Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON THE BEST, LAST, AND ONLY REMAINING COMEDY OF MR. FLETCHER, by RICHARD LOVELACE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON THE BEST, LAST, AND ONLY REMAINING COMEDY OF MR. FLETCHER, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I'm un-o'erclouded too! Free from the mist!
Last Line: Shows this one carbuncle, that darkens all.
Subject(s): Fletcher, John (1579-1625); Plays & Playwrights ; Dramatists


I 'M un-o'erclouded too! free from the mist!
The blind and late heaven's eye's great oculist,
Obscured, with the false fires of his scheme,
Not half those souls are light'ned by this theme.
Unhappy murmurers, that still repine,
(After th' eclipse our sun doth brighter shine)
Recant your false grief and your true joys know,
Your bliss is endless, as you fear'd your woe!
What fort'nate flood is this? what storm of wit?
Oh, who would live and not o'erwhelm'd in it?
No more a fatal deluge shall be hurl'd,
This inundation hath sav'd the world.
Once more the mighty Fletcher doth arise,
Rob'd in a vest studded with stars and eyes
Of all his former glories, his last worth
Embroider'd with what yet light e'er brought forth."
See! in this glad farewell he doth appear
Stuck with the constellations of his sphere,
Hearing we, numb'd, fear'd no flagration,
Hath curled all his fires in this one;
Which, as they guard his hallowed chaste urn,
The dull approaching heretics do burn.
Fletcher at his adieu carouses thus
To the luxurious ingenious,
As Cleopatra did of old outvie
Th' unnumb'red dishes of her Antony,
When (he at th' empty board a wonderer)
Smiling she calls for pearl and vinegar,
First pledges him in 's breath, then at one draught
Swallows three kingdoms off "To his best thought."
Hear, O ye valiant writers, and subscribe;
(His force set by) y' are conquer' d by this bribe.
Though you hold out yourselves, he doth commit
In this a sacred treason on your wit;
Although in poems desperately stout,
Give up: this overture must buy you out.
Thus with some prodigal us'rer 't doth fare,
That keeps his gold still veil'd, his steel breast bare;
That doth exclude his coffers all but 's eye,
And his eye's idol the wing'd deity;
That cannot lock his mines with half the art
As some rich beauty doth his wretched heart:
Wild at his real poverty, and so wise
To win her, turns himself into a prize.
First startles her with th' emerald Mad Lover,
The ruby Arcas; lest she should recover
Her dazzled thought, a diamond he throws,
Splendid in all the bright Aspatia's woes;
Then, to sum up the abstract of his store,
He flings a rope of pearl of forty more.
Ah see! the stagg'ring virtue faints! which he
Beholding, darts his wealth's epitome;
And now, to consummate her wished fall,
Shows this one carbuncle, that darkens all.





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