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dub, dub.

Harke and beware, unlesse thou hast lov'd ever, | The vant-guard marches bravely, hark the drums→→→
Beluv'd againe, thou shalt see those joyes never.
Marke how they groane that dyed despairing,

O take heed then:

Harke how they houle for ever daring,

All these were men:

They that be fooles and dye for fame,
They lose their name,

And they that bleed,

Harke how they speed.

Now in cold frosts, now scorching fires,
They sit and curse their lost desires:

Nor shall their soules be free from pains and feares,
Till women waft them over in their teares.

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They meet, they meet, now the battle comes;
See how the arrows flie,

That darken all the skie;

Harke how the trumpets sound,

Harke how the hils rebound-tara, tara, tara. Harke how the horses charge in boyes, in boys in,→→→ The battle totters, now the wounds begin, [tara, tara, O how thy cry,

O how they dye.

Roome for the valiant Memnon armed with thunder,
See how he breakes the rankes asunder:

They fly, they fly, Eumenes bath the chase,
And brave Politius makes good his place.

To the plaines, to the woods,

To the rocks, to the flouds,

They fly for succour: follow, follow, follow,
Harke how the souldiers hollow; [hey, hey.-
Brave Diocles is dead,

And all his souldiers fled,
The battle's won and lost,

That many a life hath cost.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE SPANISH
CURATE.

To tell ye (gentlemen) we have a play,
A new one too, and that 'tis lanch'd to day,
The name ye know, that's nothing to my story;
To tell you 'tis familiar, void of glory,
Of state, of bitternesse of wit you'l say,
For that is now held wit that tends that way,
Which we avoid to tell you too, till merry,
And meane to make you pleasant, and not weary:
The streame that guides ye easie to attend
To tell you that 'tis good is to no end,
If you beleeve not; nay to go thus far,
To sweare it, if you sweare against it, were
To assure you any thing, unlesse you see,
And so conceive, is vanity in me;
Therefore I leave it to it selfe, and pray
Like a good barque it may worke out to day,
And stem all doubts; 'twas built for such a proof
And we hope highly, if she lie aloofe
For her own vantage, to give wind at will;
Why, let her worke, only be you but still,
And sweet opinion'd, and we are bound to say,
You are worthy judges, and you crown the play.

THE EPILOGUE.

THE play is done, yet our suite never ends,
Still when you part you would still part our friends,
Our noblest friends; if ought have falne amisse,
Oh let it be sufficient that it is,

And you have pardon'd it; in buildings great
All the whole body cannot be so neat
But something may be mended; those are faire,
And worthy love, that may destroy, but spare.

THE

PROLOGUE TO THE FRENCH LAWYER. To promise much before a play begin, And when 'tis done aske pardon, were a sin

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CALLED, THE CUSTOME OF THE COUNTREY.

So free this worke is (gentlemen) from offence,
That we are confident it needs no defence
From us, or from the poets, we dare looke
On any man that brings his table booke
To write down what again he may repeat
At some great table, to deserve his meat;
Let such come swel'd with malice to apply
What is mirth here, there for an injury.
Nor lord, nor lady we have tax'd, nor state,
Nor any private person, their poore hate
Will be starv'd here, for envy shall not find
One touch that may be wrested to her mind;
And yet despaire not gentlemen, the play
Is quick and witty, so the poets say.

And we beleeve them, the plot neat and new, Fashioned by those that are approv'd by you; Only 'twill crave attention in the most, Because one point unmask'd the whole is lost; Heare first then, and judge after, and be free, And as our cause is let our censure be.

THE EPILOGUE.

WHY there should be an epilogue to a play,
I know no cause, the old and usuall way
For which they were made, was to entreat the grade
Of such as were spectators in this place;
And time, 'tis to no purpose, for I know
What you resolve already to bestow
Will not be alter'd, whatsoe're I say
In the behalfe of us, and of the play,
Only to quit our doubts, if you thinke fit,
You may, or cry it up, or silence it.

ANOTHER PROLOGUE FOR THE SAME PLAY,

WE wish, if it were possible, you knew
What we would give for this night's look, if new,
It being our ambition to delight

Our kind spectators with what's good and right,
Yet so far known, and credit me, 'twas made,
By such as were held workmen in their trade;
At a time too, when they, as I divine,
Were truly merry, and dranke lusty wine,
The nectar of the Muses; some are here,

I dare presume, to whom it did appeare

A well-drawn piece, which gave a lawfull birth
To passionate scenes mixt with no vulgar mirth,
But unto such to whom 'tis known by fame
From others, perhaps only by the name;

I am a suitor, that they would prepare
Sound pallats, and then judge their bill of fare,
It were injustice to discry this now,

For being lik'd before, you may allow

Your candour safe what's taught in the old schooles, All such as lived before you were not fooles.

THE EPILOGUE.

I SPEAKE much in the prologue for the play,
To its desert I hope, yet you might say,
Should I change now from that which then was
Or in a syl'able grow lesse confident, [meant,

I were weak-hearted, I am still the same,
In my opinion, and forbeare to frame
Qualification, or excuse, if you
Concur with me, and hold my judgment true;
Shew it with any signe, and from this place,
And send me off exploded, or with grace.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE PLAY,
CALLED, THE NOBLE GENTLEMAN.

WIT is become an antic, and puts on
As many shapes of variation,

To court the times' applause, as the times dare
Change severall fashions, nothing is thought rare
Which is not new and follow'd; yet we know
That what was worne some twenty yeare ago,
Comes into grace againe, and we pursue
That custome by presenting to your view
A play in fashion then, not doubting now
But 'twill appeare the same, if you allow

Worth to their noble memory, whose name, Beyoud all power of death live in their fame,

THE EPILOGUE.

THE monuments of vertue and desert
Appeare more goodly when the glosse of art
Is eaten off by time, than when at first
They were set up, not censured at the worst;
We have done our best, for your contents to fit,
With new paines this old monument of wit.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE PLAY,
CALLED, THE CAPTAINE.

To please you with this play we feare will be
(So does the author too) a mystery
Some what above our art, for all men's eyes,
Eares, faith and judgements are not of one size;
For to say truth and not to flatter ye,
This is nor comedy, nor tragedy,
Nor history, nor any thing that may
(Yet in a weeke) be made a perfect play:

Yet those that love to laugh, and those that think
Twelve pence goes further this way than in drinke,
Or damsels; if they marke the matter through,
May stumble on a foolish toy or two,
Will make them shew their teeth: pray, for my
That likely am your first man, do not take [sake,
A distaste before you feel it, for ye may
When this is hist to ashes have a play.
And here to out-hisse this he patient then,
(My honour done) you are welcome gentlemen.

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And with the power of my enchanting song
Boyes shall be able men, and old men yong.
Come hither you that hope, and you that cry,
Leave off complaining,

Youth, strength, and beauty that shall never dye,
Are here remaining.

Come hither fooles and blush you stay so long
From being blest,

And mad men worse than you, that suffer wrong,
Yet seeke no rest;

And in an houre with my enchanting song
You shall be ever pleas'd, and young maids long.

SONG TO THE PLAY,

CALLED, THE BEGGER'S BUSH.

CAST Our caps and care away: this is beggers holiday, [and sing; At the crowning of our king thus we ever dance In the world look out and see, wher so happy a prince as he [do we; Where the nation live so free, and so merry as Be it peace, or be it war, here at liberty we are, And enjoy our ease and rest, to the field we are [gown, not prest: Nor are call'd into the town to be troubled with the Hang all offices we cry, and the magistrate too by; When the subsidies encreast, we are not a penny [straw,

ceast ;

Now will any goe to law with the begger for a All which happinesse he brags he doth owe unto his rags.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE PLAY,

CALLED, THE COXCOMBE.

THIS Comedy long forgot, by some thought dead, By us preserv'd, once more doth raise her head;

And to your noble censures does present
Her outward forme. and inward ornament.
Nor let this smell of arrogance, since 'tis known
The makers that confest it for their own,
Were this way skilfull, and without the crime
Of flatteries, I might say, did please the time;
The worke it selfe too, when it first came forth,
In the opinion of men of worth,

Was well receiv'd and favour'd, though some rude
And harsh among the ignorant multitude,
That relish grosse food better than a dish
(That's cook'd with care, and serv'd in to the wish
Of curious pailats) wanting wit and strength
Truly to judge, condemn'd it for the length,
That fault's reform'd, and now 'tis to be tri'd
Before such judges, 'twill not be deny'd
A free and noble hearing nor feare I
But 'twill deserve to have free liberty,
And give you cause (and with content) to say,
Their care was good that did revive this play,

THE EPILOGUE.

'Tis ended, but my hopes and feare begin,
Nor can it be imputed as a sin
In me to wish it favour if this night
To the judicious it hath given light,

I have my ends, and may such, for their grace
Vouchsafed to this, find theirs in every place.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY, CALLED, THE FALSE ONE.

Efind

NEw titles warrant not a play for new,
The subject being old and 'tis as true;
Fresh and neat matter may with ease be fram'd
Out of their stories, that have oft been nam'd
With glory on the stage: what borrows he
From him that wrought old Priam's tragedy
That writes his love to Hecuba? sure to tell
Of Cæsar's amorous heats, and how he fell
In the capitall, can never be the same
To the judicious: nor will such blame
Those that peun'd this for barrennesse, when they
Young Cleopatra here and her great mind
Express'd to th' height, with us a maid and free,
And how he rated her virginity:
We treat not of what baldnesse she did dye,
Nor of her fatall love to Antony;
What we present and offer to your view
(Upon their faiths) the stage yet never knew ;
Let reason then first to your wils give laws,
And after judge of them, and of their cause.

THE EPILOGUE.

I Now should wish another had my place,
But that I hope to come off, and with grace,
And but expresse some signe that you are pleas'd,
We of our doubts, they of their feares are eas'd;
I would beg further (gentlemen) and much say
In the favour of our selves, them, and the play,
Did I not rest assur'd? the most I see
Hate impudence, and cherish modesty.

FIRST SONG TO THE FALSE ONE, A TRAGEDY.

Look out, bright eyes, and blesse the aire, Even in shadows you are faire:

Shut up, beauty is like fire

That breakes out clearer still and higher;
Though your body be confin'd,
And lost love a pris'ner bound,
Yet the beauty of your mind,
Neither cheeke, nor chaine hath found.
Looke out nobly then, and dare,
Even the fetters that you weare.

THE SECOND SONG.

Isis, the goddesse of this land,

Bids thee (great Cæsar) understand
And marke our customes, and first know,
With greedy eyes, these watch the flow
Of plenteous Nilus, when he comes
With songs, with dances, timbrels, drums,
They entertaine him, cut his way,
And give his proud heads leave to play;
Nilus himselfe shall rise and shew
His matchlesse wealth in overflow.

THE THIRD SONG.

COME let us help the reverend Nyle,
He's very old (alas the while),
Let us dig him easie waies,
And prepare a thousand plaies
To delight his streams, let's sing
A loud welcome to our spring;
This way let his curling heads
Fall into our new made beds;
This way let his wanton spawns
Frisk and glide it o're the lawns;
This way profit comes and gaine,
How he tumbles here amaine,
How his waters haste to fall
In our channell, labour all
And let him in: let Nylus flow,
And perpetuall plenty show;
With incense let us blesse the brim,
And as the wanton fishes swim,
Let us gums, and garlands fling,
And loud our timbrels ring;
Come, (old father) come away,
Our labour is our holiday.

Isis. Here comes the aged river now,
With garlands of great peale his brow
Begirt and rounded, in his flow
All things take life, and all things grow;
A thousand wealthy treasures still
To do him service at his will,
Follow his rising tloud, and powre
Perpetuall blessings in our store.
Heare him, and next there will advance
His sacred heads to tread a dance
In honour of my royall guest,
Marke them too, and you have a feast.

THE FOURTH SONG.

MAKE roome, for my rich waters' fall,
And blesse my floud,

Nylus come flowing to you all
Encrease and good.

Now the plants and flowers shall spring,
And the merry ploughman sing.

In my hidden waves I bring
Bread, and wine, and every thing;

Let the damsels sing me in,

Sing aloud that I may rise:

Your holy feasts and houres begin,
And each man brings a sacrifice;
Now my wanton pearles I show
That to ladies' faire necks grow;
Now my gold

And treasures that can ne'er be told,
Shall blesse this land by my rich flow;
And after this to crown your eyes,
My hidden holy bed arise.

THE PROLOGUE to the PLAY, CALLED, THE CHANCES.

APTNESSE for mirth to all this instant night
Thalia hath prepar'd for your delight;
Her choice and curious vyands in each part,
Season'd with rarities of wit, as art.

Nor feare I to be tax'd for a vaine boast,
My promise will find credit with the most,
When they know ingenious Fletcher made it, he
Being in himselfe a perfect comedy;

And some sit here, I doubt not, dare averre,
Living, he made that house a theater
Which he pleas'd to frequent; and thus much we
Could not but play to his loud memory.

For our selves we do intreat that you would not
Expect strange turnes and windings in the plot,
Objects of state, and now and then a rhime
To gaule particular persons with the time;
Or that his towring Muse hath made her flight
Nearer your apprehension than your sight:
But if that sweet expression, quick conceit,
Familiar language fashion'd to the weight
Of such as speake it, have the power to raise
Your grace to us, with trophies to his praise,
We may professe, presuming on his skill,
If his Chances please not you, our fortune's ill.

THE EPILOGUE.

We have not held you long,
One brow in this selected company
Assuring a dislike our paines were eas'd,
Could we be confident that all rise pleas'd,
But such ambition soares too high, if we
Have satisfied the best, and they agree
In a faire censure, we have our reward,
And in them arm'd desire no surer guard.

Ε

THE PROLOGUE TO THE PLAY,
CALLED, THE LOYALL SUBJECT.

We need not, noble gentlemen, to invite
Attention, pre-instruct you who did write
This worthy story, being confident

The mirth joyn'd with grave matter, and intent,
To yield the hearers profit with delight,
Will speake the maker, and to do him right
Would ask a genius like to his; the age
Mourning his losse, and our now widdowed stage
In vaine lamenting, I could adde so far,
Behind him the most moderne writers are ;
That when they would commend him their best

praise

Rains the buildings which they strive to raise

To his best memory so much a friend
Presumes to write secure, 'twill not offend
The living that are modest with the rest,
That may repine he cares not to contest:
This debt to Fletcher paid it is profest,
But us the actors we will do our best

To send such savouring friends, as hither come To grace the scene, pleas'd and contented home.

THE EPILOGUE.

THOUGH Something well assur'd, few here repent,
Three houres of pretious time or money spent
On our endeavours, yet not to relie
Too much upon our care and industry:
'Tis fit we should aske but a modest way
How you approve our action in the play;
If you vouchsafe to crown it with applause,
It is your bounty and gives us cause
Hereafter with a generall consent
To study, as becomes us, your content.

FIRST SONG TO THE PLAY,

CALLED, THE LOYAL SUBJECT:

BROOME, broome, the bonny broome,
Come buy my birchen broome,

I' th' wars we have no more roome,
Buy all my bonny broome.
For a kisse take two,

If those will not do,

For a little, little pleasure,
Take all my whole treasure ;
If all these will not do't,
Take the broome man to boot;
Broome, broome, the bonny broome.

THE SECOND SONG.

THE wars are done and gone,

And souldiers now neglected pedlers are,
Come, maidens, come along,

For I can shew you handsome, handsome ware,
Powders for the head,

And drinkes for your bed

To make ye blith and bonny:

As well in the night we souldiers can fight,
And please a young wench as any.

THE THIRD SONG.

WILL ye buy any honesty? come away,
I sell it openly by day;

I bring no forced light, nor no candle
To cozen ye; come buy and handle.
This will shew the great man good,

The tradesman where he swears and lies,
Each lady of a noble bloud,

The city dame to rule her yes:

Ye are rich men now, come buy, and then I'le make ye richer, honest men.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE PLAY,
CALLED, THE LOVERS PROGRESSE

A STORY, and a known one, long since writ,
Truth must take place, and by an able wit,

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