That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star’s that passed
Singing, and light was from its darkness cast
  To paint the face of Painting fair with praise:[1]
And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure
Fraternal face of Wordsworth’s Elidure
  Between two child-faced masks of merrier days.[2]

    [1] Doctor Dodypol.

    [2] Nobody and Somebody.

XVIII

ANONYMOUS PLAYS

More yet and more, and yet we mark not all: 
  The Warning fain to bid fair women heed
  Its hard brief note of deadly doom and deed;[1]
The verse that strewed too thick with flowers the hall
Whence Nero watched his fiery festival;[2]
  That iron page wherein men’s eyes who read
  See, bruised and marred between two babes that bleed,
A mad red-handed husband’s martyr fall;[3]
The scene which crossed and streaked with mirth the strife
Of Henry with his sons and witchlike wife;[4]
And that sweet pageant of the kindly fiend,
  Who, seeing three friends in spirit and heart made one,
Crowned with good hap the true-love wiles he screened
  In the pleached lanes of pleasant Edmonton.[5]

    [1] A Warning for Fair Women.

    [2] The Tragedy of Nero.

    [3] A Yorkshire Tragedy.

    [4] Look about you.

    [5] The Merry Devil of Edmonton.

XIX

THE MANY

I

Greene, garlanded with February’s few flowers,
  Ere March came in with Marlowe’s rapturous rage: 
  Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age
Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours: 
Nash, laughing hard:  Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers: 
  And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage
  Fed by some gay great lady’s pettish page
Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers: 
Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves: 
  And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse
  Weeps Marian yet on Robin’s wildwood hearse: 
Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves,
  Sighed from a maiden’s amorous mouth averse: 
Live likewise ye:  Time takes not you for slaves.

XX

THE MANY

II

Haughton, whose mirth gave woman all her will: 
  Field, bright and loud with laughing flower and bird
  And keen alternate notes of laud and gird: 
Barnes, darkening once with Borgia’s deeds the quill
Which tuned the passion of Parthenophil: 
  Blithe burly Porter, broad and bold of word: 
  Wilkins, a voice with strenuous pity stirred: 
Turk Mason:  Brewer, whose tongue drops honey still: 
Rough Rowley, handling song with Esau’s hand: 
  Light Nabbes:  lean Sharpham, rank and raw by turns,
  But fragrant with a forethought once of Burns: 
Soft Davenport, sad-robed, but blithe and bland: 
  Brome, gipsy-led across the woodland ferns: 
Praise be with all, and place among our band.