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.