How have I been Religious? what strange Good Ha’s scap’t me that I never understood?  Have I Hell guarded Haeresie o’rethrowne?  Heald wounded States? made Kings and Kingdomes one?  That Fate should be so mercifull to me, To let me live t’have said I have read thee.  Faire Star ascend! the Joy! the Life! the Light Of this tempestuous Age, this darke worlds sight!  Oh from thy Crowne of Glory dart one flame May strike a sacred Reverence, whilest thy Name (Like holy Flamens to their God of Day) We bowing, sing; and whilst we praise, we pray.  Bright Spirit! whose AEternall motion Of Wit, like Time still in it selfe did runne; Binding all others in it and did give Commission, how far this, or that shall live:  Like Destinie of Poems, who, as she Signes death to all, her selfe can never dye.  And now thy purple-robed Tragoedie, In her imbroiderd Buskins, calls mine eye, Where brave Ateius we see betrayed, [-Valentinian-] T’obey his Death, whom thousand lives obeyed; Whilst that the Mighty Foole his Scepter breakes, And through his Gen’rals wounds his owne dooms speaks, Weaving thus richly Valentinian The costliest Monarch with the cheapest man.  Souldiers may here to their old glories adde, [-The Mad Lover.-] The Lover love, and be with reason mad:  Not as of old, Alcides furious, Who wilder then his Bull did teare the house, (Hurling his Language with the Canvas stone) ’Twas thought the Monster roar’d the sob’rer Tone. 
  But ah, when thou thy sorrow didst inspire [-Tragi-comedies.-]
With Passions, blacke as is her darke attire, Virgins as Sufferers have wept to see [-Arcas.-] So white a Soule, so red a Crueltie; [-Bellario.-] That thou hast grieved, and with unthought redresse, Dri’d their wet eyes who now thy mercy blesse; Yet loth to lose thy watry Jewell, when [-Comedies.-] Joy wip’t it off, Laughter straight sprung’t agen.
                                                 [-The Spanish Curate.-]
Now ruddy-cheeked Mirth with Rosie wings,
Fanns ev’ry brow with gladnesse, whilest she sings
                                            [-The Humorous Lieutenant.-]
Delight to all, and the whole Theatre A Festivall in Heaven doth appeare:  Nothing but Pleasure, Love, and (like the Morne) [-The Tamer Tam’d.-] Each face a generall smiling doth adorne. [-The little french Lawyer.-]
  Heare ye foule Speakers, that pronounce the Aire
[The custom of the Countrey-]
Of Stewes and Shores, I will informe you where And how to cloathe aright your wanton wit, Without her nasty Bawd attending it.  View here a loose thought said with such a grace, Minerva might have spoke in Venus face; So well disguis’d, that t’was conceiv’d by none But Cupid had Diana’s linnen on; And all his naked parts so vail’d, th’ expresse The Shape with