And though thou hadst small Latine, and lesse Greeke,
From thence to honour thee, I would not feeke
For names; but call forth thund'ring Æfchilus,
Euripides, and Sophocles to us,

Paccuuius, Accius, him of Cordoua dead,

To life againe, to heare thy Buskin tread,
And shake a Stage: Or, when thy Sockes were on,
Leaue thee alone, for the comparison

Of all, that infolent Greece, or haughtie Romne
fent forth, or fince did from their ashes come
Triumph, my Britaine. thou hast one to showe,
To whom all Scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time!

And all the Mufes fill were in their prime,
When like Apollo he came forth to warme

Our eares, or like a Mercury to charme! Nature her felfe was proud of his defignes,

And ioy'd to weare the dressing of his lines! Which were fo richly pun, and wouen fo fit, As, fince, fhe will vouchfafe no other Wit. The merry Greeke, tart Aristophanes,

Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; But antiquated, and deferted lye

As they were not of Natures family.

Yet must I not giue Nature all: Thy Art,
My gentle Shakespeare, muft enioy a part.
For though the Poets matter, Nature be,

His Art doth giue the fashion. And, that he,
Who cafts to write a liuing line, must fweat,
(fuch as thine are) and ftrike the second heat
Vpon the Mules anuile: turne the fame,

(And himselfe with it) that he thinkes to frame; Or for the lawrell, he may gaine a scorne,

For a good Poet's made, as well as borne.

And fuch wert thou.

Looke bow the fathers face Liues in his iffue, euen fo, the race

Of Shakespeares mind, and manners brightly shines

In his well torned, and true-filed lines:

In each of which, he feemes to shake a Lance,
As brandifb't at the eyes of Ignorance.
Sweet Swan of Auon! what a fight it were

To fee thee in our waters yet appeare,

Ana

And make thofe flights upon the bankes of Thames,
That fo did take Eliza, and our Iames!
But ftay, I fee the in the Hemifphere

Aduanc'd, and made a Constellation there!
Shine forth, thou Starre of Poets, and with rage,
Or influence, chide, or cheere the drooping Stage;
Which, fnce thy flight frō hence, hath mourn'd like night,
And defpaires day, but for thy Volumes light.

BEN: IONSON,

TO THE MEMORIE

of the deceased Authour Maifter

W. SHAKESPEARE.

Hake speare, at length thy pious fellowes giue

The world thy Workes: thy Workes, by which, out-liue
Thy Tombe, thy name must· when that stone is rent,
And.Time diffolues thy Stratford Moniment,

Here we aliue fhall view thee still. This Booke,
When Brasse and Marble fade, shall make thee looke
Fresh to all Ages: when Pofteritie

Shall loath what's new, thinke all is prodegie
That is not Shake-speares; eu'ry Line, each Verfe
Here fhall reuiue, redeeme thee from thy Herfe.
Nor Fire, nor cankring Age, as Naso said,
Of his, thy wit-fraught Booke shall once inuade,
Nor fhall I e're beleeue, or thinke thee dead
(Though mist) untill our bankrout Stage be sped
(Impossible) with some new firaine tout-do
Passions of Iuliet, and her Romeo,

Or till I heare a Scene more nobly take,

Then when thy half-Sword parlying Romans spake
Till these, till any of thy Volumes reft

Shall with more fire, more feeling be expreft,
Be fure, our Shake-speare, thou canst neuer dye,
But crown'd with Lawrell, liue eternally.

L. Digges.

To the memorie of M.W.Shake-fpeare.
VVEE wondred (Shake-speare) that thou wen'ft so foons
From the Worlds-Stage, to the Graues-Tyring-roome.

Wee thought thee dead, but this thy printed worth,
Tels thy Spectators, that thou went ft but forth
To enter with applause. An Actors Art,
Can dye, and liue, to acte a fecond part.

That's but an Exit of Mortalitie;

This, a Re-entrance to a Plaudite.

VOL. II.

b

I. M.