Which must give life and Monument to it.
So when late_ ESSEX _dy'd, the Publicke face
Wore sorrow in't, and to add mournefull Grace
To the sad pomp of his lamented fall,
The Common wealth served at his Funerall
And by a Solemne Order built his Hearse.
But not like thine, built by thy selfe, in Verse,
Where thy advanced Image safely stands
Above the reach of Sacrilegious hands.
Base hands how impotently you disclose
Your rage 'gainst_ Camdens _learned ashes, whose
Defaced Statua and Martyrd booke,
Like an Antiquitie and Fragment looke._
Nonnulla desunt's _legibly appeare,
So truly now_ Camdens Remaines _lye there.
Vaine Malice! how he mocks thy rage, while breath
Of fame shall speake his great_ Elizabeth!
_'Gainst time and thee he well provided hath,_
Brittannia _is the Tombe and Epitaph.
Thus Princes honours: but Witt only gives
A name which to succeeding ages lives.
Singly we now consult our selves and fame,
Ambitious to twist ours with thy great name.
Hence we thus bold to praise. For as a Vine
With subtle wreath, and close embrace doth twine
A friendly Elme, by whose tall trunke it shoots
And gathers growth and moysture from its roots;
About its armes the thankfull clusters cling
Like Bracelets, and with purple ammelling
The blew-cheek'd grape stuck in its vernant haire
Hangs like rich Jewells in a beauteous eare.
So grow our Prayses by thy Witt; we doe
Borrow support and strength and lend but show._
_And but thy Male wit like the youthfull Sun
Strongly begets upon our passion.
Making our sorrow teeme with Elegie,
Thou yet unwep'd, and yet unprais'd might'st be.
But th' are imperfect births; and such are all
Produc'd by causes not univocall,
The scapes of Nature, Passives being unfit,
And hence our verse speakes only Mother wit.
Oh for a fit o'th Father! for a Spirit
That might but parcell of thy worth inherit;
For but a sparke of that diviner fire
Which thy full breast did animate and inspire;
That Soules could be divided, thou traduce
But a small particle of thine to us!
Of thine; which we admir'd when thou didst sit
But as a joynt-Commissioner in Wit;
When it had plummets hung on to suppresse
It's too luxuriant growing mightinesse:
Till as that tree which scornes to bee kept downe,
Thou grewst to govern the whole Stage alone.
In which orbe thy throng'd light did make the star,
Thou wert th' Intelligence did move that Sphere.
Thy Fury was composed; Rapture no fit
That hung on thee; nor thou far gone in witt
As men in a disease; thy Phansie cleare,
Muse chast, as those frames whence they tooke their fire;
No spurious composures amongst thine
Got in adultery 'twixt Witt and Wine.
And as th' Hermeticall Physitians draw
From things that curse of the first-broken Law,
That_ Ens Venenum, _which extracted thence
Leaves nought but primitive Good and Innocence:
So was thy Spirit calcined; no Mixtures there
But perfect, such as next to Simples are.
Not like those Meteor-wits which wildly flye
In storme and thunder through th' amazed skie;
Speaking but th'Ills and Villanies in a State,
Which fooles admire, and wise men tremble at,
Full of portent and prodigie, whose Gall
Oft scapes the Vice, and on the man doth fall.
Nature us'd all her skill, when thee she meant
A Wit at once both Great and Innocent.
Yet thou hadst Tooth; but 'twas thy judgement, not
For mending one word, a whole sheet to blot.
Thou couldst anatomize with ready art
And skilfull hand crimes lockt close up i'th heart.
Thou couldst unfold darke Plots, and shew that path
By which Ambition climbed to Greatnesse hath._
_Thou couldst the rises, turnes, and falls of States,
How neare they were their Periods and Dates;
Couldst mad the Subject into popular rage,
And the grown seas of that great storme asswage,
Dethrone usurping Tyrants, and place there
The lawfull Prince and true Inheriter;
Knewst all darke turnings in the Labyrinth
Of policie, which who but knowes he sinn'th,
Save thee, who un-infected didst walke in't
As the great Genius of Government.
And when thou laidst thy tragicke buskin by
To Court the Stage with gentle Comedie,
How new, how proper th' humours, how express'd
In rich variety, how neatly dress'd
In language, how rare Plots, what strength of Wit
Shin'd in the face and every limb of it!
The Stage grew narrow while thou grewst to be
In thy whole life an_ Exc'llent Comedie.
_To these a Virgin-modesty which first met
Applause with blush and feare, as if he yet
Had not deserv'd; till bold with constant praise
His browes admitted the unsought for Bayes.
Nor would he ravish fame; but left men free
To their owne Vote and Ingenuity.
When His faire_ Shepherdesse _on the guilty Stage,
Was martir'd betweene Ignorance and Rage;
At which the impatient Vertues of those few
Could judge, grew high, cri'd Murther; though he knew
The innocence and beauty of his Childe,
Hee only, as if unconcerned, smil'd.
Princes have gather'd since each scattered grace,
Each line and beauty of that injur'd face;
And on th'united parts breath'd such a fire
As spight of Malice she shall ne're expire.
Attending, not affecting, thus the crowne
Till every hand did help to set it on,
Hee came to be sole Monarch, and did raign
In Wits great Empire, absolute Soveraign.

JOHN HARRIS.


On MR. JOHN FLETC[H]ER's ever to be admired Dramaticall Works.

_I've thought upon't; and thus I may gaine bayes,
I will commend thee_ Fletcher, _and thy Playes.
But none but Witts can do't, how then can I
Come in amongst them, that cou'd ne're come nigh?
There is no other way, I'le throng to sit
And passe it'h Croud amongst them for a Wit._
Apollo _knows me not, nor I the Nine,
All my pretence to verse is Love and Wine.
By your leave Gentlemen. You Wits o'th' age,
You that both furnisht have, and judg'd the Stage.
You who the Poet and the Actors fright,
Least that your Censure thin the second night:
Pray tell me, gallant Wits, could Criticks think
There ere was solaecisme in_ FLETCHERS _Inke?
Or Lapse of Plot, or fancy in his pen?
A happinesse not still alow'd to_ Ben!
_After of Time and Wit h'ad been at cost
He of his owne New-Inne was but an Hoste.
Inspired_, FLETCHER! _here's no vaine-glorious words:
How ev'n thy lines, how smooth thy sense accords.
Thy Language so insinuates, each one
Of thy spectators has thy passion.
Men seeing, valiant; Ladies amorous prove:
Thus owe to thee their valour and their Love:
Scenes! chaste yet satisfying! Ladies can't say
Though_ Stephen _miscarri'd that so did the play:
Judgement could ne're to this opinion leane
That_ Lowen, Tailor, _ere could grace thy Scene:
'Tis richly good unacted, and to me
Thy very Farse appears a Comedy.
Thy drollery is designe, each looser part
Stuff's not thy Playes, but makes 'em up an Art
The Stage has seldome seen; how often vice
Is smartly scourg'd to checke us? to intice,
How well encourag'd vertue is? how guarded,
And, that which makes us love her, how rewarded?
Some, I dare say, that did with loose thoughts sit,
Reclaim'd by thee, came converts from the pit.
And many a she that to he tane up came,
Tooke up themselves, and after left the game._

HENRY HARINGTON.


To the memory of the deceased but ever-living _Authour_ in these his
_Poems_, Mr. JOHN FLETCHER.

_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
Who has a greater share of Wit, who lesse.
'Way Foole, another says. I, let him raile,
And 'bout his own eares flourish his Wit-flayle,
Till with his Swingle he his Noddle breake;
While this of_ Fletcher _and his_ Works _I speake:
His_ Works (_says_ Momus) _nay, his_ Plays _you'd say:
Thou hast said right, for that to him was Play
Which was to others braines a toyle: with ease
He playd on Waves which were Their troubled Seas.
His nimble Births have longer liv'd then theirs
That have, with strongest Labour, divers yeeres
Been sending forth [t]he issues of their Braines
Upon the_ Stage; _and shall to th'_ Stationers _gaines
Life after life take, till some After-age
Shall put down_ Printing, _as this doth the_ Stage;
_Which nothing now presents unto the Eye,
But in_ Dumb-shews _her own sad_ Tragedy.
_'Would there had been no sadder Works abroad,
Since her decay, acted in Fields of Blood._
_But to the Man againe, of whom we write,
The_ Writer _that made Writing his Delight,
Rather then Worke. He did not pumpe, nor drudge,
To beget_ Wit, _or manage it: nor trudge
To Wit-conventions with Note-booke, to gleane
Or steale some Jests to foist into a Scene:
He scorn'd those shifts. You that have known him, know
The common talke that from his Lips did flow,
And run at waste, did savour more of Wit,
Then any of his time, or since have writ,
(But few excepted) in the Stages way:
His_ Scenes _were_ Acts, _and every_ Act _a_ Play.
_I knew him in his strength; even then, when_ He
_That was the Master of his Art and Me
Most knowing_ Johnson (_proud to call him_ Sonne)
_In friendly Envy swore, He had out-done_
His very Selfe. _I knew him till he dyed;
And, at his dissolution, what a Tide
Of sorrow overwhelm'd the_ Stage; _which gave
Volleys of sighes to send him to his grave.
And grew distracted in most violent Fits
(For_ She _had lost the best part of her_ Wits.)
_In the first yeere, our famous_ Fletcher _fell,
Of good King_ Charles _who graced these_ Poems _well,
Being then in life of Action: But they dyed
Since the Kings absence; or were layd aside,
As is their_ Poet. _Now at the Report
Of the_ Kings _second comming to his Court,
The_ Bookes _creepe from the_ Presse _to Life, not_ Action,
_Crying unto the World, that no protraction
May hinder_ Sacred Majesty _to give_
Fletcher, _in them, leave on the_ Stage _to live.
Others may more in lofty Verses move;
I onely, thus, expresse my Truth and Love._

RIC. BROME.


Upon the Printing of Mr. JOHN FLETCHERS workes.

_What meanes this numerous Guard? or do we come
To file our Names or Verse upon the Tombe
Of_ Fletcher, _and by boldly making knowne
His Wit, betray the Nothing of our Owne?
For if we grant him dead, it is as true
Against our selves, No Wit, no Poet now;
Or if he be returnd from his coole shade,
To us, this Booke his Resurrection's made,
We bleed our selves to death, and but contrive
By our owne Epitaphs to shew him alive.
But let him live and let me prophesie,
As I goe Swan-like out, Our Peace is nigh;
A Balme unto the wounded Age I sing.
And nothing now is wanting but the King._

JA. SHIRLEY.


_THE STATIONER._

As after th' _Epilogue_ there comes some one
To tell _Spectators_ what shall next be shown;
So here, am I; but though I've toyld and vext,
'Cannot devise what to present 'ye next;
For, since ye saw no _Playes_ this Cloudy weather,
Here we have brought Ye our whole Stock together.
'Tis new and all these _Gentlemen_ attest
Under their hands 'tis Right, and of the Best;
_Thirty foure_ Witnesses (without my taske)
Y'have just so many _Playes_ (besides a _Maske_)
All good (I'me told) as have been _Read_ or _Playd_,
If this Booke faile, tis time to quit the Trade.

_H. MOSELEY_.


POST[S]CRIPT.

We forgot to tell the _Reader_, that some _Prologues_ and _Epilogues_
(here inserted) were not written by the _Authours_ of this _Volume_;
but made by others on the _Revivall_ of severall _Playes_. After the
_Comedies_ and _Tragedies_ were wrought off, we were forced (for
expedition) to send the _Gentlemens_ Verses to severall Printers, which
was the occasion of their different Character; but the _Worke_ it selfe
is one continued Letter, which (though very legible) is none of the
biggest, because (as much as possible) we would lessen the Bulke of the
Volume.


A CATALOGUE
of all the Comedies and Tragedies Contained in this Booke.

_The Mad Lover_.
_The_ Spanish _Curate_.
_The little_ French _Lawyer_.
_The Custome of the Country_.
_The Noble Gentleman_.
_The Captaine_.
_The Beggers Bush_.
_The Coxcombe_.
_The False One_.
_The Chances_.
_The Loyall Subject_.
_The Lawes of_ Candy.
_The Lover's Progresse_.
_The Island Princesse_.
_The Humorous Lieutenant_.
_The Nice Valour_, or _the Passionate Mad Man_.
_The Maide in the Mill_.
_The Prophetesse_.
_The Tragedy of_ Bonduca.
_The Sea Voyage_.
_The Double Marriage_.
_The Pilgrim_.
_The Knight of_ Malta.
_The Womans Prize_, or _the Tamer Tamed_.
_Loves Cure_, or _the Martiall Maide_.
_The Honest Mans Fortune_.
_The Queene of_ Corinth.
_Women Plea'sd_.
_A Wife for a Moneth_.
_Wit at severall Weapons_.
_The Tragedy of_ Valentinian.
_The Faire Maid of the Inne_.
_Loves Pilgrimage_.
_The Maske of the Gentlemen of_ Grayes-Inne,
_and the_ Inner Temple, _at the
Marriage of the Prince and Princesse
Palatine of_ Rhene.
_Foure Playes (or Morall Representations) in one_.



FIFTY

COMEDIES

AND

TRAGEDIES.



Written by

FRANCIS BEAUMONT

AND

JOHN FLETCHER,

Gentlemen.




All in one Volume.

Published by the Authors Original Copies, the Songs to each Play being
added.

_Si quid habent veri Vatum praesagia, vivam_.

LONDON,

Printed by J. Macock, for John Martyn, Henry Herringman, Richard Marriot,
MDCLXXIX.



THE

BOOK-SELLERS

TO THE

READER.

Courteous Reader, _The First Edition of these Plays in this Volume having
found that Acceptance as to give us Encouragement to make a Second
Impression, we were very desirous they might come forth as Correct as
might be. And we were very opportunely informed of a Copy which an
ingenious and worthy Gentleman had taken the pains (or rather the
pleasure) to read over; wherein he had all along Corrected several faults
(some very gross) which had crept in by the frequent imprinting of them.
His Corrections were the more to be valued, because he had an intimacy
with both our Authors, and had been a Spectator of most of them when they
were Acted in their life-time. This therefore we resolved to purchase at
any Rate; and accordingly with no small cost obtain'd it. From the same
hand also we received several Prologues and Epilogues, with the Songs
appertaining to each Play, which were not in the former Edition, but are
now inserted in their proper places. Besides, in this Edition you have
the addition of no fewer than Seventeen Plays more than were in the
former, which we have taken the pains and care to Collect, and Print out
4to in this Volume, which for distinction sake are markt with a Star in
the Catalogue of them facing the first Page of the Book. And whereas
in several of the Plays there were wanting the Names of the Persons
represented therein, in this Edition you have them all prefixed, with
their Qualities; which will be a great ease to the Reader. Thus every way
perfect and compleat have you, all both Tragedies and Comedies that were
ever writ by our Authors, a Pair of the greatest Wits and most ingenious
Poets of their Age; from whose worth we should but detract by our most
studied Commendations.

If our care and endeavours to do our Authors right (in an incorrupt and
genuine Edition of their Works) and thereby to gratifie and oblige the
Reader, be but requited with a suitable entertainment, we shall be
encouraged to bring_ Ben. Johnson's _two Volumes into one, and publish
them in this form; and also to reprint_ Old Shakespear: _both which are
designed by

Yours_,

Ready to serve you,

JOHN MARTYN. HENRY HERRINGMAN. RICHARD MARIOT.


[The Second Folio contained, between 'The Book-sellers to the Reader' and
'A Catalogue,' eleven only of the Commendatory verses prefixed to the
First Folio. These were those signed by Edw. Waller (see p. xxiii), J.
Denham (p. xxii), Ben. Johnson (p. xl), Rich. Corbet (p. xl), Joh. Earle
(p. xxxii), William Cartwright's first lines (p. xxxvii, to 'Fletcher
_writ_' on p. xxxviii), Francis Palmer (p. xlvii, '_I Could prayse_
Heywood,' etc.), Jasper Maine (p. xxxv), J. Berkenhead (p. xli), Roger
L'Estrange (p. xxviii), Tho. Stanley (p. xxvii).]

A
CATALOGUE
Of all the
COMEDIES and TRAGEDIES

Contained in this BOOK, in the same Order as Printed.

1 The Maids Tragedy.*
2 _Philaster_; or, Love lies a bleeding.*
3 A King or no King.*
4 The Scornful Lady.*
5 The Custom of the Country.
6 The Elder Brother.*
7 The Spanish Curate.
8 Wit without Money.*
9 The Beggars Bush.
10 The Humorous Lieutenant.
11 The Faithful Shepherdess.*
12 The Mad Lover.
13 The Loyal Subject.
14 Rule a Wife, and have a Wife.*
15 The Laws of _Candy_.
16 The False One.
17 The Little French Lawyer.
18 The Tragedy of _Valentinian_.
19 Monsieur _Thomas_.*
20 The Chances.
21 _Rollo_, Duke of _Normandy_.*
22 The Wild-Goose Chase.
23 A Wife for a Month.
24 The Lovers Progress.
25 The Pilgrim.
26 The Captain.
27 The Prophetess.
28 The Queen of _Corinth_.
29 The Tragedy of _Bonduca_.
30 The Knight of the Burning Pestle.*
31 Loves Pilgrimage.
32 The Double Marriage.
33 The Maid in the Mill.
34 The Knight of _Maltha_.
35 Loves Cure; or, the Martial Maid.
36 Women pleased.
37 The Night Walker; or, Little Thief.*
38 The Womans Prize; or, the Tamer tamed.
39 The Island Princess.
40 The Noble Gentleman.
41 The Coronation.*
42 The Coxcomb.
43 Sea-Voyage.
44 Wit at several Weapons.
45 The Fair Maid of the Inn.
46 _Cupids_ Revenge.*
47 Two Noble Kinsmen.*
48 _Thierry_ and _Theodoret_.*
49 The Woman-Hater.*
50 The nice Valour; or, the Passionate Madman.
51 The Honest Man's Fortune.

_A Mask at_ Grays-Inn, _and the_ Inner Temple; _Four Plays, or Moral
Representations_.



APPENDIX.

_In the following references to the text the lines are numbered from the
top of the page, including titles, acts, stage directions, &c., but not,
of course, the headline. Where, as in the lists of Persons Represented,
there are double columns, the right-hand column is numbered after the
left._

It has not been thought necessary to record the correction of every
turned letter nor the substitution of marks of interrogation for marks
of exclamation and _vice versa_: the original compositor's stock of
each running low occasionally, he used the two signs somewhat
indiscriminately. Full-stops have been silently inserted at the ends of
speeches and each fresh speaker has been given the dignity of a fresh
line: in the double-columned folio the speeches are frequently run on.
Only misprints of interest in the Quartos are recorded.

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORIE. p. x, l. 8. 1st Folio _prints a comma after_]
not.

TO THE READER. p. xi, l. 6. 1st F _omits the bracket_.

THE STATIONER TO THE READERS. p. xiv, l. 33. 1st F _prints_] confessed
it,

COMMENDATORY VERSES. p. xvii, l. 33. 1st F _misprints_] theirs. l. 41.
1st F _misprints_] Ii. l. 42. 1st F _misprints_] hist.

p. xx, l. 34. 1st F _misprints_] Fle.

p. xxiii, l. 1. 2nd F] sprung.

p. xxvi, l. 21. 1st F _misprints_] Fletcer.

p. xxxvi, l. 10. 1st F _misprints_] solemue.

p. xxxvii, l. 39. 1st F _misprints_] aud. l. 43. 2nd F] delights.

p. xxxviii, l. 4. 2nd F] And these. l. 20. 2nd F _gives signature_]
William Cartwright.

p. xxxix, l. 27. 1st F _misprints_] such.

p. xliii, l. 13. 2nd F] wert. l. 35. 2nd F] knowst.

p. xlviii, l. 33. 2nd F] receive the full god in. l. 35. 2nd F] Francis
Palmer.

p. lii, l. 40. 1st F _misprints_] Fletcer.

p. lv, l. 19. 1st F _misprints_] ehe.