These his Plays were above the vulgar capacity, (which are onely tickled with down-right obscenity) and took not so well at the first stroke, as at the rebound, when beheld the second time, yea, they will endure reading, and that with due commendation, so long as either ingenuity or learning are fashionable in our Nation.  And although all his Plays may endure the test, yet in three of his Comedies, namely, The Fox, Alchymist, and Silent Woman, he may be compared in the judgment of the learned men, for decorum, language and well-humouring parts, as well with the chief of the ancient Greek and Latine Comedians, as the prime of modern Italians, who have been judged the best of Europe for a happy vein in Comedies; nor is his Bartholomew Fair much short of them.  As for his other Comedies, Staple of News, Devil’s an Ass, and the rest, if they be not so sprightful and vigorous as his first pieces, all that are old will, and all that desire to be old, should excuse him therein; and therefore let the Name of Ben Johnson sheild them against whoever shall think fit to be severe in censure against them.  Truth is, his Tragedies, Seianus and Cateline seem to have in them more of an artificial and inflate, than of a pathetical and naturally Tragick height; yet do they every one of them far excel any of the English ones that were writ before him; so that he may be truly said to be the first reformer of the English Stage, as he himself more truly than modestly writes in his commendatory Verses of his Servants Richard Broom’s Comedy of the Northern Lass.

  Which you have justly gained from the Stage,
  By observation of those Comick Laws,
  Which I, your Master, first did teach the Age.

In the rest of his Poetry, (for he is not wholly Dramatick) as his Underwoods, Epigrams, &c. he is sometimes bold and strenuous, sometimes Magisterial, sometimes lepid and full enough of conceit, and sometimes a man as other men are.

It seems the issue of his brain was more lively and lasting than the issue of his body, having several Children, yet none living to survive him; This he bestowed as part of an Epitaph on his eldest Son, dying an Infant.

  Rest in soft peace, and ask’d, say, Here doth lye
  Ben Johnson his best piece of Poetry.

But tho’ the immortal Memory still lives of him in his learned Works, yet his Body, subject to mortality, left this life, Anno 1638. and was buried about the Belfrey in the Abbey-Church at Westminster, having only upon a Pavement over his Grave, this written: 

  O Rare Ben Johnson.

Yet were not the Poets then so dull and dry, but that many expressed their affection to his Memory in Elegies and Epitaphs; amongst which this following may not be esteemed the worst.