Lookes like a Princesse harness'd in bright Armes. Nor art Thou Loud and Cloudy; those that do Thunder so much, do't without Lightning too; Tearing themselves, and almost split their braine To render harsh what thou speak'st free and cleane; Such gloomy Sense may pass for_ High _and_ Proud, _But true-born Wit still flies_ above _the_ Cloud; _Thou knewst 'twas_ Impotence _what they call_ Height; _Who blusters strong i'th Darke, but_ creeps _i'th Light. And as thy thoughts were_ cleare, _so_, Innocent; _Thy Phancy gave no unswept Language vent; Slaunderst not_ Lawes, _prophan'st no_ holy Page, (_As if thy Fathers_ Crosier _aw'd the Stage_;) _High Crimes were still arraign'd, though they made shift To prosper out_ foure Acts, _were plagu'd i'th_ Fift: _All's safe, and wise; no stiffe-affected Scene, Nor_ swoln, _nor_ flat, _a True Full Naturall veyne; Thy Sence (like well-drest Ladies) cloath'd as skinn'd, Not all unlac'd, nor City-startcht and pinn'd. Thou hadst no Sloath, no Rage, no sullen Fit, But_ Strength _and_ Mirth, FLETCHER'S _a_ Sanguin _Wit_. _Thus, two great_ Consul-_Poets all things swayd, Till all was_ English _Borne or_ English _Made:_ Miter _and_ Coyfe _here into One Piece spun_, BEAUMONT _a_ Judge's, _This a_ Prelat's _sonne. What Strange Production is at last displaid, (Got by Two Fathers, without Female aide) Behold, two_ Masculines _espous'd each other_, Wit _and the World were born without a_ Mother. J. BERKENHEAD. To the memorie of Master _FLETCHER._