Classic Poem

Let no man think, I hither coldly came
On purpose to commend, or to seek fame
By this impression, that the world may say,
What is this Jackson that commends the play?
Though tis a grace to stand, as courtiers use,
To usher in the reader to thy Muse,
Yet by the way, I'll tell him I have read
The laws of Flaccus with a serious head,
And that according to those statutes there,
Never to be repealed, thy Poems are;
Thy discreet style is elegantly plain,
In sock and buskin, proper to each vein
Of time, place, person, and that all thy wit
Is not by chance but regularly writ;
Nor dost thou gall the theatre, we may
Be acted every man, yet see thy play
Invisible, so curious is thy pen
Which can at once, wound, heal, and better men.
Therefore will I hereafter cease to mourn
For those great wits, commended to the urn;
And if 't be true that transmigrations be,
They are in Shirley all, for ought I see.