Sr William D'avenant's VOYAGE TO THE Other World: With His Adventures in the Poets ELIZIUM.  
A Poetical Fiction.  
LONDON, Printed for the Author, 1668.   

The Author to the READER.  
I Write only for myself and private friends; and none prints more, and publishes less than I: nor had I printed this, but only to let you see how Innocent it is, which others make so Criminal. I make myself merry with the world sometimes as one who has no business in it to make me sad; and use only a little Poetical Licence, which in all times with private persons, so you spare the public, has been allowed: And if any ask, why with this person in particular? I answer, 'twas a subject offered me for the present; and that is all. As superlative praises come too nigh Flattery: So superlative dispraises come too nigh Malignity; from either of which I am equally removed. I'm sure none are more careful than myself, to give no scandal nor offence in what I write; and if any will needs take it before 'tis given, and are so dull not to understand Wit, nor know how to distinguish betwixt Railing & Raillery, let them take Hellebore.   

Sir William D'avenant's Voyage TO THE Other World: With his Adventures in the Poets ELYSIUM.  
SIr WILLIAM D'AVENANT being dead, not a Poet would afford him so much as an Elegy; whether because he sought to make a Monopoly of the Art, or strove to become Rich in spite of Minerva: It being with Poets as with Mushrooms, which grow only on barren ground, enrich the Soil once, and then degenerate: Only one, more Humane than the rest, accompanied him to his Grave with this Elogium.  

Now Davenant's dead, the Stage will mourn,  
And all to Barbarism turn:  
Since He it was this later Age,  
Who chiefly civilised the Stage.   

Great was his Wit, his Fancy great,  
As e'er was any Poets yet:  
And more Advantage none e'er made  
O' th' Wit and Fancy which he had.   

Not only Dedalus Arts he knew,  
But even Promethius' too:  
And living Machines' made of Men,  
As well as dead ones, for the Scene.   

And if the Stage or Theatre be  
A little World, 'twas chief he,  
That Atlas-like supported it,  
By force of Industry and Wit.   

All this, and more, he did beside,  
Which having perfected, he died:  
If he may properly be said  
To die, whose Fame will ne'er be dead.   
Another went further yet, and using the privilege of your Ancient Poets, who with almost as much certainty as your Divines, can tell all that passes in the other World: did thus Relate his Voyage thither, and all his Adventures in the Poets Elysium.  
AS every one at the instant of their Deaths, have Passports given them for some place or other, he had his for the Poets Elysium; which not without much difficulty he obtained from the Officers of Parnassus: For when he alleged, he was an Heroic Poet, they asked him why he did not continue it▪ When he said he was a Dramatic too, they asked him why he left it off, and only studied to get Money; like him who sold his Horse to buy him provender: And finally, when he added, He was a Poet Laureate, they laughed, and said, Bays was never more cheap than now; and that since Petrarch's time, none had ever been legitimately crowned.  
Nor had he less difficulty with Charon, who hearing he was Rich, thought to make a Booty of him, and asked an extraordinary price for his passage over; but coming to payment, he found he was so poor, as he was ready to turn him back again, he having hardly so much as his Naulum, or the price of every ordinary Passenger.  
Being arrived, they were all much amazed to see him there, they having never heard of his being dead, neither by their Weekly Gazettes, nor Criers of Verses and Pamphlets up and down; (as common a Trade there, almost as it is here) nor was he less amazed than they, to find never a Poet there, Ancient nor Modern, whom in some sort or other he had not disobliged by his discommendations, as Homer, Virgil, Tasso, Spencer, and especially Ben. Johnson; contrary to Pliny's Rule, never to discommend any of the same profession with ourselves: For either they are Better or Worse than you, (says he) If Better, if they bened worthy commendations, you much less; if worse, if they be worthy commendations, you much more: So every ways advantageous 'tis for us to commend others. Nay even Shakespeare, whom he thought to have found his greatest Friend, was as much offended with him as any of the rest, for so spoiling and mangling of his Plays. But he who most vexed and tormented him, was his old Antagonist Jack Donn, who mocked him with an hundred passages out of Gondibert; and after a world of other railing and spiteful language (at which the Doctor was excellent) so exasperated the Knight, at last, as they fell together by the ears: when but imagine  
What tearing Noses had been there,  
Had they but Noses for to tear.  
Mean time the Comic Poets made a Ring about them, as Boys do when they hiss Dogs together by the ears; till at last they were separated by Pluto's Officers, as diligent to keep the peace and part the fray, as your Italian Sbirri, or Spanish Argruzelo; and so they dragged them both away, the Doctor to the Stocks, for raising tumults and disturbances in Hell, and the Knight to the Tribunal, where Minos, Aeacus and Rhadamanthus were to sit in Judgement on him, with Momus the Common Accuser of the Court.  
Here being arrived, and silence commanded, they asked him his Quality and Profession: To whom he answered, he was a Poet Laureate, who for Poetry in general had not his fellow alive, and had left none to equal him now he was dead: And for Eloquence,  

How never any Hyperboles  
Were higher, or farther stretched than his;   

Nor ever Comparisons again  
Made things compared more clear & plain.   
Then for his Plays or Dramatic Poetry,  

How that of The Unfortunate Lovers,  
The depth of Tragedy discovers;   

In's Love and Honour you might see  
The height of Tragicomedy;   

And for his Wits, the Comic Fire  
In none yet ever flamed up higher:   

But coming to his Siege of Rhodes,  
It outwent all the rest by odds;   

And somewhat's in't that does outdo  
Both th' Ancients and the Moderns too.   
To which Momus answered: That though they were never so good, it became not him to commend them as he did; That there were Faults enough to be found in them; And that he had marred more good Plays, than ever he had made; That all his Wit lay in Hyperboles and Comparisons, which, when Accessary, were commendable enough, but when Principal, deserved no great commendations; That his Muse was none of the Nine, but only a Mongrel, or By-blow of Parnassus, and her Beauty rather sophisticate than natural; That he offered at Learning and Philosophy, but as Pullen and Stubble Geese offered to fly, who after they had fluttered up a while, at length came fluttering down as fast again; That he was with his high-sounding words, but like empty Hogsheads, the higher they sounded, the emptier still they were: And that, finally, he so perplexed himself and Readers with Parenthesis on Parenthesis, as, just as in a wilderness or Labyrinth, all sense was lost in them.  
As for his Life and Manners, they would not examine those, since 'twas supposed they were Licentious enough: only he would say,  
He was a good Companion for  
The Rich, but ill one for the poor;  
On whom he looked so, you'd believe  
He walked with a Face Negative:  
Whilst he must be a Lord at least,  
For whom he'd smile or break a jest.  
And though this, and much more was exaggerated against him by Momus; yet the Judges were so favourable to him, because he had left the Muses for Pluto, as they condemned him only to live in Pluto's Court, to make him and Proserpina merry with his facetious Jests and Stories; with whom in short time he became so gracious, by complying with their humours, and now and tan dressing a dish or two of meat for them, as they joined him in Patent with Momus, and made him Superintendent of all their Sports and Recreations: So as, only changing Place and Persons, he is now in as good Condition as he was before; and lives the same Life there, as he did here.  
FINIS.   

POSTSCRIPT. To the Actors of the Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.  
I Promised you a sight of what I had written of Sir William D'avenant, and now behold it here: By it you will perceive how much they abused you, who told you it was such an Abusive thing. If you like it not, take heed hereafter how you disoblige Him, who can not only write for you, but against you too.  
Rich. Flecknoe.  
FINIS.