That Should the Stage embattle all its force, Fletcher would lead the Foot, Beaumont the Horfe. But, you were Both for Both; not Semi-wits, Each Piece is wholly Two, yet never splits : rare not two Faculties, and one Soul ftill, He th' Understanding, thou the quick free Will; 15 Not as two Voices in one Song embrace, Fletcher's keen Treble, and deep Beaumont's Base, Two, full, Congenial Souls ; ftill both prevail'd; 16 His Mufe and thine were Quarter'd, not Impal'd ;

* But as two Voices in one Song embrace

Fletcher's keen Treble, and deep Beaumont's Bafe,

Two full congenial Souls.] Here Berkenhead is fpeaking of the doubtful Opinions relating to the Share which Beaumont and Fletcher had in thefe Plays: He tells you, that the general Opinion was, that Beaumont was a grave Tragic Writer, Fletcher moft excellent in Comedy. This he contradicts; but how, why, they did not differ as a General of Horfe does from a General of Foot, nor as the Sock does from the Buskin, nor as the Will from the Understanding, but were two full Congenial Souls, and differ'd only as the Bafe and Treble do in the fame Song. Why, if this is the true Reading, he confirms in thefe Lines what he had contradicted in all the foregoing Similes, for Bafe and Treble have much the fame difference between them as Horse and Foot in an Army, or the Wit and Understanding in the Soul. To make the Writer confiftent with himself, the true Reading feems to be Not instead of But: Not as to Voices in one Song embrace,

Fletcher's keen Treble and deep Beaumont's Base;

T

full congenial Souls.

16 His Mufe and thine were Quarter'd, not Impal'd:] I know I am going out of my Depth, in attempting a Criticifm on Terms in Heraldry. But my Books tell me, that Impaling is when the Arms of the Man and Wife are plac'd on the fame Efcutcheon, the one on the Right and the other on the Left; which is a proper Emblem of the Matrimonial Union; and might feemingly be as well applied to the Marriage of Beaumont and Fletcher's Wit, as the Word Quartering can, which the fame Berkinhead speaks of at the latter end of this Poem:

What Strange Production is at laft difplay'd,
Got by two Fathers without Female aid!

But I shall attempt no Change in a Science where I am Ignorance itself,
Both

Both brought your Ingots, both toil'd at the Mint,
Beat, melted, fifted, 'till no dross fuck in't;
Then in each others Scales weigh'd every Grain,
Then Smooth'd and burnish'd, then weigh'd all again;
Stampt both your Names upon't at one bold hit,
Then, then 'twas Coin, as well as Bullion-Wit.

Thus Twins: But as when Fate one Eye deprives,
That other ftrives to double, which furvives:
So Beaumont dy'd: yet left in Legacy

His Rules and Standard Wit (Fletcher) to thee.
Still the fame Planet, though not fill'd fo foon,
A Two-born'd Crefcent then, now one Full-moon.
Joint Love before, now Honour, doth provoke ;
So th' old Twin Giants forcing a huge Oak,
One flip'd his footing, th' other fees him fall,
Grafp'd the whole Tree and fingle held up all.
Imperial Fletcher! here begins thy Reign;
Scenes flow like Sun-beams from thy glorious Brain
Thy fwift-dispatching Soul no more doth ftay,
Than be that built two Cities in one day;
Ever brim-full, and fometimes running o'er,
To feed poor languid Wits that wait at Door;
Who creep and creep, yet ne'er above ground ftood;
(For Creatures have moft Feet, which have leaft
Blood)

But thou art fill that Bird of Paradife,
Which hath no feet, and ever nobly flies:
Rich, lufty Senfe, fuch as the Poet ought;
For Poems, if not Excellent, are Naught;
Low Wit in Scenes in ftate a Peafant goes;
If mean and flat, let it foot Yeoman-Profe,
That fuch may spell, as are not Readers grown ;
To whom be, that writes Wit, fhews he hath none.

;

Brave Shakespeare flow'd, yet had his Ebbings

too,

Often above himself, fometimes below; Thou always beft; if aught feem'd to decline, 'Twas the unjudging Rout's mistake, not thine: Thus thy fair Shepherdefs, which the bold heap (Falfe to themselves and thee) did prize fo cheap, Was found (when understood) fit to be crown'd, At worst 'twas worth two hundred thousand Pound.

Some blast thy Works, left we should track their
Walk ;

Where they fteal all thofe few good things, they talk;
Wit-Burglary muft chide thofe it feeds on,
For plunder'd folks ought to be rail'd upon;
But (as ftoln Goods goe off at half their worth)
Thy Strong Senfe palls, when they purloin it forth.
When didst thou borrow? where's the Man, e'er read
Aught begg'd by Thee from thofe Alive or Dead?
Or from dry Goddeffes? as fome who, when
They stuff their Page with Gods, write worse than Men;
Thou waft thine own Mufe, and hadft fuch vaft odds,
Thou out-writ'ft him whofe Verfe made all thofe Gods :
Surpaffing those our Dwarfish Age up-rears,

As much as Greeks, or Latins, thee in Years:
Thy Ocean Fancy knew nor Banks nor Damms;
We ebb down dry to Pebble-Anagrams;
Dead and infipid, all defpairing fit;

Loft to behold this great Relapfe of Wit:

What strength remains, is like that (wild and fierce) 'Till Jonfon made good Poets and right Verfe.

Such boyft'rous Trifles thy Mufe would not brook, Save when she'd show how fcurvily they look ;

No

No favage Metaphors, (things rudely Great ;)
Thou dost difplay, not butcher a Conceit;
Thy Nerves have Beauty, which invades and charms;
Looks like a Princess harness'd in bright Arms.

Nor art thou Loud and Cloudy; those, that do
Thunder fo much, do't without Lightning too;
Tearing themfelves, and almoft fplit their Brain
To render harsh what thou speak'
ft free and clean;
Such gloomy Senfe may pass for High and Proud,
But true-born Wit ftill flies above the Cloud;
Thou knew'ft 'twas Impotence, what they call Height;
Who blufters ftrong i'th' Dark, but creeps i'th' Light.

And as thy Thoughts. were clear, fo, Innocent;
Thy Fancy gave no unfwept Language vent;
Slaunder' ft not Laws, prophan'ft no holy Page,
As if thy Father's Crofier aw'd the Stage;)
High Crimes were fill arraign'd; tho' they made
Shift

To profper out four Acts, were plagu'd i'th' Fifth :
All's fafe, and wife; no stiff-affected Scene,
Nor fwoln nor flat, a true full natural Vein;
Thy Senfe (like well-dreft Ladies) cloath'd as skinn'd,
Not all unlac'd, nor City-ftarch'd and pinn'd;
Thou hadst no Sloth, no Rage, nor fullen Fit,
But Strength and Mirth; Fletcher's a Sanguine Wit.

Thus, two great Conful-Poets all things fway'd, Till all was English Born or English Made: Mitre and Coife here into One Piece fpun, Beaumont a Judge's, this a Prelate's Son. What Strange Production is at laft difplay'd, Got by two Fathers, without Female aid!

Behold,

J

Behold, two Mafculines efpous'd each other;
Wit and the World were born without a Mother.

17 J. Berkinhead.

On the WORKS of BEAUMONT and
FLETCHER, now at length printed.

G

VIII.

Reat Pair of Authors, whom one equal Star
Begot fo like in Genius, that you are

In Fame, as well as Writings, both fo knit,
That no Man knows where to divide your Wit,
Much lefs your Praife: You, who had equal Fire,
And did each other mutually infpire;

Whether one did Contrive, the other Write,
One fram'd the Plot, the other did Indite;
Whether one found the Matter, th' other Dress,
Or th' one difpofed what th' other did exprefs:
Where-e'er your Parts between your felves lay, we,
In all things, which you did, but one Thread fee;
So evenly drawn out, so gently spun,

That Art with Nature ne'er did smoother run.
Where fhall I fix my Praife then? or what part
Of all your numerous Labours hath defert

17 J. Berkinhead.] Berkinhead was firft Amanuenfis to Bishop Laud, and Fellow of All-Souls. He was Author of the Mercurious Aulicus, a very Loyal Paper in the Time of the Rebellion. He was perfecuted much in Cromwell's Days, and lived by his Wits; afterwards he had good Places under King Charles the Second, was Member of Parliament, and Knighted.

More