Mr. Francis Beaumonts Letter to Ben. Johnson, written before he and Mr. Fletcher came to London, with two of the precedent Comedies then not finish'd, which deferr'd their merry meetings at the Mermaid.

The Sun which doth the greatest comfort bring To absent friends, because the self-same thing They know they see however absent, is, Here our best Hay-make[r] forgive me this, It is our Countreys stile. In this warm shine, I l[y]e and dream of your full Mermaid Wine. Oh we have water mixt with Claret Lees, Drink apt to bring in dryer Heresies Than Beer, good only for the Sonnets strain, With fustian Metaphors to stuff the brain, So mixt, that given to the thirstiest one, 'Twill not prove Alms, unless he have the stone: I think with one draught mans invention fades, Two Cups had quite spoil'd Homers Illiads; 'Tis Liquor that will find out Sutcliff's wit, Lye where he will, and make him write worse yet; Fil'd with such moisture in most grievous qualms; Did Rob[ert] Wisdom write his Singing Psalms; And so must I do this, and yet I think It is a potion sent us down to drink, By special Providence keeps us from fights, Makes us not laugh, when we make legs to knights. 'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our States, A Medicine to obey our Magistrates: For we do live more free than you, no hate, No envy at one anothers [happy] State Moves us, we are all equal every whit: Of Land that God gives men here is their wit: If we consider fully, for our best, And gravest men will with his main house jest, Scarce please you; we want subtilty to do The City tricks, lye, hate, and flatter too: Here are none that can bear a painted show, Strike when you winch, and then lament the blow: Who like Mills set the right way for to grind, Can make their gains alike with every wind: Only some fellows with the subtil'st pate Amongst us, may perchance equivocate At selling of a Horse, and that's the most. Methinks the little wit I had is lost Since I saw you, for Wit is like a Rest Held up at Tennis, which men do the best, With the best gamesters: what things have we seen, Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtil flame, As if that every one from whence they came, Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And had resolv'd to live a fool, the rest Of his dull life; then when there hath been thrown Wit able enough to justifie the Town For three days past, wit that might warrant be For the whole City to talk foolishly Till that were cancell'd, and when that was gone, We left an Air behind us, which alone, Was able to make the two next Companies Right witty; though but downright fools, more wise. When I remember this, and see that now The Countrey Gentlemen begin to allow My wit for dry bobs, then I needs must cry, I see my days of Ballating grow nigh; I can already Riddle, and can Sing [Ca]tches, sell bargains, and I fear shall bring My self to speak the hardest words I find, Over, as oft as any, with one wind, That takes no medicines: But one thought of thee Makes me remember all these things to be The wit of our young men, fellows that show No part of good, yet utter all they know: Who like trees of the Guard, have growing souls. Only strong destiny, which all controuls, I hope hath left a better fate in store, For me thy friend, than to live ever poor, Banisht unto this home; fate once again Bring me to thee, who canst make smooth and plain The way of Knowledge for me, and then I, Who have no good but in thy company, Protest it will my greatest comfort be To acknowledge all I have to flow from thee. Ben. when these Scænes are perfect, we'll taste wine; I'll drink thy Muses health, thou shalt quaff mine.