And make thofe flights upon the bankes of Thames,
That so did take Eliza, and our Iameɛ!
But ftay, I fee the in the Hemisphere

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

BEN: IONS ON

TO THE MEMORIE

of the deceased Authour Maister
W. SHAKESPEARE.

Hake fpeare, 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 ftill. This Booke,
When Braffe and Marble fade, shall make thee looke
Fresh to all Ages: when Pofteritie

Shall loath what's new, thinke all is prodègie
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 fped
(Impossible) with some new ftraine tout-do
Passions of Iuliet, and her Romeo,

Or till I heare a Scene more nobly take,

Then when thy half-Sword parlying Romans fpake.
Till these, till any of thy Volumes rest

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

L. Digges.

To the memorie of M.W.Shake-fpeare.

ΕΕ

JEE wondred (Shake-fpeare) that thou wen'ft fo 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.

Vpon the Lines and Life of the Famous

Scenicke Poet, Master WILLIAM

SHAKESPEARE.

Hofe hands, which you fo clapt, go now, and wring
You Britaines brave; for done are Shakespeares dayes:
His dayes are done, that made the dainty Playes,
Which made the Globe of heau'n and earth to ring.
Dry'de is that veine, dry'd is the Thespian Spring,
Turn'd all to teares, and Phabus clouds his rayes;
That corp's, that coffin now befticke those bayes,
Which crown'd him Poet firft, then Poets King.
If Tragedies might any Prologue haue,

All thofe he made, would fcarfe make one to this:
Where Fame, now that he gone is to the graue
(Deaths publique tyring-houfe) the Nuncius is.

For though his line of life went foone about,
The life yet of his lines fhall neuer out.

HVGH HOLLAND.