To his many ways endeared friend, Master Robert Keysar
- Sir, —
- This unfortunate child, who, in eight days (as lately I have learned),
was begot and born, soon after was by his parents (perhaps because he was
so unlike his brethren) exposed to the wide world, who, for want of
judgment, or not understanding the privy mark of irony about it
(which shewed it was no offspring of any vulgar brain),
utterly rejected it; so that, for want of acceptance, it was even ready
to give up the ghost, and was in danger to have been smothered in
perpetual oblivion, if you (out of your direct antipathy to ingratitude)
had not been moved both to relieve and cherish it:
wherein I must need commend both your judgment, understanding, and singular
love to good wits. You afterwards sent it to me, yet being an infant
and somewhat ragged: I have fostered it privately in my bosom
these two years; and now, to shew my love, return it to you, clad
in good lasting clothes, which scarce memory will wear out, and able
to speak for itself; and withal, as it telleth me, desirous to try
his fortune in the world, where, if yet it be welcome, father, foster-father,
nurse, and child all have their desired end. If it slighted or traduced,
it hopes his father will beget him a younger brother, who shall revenge
his quarrel, and challenge the world either of fond and merely literal
interpretations or illiterate misprision. Perhaps it will be thought
to be of the race of Don Quixote; we both may
confidently swear it his elder above a year;
and therefore may (by virtue of his birthright)
challenge the wall of him. I doubt not but they will meet in their adventures,
and I hope the breaking of one staff will make them friends; and perhaps
they will combine themselves, and travel through the world
to seek their adventures. So I commit him to his good fortune, and
myself to your love. Your assured friend,
W. B[urre].
To readers of this comedy
- GENTLEMEN, —
- The world is so nice in these our times, that for apparel there is no
fashion; for music (which is a rare art, though now slighted) no instrument;
for diet, none but the French kickshaws that are delicate;
and for plays, no invention but that which now runneth an invective way,
touching some particular persons, or else it is contemned
before it is thoroughly understood. This is all that I have to say:
that the author had no intent to wrong any one in this comedy;
but, as a merry passage, here and there interlaced it with delight,
which he hopes will please all, and be hurtful to none.
Prologue
Where the bee can suck no honey, she leaves her sting behind;
and where the bear cannot find origanum to heal his grief, he blasteth all
other leaves with his breath. We fear it is like to fare so with us;
that, seeing you cannot draw from our labours sweet content,
you leave behind you a sour mislike, and with open reproach blame
our good meaning, because you cannot reap the wonted mirth.
Our intent was at this time to move inward delight, not outward lightness;
and to bread (if it might be) soft smiling, not loud laughing;
knowing it, to the wise, to be a great pleasure to hear counsel mixed
with wit, as to the foolish, to have sport mingled with rudeness.
They were banished the theatre of Athens, and from Rome hissed,
that brought parasites on the stage with apish actions,
or fools with uncivil habits, or courtezans with immodest words.
We have endeavoured to be as far from unseemly speeches,
to make your ears glow, as we hope you will be free from unkind reports,
or mistaking the authors' intention (who never aimed at any one
particular in this play), to make our cheeks blush. And thus I leave it,
and thee to thine own censure, to like or dislike. — VALE.