
Splendid in all the bright Aspatia's woes;
Then to sum up the abstract of his store,
He flings a
rope of Pearl of forty more.
Ah, see! the stagg'ring
virtue faints! which he
Beholding, darts his Wealths
Epitome;
And now, to consummate her wished fall,
Shows this one Carbuncle, that darkens all.
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