_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;