Francis Beaumont.

The Mad Lover, a Tragi-Comedy

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To please all's impossible, and to despair
Ruins our selves, and damps the Writers care:
Would we knew what to doe, or say, or when
To find the mindes here equal with the men:
But we must venture; now to Sea we goe,
Faire fortune with us, give us room, and blow;
Remember ye're all venturers; and in this Play
How many twelve-peaces ye have 'stow'd this day:
Remember for return of your delight,
We launch, and plough through storms of fear, and spight:
Give us your fore-winds fairly, fill our wings,
And steer us right, and as the Saylor sings,
Loaden with Wealth, on wanton seas, so we
Shall make our home-bound-voyage chearfully;
And you our noble Merchants, for your treasure
Share equally the fraught, we run for pleasure.
Here lyes the doubt now, let our Playes be good,
Our own care sailing equall in this Flood;
Our preparations new, new our Attire,
Yet here we are becalmed still, still i' th' mire,
Here we stick fast; Is there no way to clear
This passage of your judgement, and our fear,
No mitigation of that law? Brave friends,
Consider we are yours, made for your ends,
And every thing preserves it self, each will
If not perverse, and crooked, utter still
The best of that it ventures in: have care
Ev'n for your pleasures sake, of what we are,
And do not ruine all, You may frown still,
But 'tis the nobler way, to check the will.

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