Prefatory Materials (Folio 3, 1664)
Not Peer Reviewed
That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses;
_I mean with great, but disproportion'd Muses:
For if I thought my judgement were of years,
_I should commit thee surely with thy Peers,
And tell how far thou didst our Lily out-shine,
_Or sporting Kid, or Marlow's mighty Line.
And though thou hadst small Latine & less Greek,
_From thence to honour thee, I would not seek
For names; but call forth thund'ring Æschylus,
_Euripides, and Sophocles to us,
Paccuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead,
_To live again, to hear thy Buskin tread,
And shake a Stage: Or, when thy Socks were on,
_Leave thee alone for the comparison
Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome
_Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.
Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show,
_To whom all Scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time!
_And all the Muses, still were in their prime,
When like Apollo he came forth to warm
_Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm!
Nature her self was proud of his designes,
_And joy'd to wear the dressing of his Lines!
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,
_As, since, she will vouch safe no other wit.
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,
_Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please;
But