To please you with this Play, we fear, will be
(So does the Author too) a Mystery -
Somewhat above our Art; for all Mens Eyes,
Ears, Faiths, and Judgments, are not of one fize.
For to fay Truth, and not to flatter ye,
This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy,
Nor Hiftory, nor any thing that may
(Yet in a Week) be made a perfect Play:
Yet thofe that love to laugh, and thofe that think
Twelve Pence goes farther this way than in Drink,
Or Damfels, if they mark the matter through,
May Stumble on a foolish Toy, or two,
Will make 'em fhew their Teeth: Pray, for my fake
(That likely am your first Man) do not take
A diftafte before you feel it: for ye may
When this is bift to Afbes, have a Play,
And here, to out-bifs this; be patient then,
(My Honour done) you're welcome, Gentlemen.
