Poems By Thomas Carevv Esquire. One of the gentlemen of the Privie-Chamber, and Sewer in Ordinary to His Majesty.

To my worthy Friend, M. D'AVENANT, Vpon his Excellent Play, The Iust Italian.

I'Le not mispend in praise, the narrow roome I borrow in this leafe; the Garlands bloome From thine owne seedes, that crowne each glorious page Of thy triumphant worke; the sullen Age Requires a Satyre. What starre guides the soule Of these our froward times, that dare controule, Yet dare not learne to judge? When didst thou flie From hence, cleare, candid Ingenuitie? I have beheld, when pearch'd on the smooth brow Of a faire modest troope, thou didst allow Applause to slighter workes; but then the weake Spectator, gave the knowing leave to speake. Now noyse prevailes, and he is tax'd for drowth Of wit, that with the crie, spends not his mouth▪ Yet aske him, reason why he did not like; Him, why he did; their ignorance will strike Thy soule with scorne, and Pity: marke the places Provoke their smiles, frownes, or distorted faces, When, they admire, nod, shake the head: they'le be A seene of myrth, a double Comedie.

But thy strong fancies (raptures of the braine, Drest in Poetique flames) they entertaine As a bold, impious reach; for they'le still slight All that exceeds Red Bull, and Cockpit flight: These are the men in crowded heape that throng To that adulterate stage, where not a tong Of th'untun'd Kennell, can a line repeat Of serious sence: but like lips, meet like meat; Whilst the true brood of Actors, that alone Keepe naturall unstrain'd Action in her throne Behold their Benches bare, though they rehearse The terser Beaumonts or great Johnsons verse. Repine not Thou then, since this churlish fate Rules not the stage alone; perhaps the State Hath felt this rancour, where men great and good; Have by the Rabble beene misunderstood. So was thy Play; whose cleere, yet loftie straine▪ Wisemen, that governe Fate, shall entertaine.