TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL

SIR HENRY APPLETON,

KNIGHT BARONET, &c.

NOBLE SIR,

FOR
many reasons I am induced to present this
poem to your favourable acceptance: and not
the least of them that alternate love, and those
frequent courtesies which interchangeably past
betwixt yourself and that good old gentleman,
mine uncle (Master Edmund Heywood), whom
you pleased to grace by the title of father: I
must confess I had altogether slept (my weakli-
ness and bashfulness discouraging me) had they
not been wakened and animated by that wor-
thy gentleman your friend, and my countryman,
Sir William Elvish, whom (for his unmerited
love many ways extended towards me) I much
honour: neither, sir, need you to think it any
undervaluing of your worth, to undertake the
patronage of a poem in this nature, since the
like hath been done by Roman Lælius, Scipio,
Mecænas, and many other mighty princes and
captains; nay, even by Augustus Cæsar himself,
concerning whom Ovid is thus read, De tristi:
lib. 2.

Inspice ludorum sumptus, Auguste, tuorum:
Empta tibi magno talia multa leges.

Hæc tu spectasti, spectandaque sæpe dedisti;
Majestas adeo comis ubique tua est :

So highly were they respected in the most flourishing estate of the Roman empire; and if they have been vilified of late by any separistical humorist, (as in the now questioned "Histriomastix,") I hope by the next term (Minerva assistente) to give such satisfaction to the world, by vindicating many particulars in that work maliciously exploded and condemned, as that no gentleman of quality and judgment, but shall therein receive a reasonable satisfaction; I am loath by tediousness to grow troublesome, therefore conclude with a grateful remembrance of my service intermixed with myriads of zealous wishes for your health of body, and peace of mind, with superabundance of earth's blessings, and heaven's graces, ever remaining,

Yours most observant,

THOMAS HEYWOOD.

TO THE READER.

Ir, reader, thou hast of this play been an auditor, there is less apology to be used by intreating thy patience. This Tragi-Comedy (being one served amongst two hundred and twenty, in which I have had either an entire hand, or at the least a main finger) coming accidently to the press, and I having intelligence thereof, thought it not fit that it should pass as filius populi, a bastard without a father to acknowledge it. True it is, that my plays are not exposed unto the world in volumes, to bear the title of Works, as others; one reason is, that many of them by shifting and change of companies have been negligently lost; others of them are still retained in the hands of some actors, who think it against their peculiar profit to have them come in print; and a third, that it never was any great ambition in me to be in this kind voluminously read. All that I have further to say at this time is only this: censure I entreat as favourably, as it is exposed to thy view freely. Ever

Studious of thy pleasure and profit,

THOMAS HEYWOOD.

THE

PROLOGUE.

A STANGE play you are like to have, for know,
We use no drum, nor trumpet, nor dumb show;
No combat, marriage, not so much to-day,
As song, dance, masque to bombast out a play:
Yet these all good, and still in frequent use
With our best poets; nor is this excuse
Made by our author, as if want of skill
Caus'd this defect; it's rather his selfwill.
Will you the reason know? There have so many
Been in that kind, that he desires not any
At this time in his scene; no help, no strain,
Or flash that's borrowed from another's brain ;
Nor speaks he this that he would have you fear it,
He only tries if once bare lines will bear it;
Yet may't afford, so please you silent sit,
Some mirth, some matter, and perhaps some wit.