54

Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still;
And when the stars are labouring, we believe
It is not that they govern, but they grieve
For stubborn ignorance; all things that are
Made for our general uses, are at war,
E'en we among ourselves; and from the strife,
Your first unlike opinions got a life.

Oh, man! thou image of thy Maker's good, 54
What canst thou fear, when breath'd into thy blood
His spirit is, that built thee? what dull sense
Makes thee suspect, in need, that Providence
Who made the morning, and who plac'd the light
Guide to thy labours; who call'd up the night,
And bid her fall upon thee like sweet showers
In hollow murmurs, to lock up thy powers;
Who gave thee knowledge, who so trusted thee,
To let thee grow so near himself, the tree;
Must he then be distrusted? shall his frame
Discourse with him, why thus and thus I am?
He made the angels thine, thy fellows all,
Nay, even thy servants, when devotions call.
Oh, canst thou be so stupid then, so dim,
To seek a saving influence, and lose him?
Can stars protect thee? or can poverty,
Which is the light to Heav'n," put out his eye?
He is my star, in him all truth I find,

All influence, all fate! and when my mind
Is furnish'd with his fulness, my poor story
Shall out-live all their age, and all their glory!
The hand of danger cannot fall amiss,

When I know what, and in whose power it is:

Nor want, the curse of man,56 shall make me groan;

A holy hermit is a mind alone.

Doth not experience teach us, all we can,

To work ourselves into a glorious man?

Love's but an exhalation to best eyes,

The matter spent, and then the fool's fire dies!

-Thou image of thy Maker's good.] Mr. Sympson would read,

thy Maker good.

but I see not sufficient reason for a change, since good men are, and all men should endea vour to make themselves, images of the goodness of God. Nay, the man who banishes virtue from his soul, forfeits the only valuable likeness which he bears to his Maker.

55

-Or can poverty,

SEWARD.

Which is the light to Heav'n, put out his eye?] This poem has vast beauties; what Fletcher had often bantered in his comedies, the cheats of astrology (almost universally believed in his age) he now lashes with the spirit of a classic satirist, and the zeal of a Christian divine. But the line above, Mr. Sympson says, is sad stuff; I own it a little obscure, but far from deserving that title. Poverty and affliction often bring men to a due sense of their own state, and to an entire dependence on their Creator, therefore may be considered as lights that often guide men to Heaven. Pocts, whose imaginations are so full of sentiment as Shakespeare's and Fletcher's, do not always study perspicuity in their expressions so much as those of cooler dispositions.

SEWARD.

It is true, that they do not always study perspicuity; but the light of Heaven refers to his ge, not to poverty. This mode of construction is not uncommon with our authors, and has often occasioned misinterpretations.

56 The cause of man.] Corrected in 1750.

VOL. I.

Were I in love, and could that bright star bring
Encrease to wealth, honour, and every thing;
Were she as perfect good as we can aim,
The first was so, and yet she lost the game.
My mistress, then, be Knowledge and fair Truth!
So I enjoy all beauty and all youth.

And though to Time her lights and laws she lends,
She knows no age that to corruption bends:
Friends' promises may lead me to believe,
But he that is his own friend, knows to live;
Affliction, when I know it is but this,
A deep allay, whereby man tougher is
To bear the hammer, and, the deeper, still
We still arise more image of his will;

Sickness, an humorous cloud 'twixt us and light,
And death, at longest, but another night!

Man is his own star, and that soul that can

Be honest, is the only perfect man.

57 To hear the hammer.] Seward falsely asserts, that this is the reading of the former editions.

LETTER

LETTER

FROM

BEAUMONT TO BEN JONSON.

THE sun (which doth the greatest comfort bring
To absent friends, because the self-same thing
They know, they see, however absent) is
Here, our best haymaker, (forgive me this!
It is our country's stile) in this warm shine
I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid wine.
Oh, we have water mix'd with claret lees,
Drink apt to bring in drier heresies
Than beer, good only for the sonnet's strain,
With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain;
So mix'd, that, given to the thirstiest one,
"Twill not prove alms, unless he have the stone:
I think with one draught man's invention fades,
Two cups had quite spoil'd Homer's Iliades.
'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliff's wit,

Lie where he will, and make him write worse yet.
Fill'd with such moisture, in most grievous qualms,
Did Robert Wisdom write his singing-psalms;

And so must I do this: And yet I think

It is a potion sent us down to drink,

By special Providence, keeps us from fights,

Makes us not laugh when we make legs to knights.
"Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states,

A medicine to obey our magistrates:

For we do live more free than you; no hate,
No envy at one another's happy state,

Moves us; we are all equal; every whit3

Of land that God gives men here is their wit,

If

Letter, &c.] This letter has hitherto been printed at the end of Nice Valour, with the following title: Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter to Ben Jonson, written before he and Master Fletcher came to London, with two of the precedent comedies then not finished, which deferred their merry meetings at the Mermaid." As we apprehend it is demonstrated (p. liii, & seq.) that this situation was casual, and the title not to be relied on, we have ventured to remove the one and alter the other.

Lie where he will. If we keep to the old reading, it must reflect upon Sutcliff's hiding himself for debt. I have not the Lives of the Poets now by me, but don't remember any thing of the poverty of this minor poet of our author's age: by reading it for he, the archness is smarter as well as more good-humoured; let his wit lie in what part of his body it will. SEWARD.

We see no great archness in this alteration, nor think the old reading implies Sutcliff's hiding for debt.

3

We are all equal every whit:

Of land that God gives men here is their wit:

If we consider fully.] This dark sentence has been cleared up by Mr. Sympson, who by pointing differently gives this sentiment. Mens wit is here in exact proportion to their land; and then the next sentence,

-for our best

And gravest men will with his main-house jest,
Scarce please you;

has

If we consider fully; for our best

And gravest men will with his main house-jest,
Scarce please you; we want subtilty to do
The city-tricks, lie, hate, and flatter too:
Here are none that can bear a painted show,
Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow; 4
Who, like mills set the right way for to grind,
Can make their gains alike with every
wind:
Only some fellows with the subtlest pate
Amongst us, may perchance equivocate
At selling of a horse, and that's the most.
Methinks the little wit I had is lost
Since I saw you; for wit is like a rest
Held up at tennis," which men do the best

With the best gamesters: what things have we seen
Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been

So nimble, and so full of subtile flame,

As if that every one from whence they came
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest,

And had resolv'd to live a fool the rest

Of his dull life; then when there hath been thrown

Wit able enough to justify the town

For three days past: wit that might warrant be

For the whole city to talk foolishly

"Till that were cancell'd: and when that was gone,

We left an air behind us, which alone

Was able to make the two next companies

Right witty: though but downright fools, mere wise.
When I remember this, and see that now

the country gentlemen begin to allow

My wit for dry-bobs, then I needs must cry,

I see my days of ballading grow nigh;

I can already riddle, and can sing

Catches, sell bargains, and I fear shall bring
Myself to speak the hardest words I find,'
Over as oft as any, with one wind,

That

has a just connection with the former: Main-house jest, I read with a hyphen and understand by it the jest that receives its merit from the grandeur, riches, and antiquity of his family who utters it, as the hearers admire it upon these accounts. SEWARD.

Main-house is a strange expression; if there needs a hyphen, house-jest would be better. 4 Strike when you winch, and then lament the blow. This does not appear sense: The poet speaks of courtiers wearing a painted outside (and perhaps wear in the former line would be a better reading than bear) and after they themselves have struck you secretly when you did not see them, will pretend to lament the blow. But what has winch to do with this sense? I doubt not but the true reading is,

Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow.

SEWARD.

5 Wit is like a REST held up at tennis.] This, we think, tends to explain the expression that so often occurs of setting up a rest, which commonly includes an allusion to some game, and which game here appears to be tennis.

6 Though but downright fools, more wise.] More wise is an anti-climax after right witty; but I believe the true reading is meer wise, i. e. nothing but mere wisdom itself. It seems an expression perfectly in the stile of the context. SEWARD.

7 To speak the hardest words I find, Over, as oft as any, with one wind,

That takes no medicines.] This relates to the play of repeating hard words (such as Chichester church stands in Chichester church-yard) several times in a breath, and generally they

are

That takes no medicines, but one thought of thee
Makes me remember all these things to be
The wit of our young men, fellows that show
No part of good, yet utter all they know;
Who, like trees of the garden, have growing souls.7
Only strong Destiny, which all controls,

I hope hath left a better fate in store
For me thy friend, than to live ever poor,
Banish'd unto this home! Fate once again

Bring me to thee, who canst make smooth and plain
The way of knowledge for me, and then I,
Who have no good but in thy company,
Protest it will my greatest comfort be

To acknowledge all I have to flow from thee.

Ben, when these scenes are perfect, we'll taste wine;

I'il drink thy muse's health, thou shalt quaff mine.

are such as betray the speaker into indecencies. But are we to understand That takes no medicines only for the sake of strengthening the wind? Or a secret fling at the physicians and apothecaries for affecting hard words, and so one effect of their medicines may jocularly be supposed to enable a man to talk hard words more fluently? SEWARD.

The first of these interpretations is, we think, the true.

7 Who like trees of the guard, have growing souls.] What, says Mr. Sympson, can trees of the guard possibly mean? I believe it corrupt for garden, which the old poets would without scruple contract into one syllable, gard'n, and how easily might a transcriber, not knowing what word it was, change it to guard. SEWARD.

It is probable garden is right; but how could our poets, or any poets, or mortals, contract garden into one syllable? The editors of 1750 have presented to our eyes many contractions and apostrophes which no tongue can express, or human organs articulate.

To flow from thee.] I had observed upon the Woman Hater before I knew of these verses of Beaumont's having any relation to that play, how much more it was wrote in Ben Jonson's manner than any other of our authors' foregoing plays: the same is true of The Nice Valour, which consists chiefly of passions personated, not of characters from real life; and which allows those passions to be carried to the highest pitch of extravagance. Here is a confirmation of Jonson being the writer they imitated. In the greatest part of their works they seem to follow Shakespeare. I find from these verses, that at note 32 in the WomanHater, I was mistaken in supposing Fletcher was the sole author of that play, from the first edition having his name only prefixed: it being printed after both their deaths, it was very easy to make the mistake, which was corrected by the second edition. The character of Lapet in this play has so much of that inimitable humour, which was displayed before in the character of Bessus, in the King and No King, that it was probably the work of the same hand, viz. Beaumont's, for to him Mr. Earle (in the most authentic copy of verses prefixed to these plays, as being writ immediately after the death of Beaumont, and near ten years before that of Fletcher) ascribes Bessus together with Philaster and the Maid's Tragedy. How wrong therefore is the prevailing opinion, that Beaumont's genius was only turned for tragedy, that he possessed great correctness of judgment, but that the liveliness of imagination, vivacity of wit, and comic humour, which so much abounds in these plays, were all to be ascribed to Fletcher only? See Berkenhead's Poems on this subject prefixed to this edition. SEWARD. See p. liii,& seq.

NAMES