Читать книгу The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher in Ten Volumes - Beaumont Francis - Страница 7

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.