_On the large train of_ Fletchers _friends let me (Retaining still my wonted modesty,) Become a Waiter in my ragged verse, As Follower to the_ Muses _Followers. Many here are of Noble ranke and worth, That have, by strength of Art, set_ Fletcher _forth In true and lively colours, as they saw him, And had the best abilities to draw him;_ _Many more are abroad, that write, and looke To have their lines set before_ Fletchers _Booke; Some, that have known him too; some more, some lesse; Some onely but by Heare-say, some by Guesse, And some, for fashion-sake, would take the hint To try how well their Wits would shew in Print. You, that are here before me Gentlemen, And Princes of_ Parnassus _by the Penne And your just Judgements of his worth, that have Preserved this_ Authours _mem'ry from the Grave, And made it glorious; let me, at your gate, Porter it here, 'gainst those that come too late, And are unfit to enter. Something I Will deserve here: For where you versifie In flowing numbers, lawfull Weight, and Time, I'll write, though not rich Verses, honest Rime. I am admitted. Now, have at the Rowt Of those that would crowd in, but must keepe out. Beare back, my Masters; Pray keepe backe; Forbeare: You cannot, at this time, have entrance here. You, that are worthy, may, by intercession, Finde entertainment at the next Impression. But let none then attempt it, that not know The reverence due, which to this shrine they owe: All such must be excluded; and the sort, That onely upon trust, or by report Have taken_ Fletcher _up, and thinke it trim To have their Verses planted before Him: Let them read first his Works, and learne to know him, And offer, then, the Sacrifice they owe him. But farre from hence be such, as would proclaim Their knowledge of this_ Authour, _not his Fame; And such, as would pretend, of all the rest, To be the best_ Wits _that have known him best. Depart hence all such Writers, and, before Inferiour ones, thrust in, by many a score, As formerly, before_ Tom Coryate, _Whose Worke before his Praysers had the Fate To perish: For the Witty Coppies tooke Of his_ Encomiums _made themselves a_ Booke. _Here's no such subject for you to out-doe, Out-shine, out-live (though well you may doe too In other Spheres:) For_ Fletchers _flourishing Bayes Must never fade while_ Phoebus _weares his Rayes. Therefore forbeare to presse upon him thus. Why, what are you (cry some) that prate to us? Doe not we know you for a flashy Meteor? And stil'd (at best) the_ Muses _Serving-creature?_ _Doe you comptroll? Y'have had your Jere: Sirs, no; But, in an humble manner, let you know Old Serving-creatures oftentimes are fit T' informe young Masters, as in Land, in Wit, What they inherit; and how well their Dads Left one, and wish'd the other to their Lads. And from departed Poets I can guesse