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Дата написания1970-01-01
Язык книгиen
Возрастное ограничение12+

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Страница 15 из 15

RIC. BROME.

Upon the Printing of Mr. JOHN FLETCHERS workes.

What meanes this numerous Guard? or do we come To file our Names or Verse upon the Tombe Of Fletcher, and by boldly making knowne His Wit, betray the Nothing of our Owne? For if we grant him dead, it is as true Against our selves, No Wit, no Poet now; Or if he be returnd from his coole shade, To us, this Booke his Resurrection's made, We bleed our selves to death, and but contrive By our owne Epitaphs to shew him alive. But let him live and let me prophesie, As I goe Swan-like out, Our Peace is nigh; A Balme unto the wounded Age I sing. And nothing now is wanting but the King.

JA. SHIRLEY.

THE STATIONER

As after th' Epilogue there comes some one To tell Spectators what shall next be shown; So here, am I; but though I've toyld and vext, 'Cannot devise what to present 'ye next; For, since ye saw no Playes this Cloudy weather, Here we have brought Ye our whole Stock together. 'Tis new and all these Gentlemen attest Under their hands 'tis Right, and of the Best; Thirty foure Witnesses (without my taske) Y'have just so many Playes (besides a Maske) All good (I'me told) as have been Read or Playd, If this Booke faile, tis time to quit the Trade.

H. MOSELEY.

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