 | The Custome of the Countrey |  |
The Prologue.
So free this worke is, Gentlemen, from offence,That we are confident, it needes no defence
From us, or from the Poets—wee dare looke.
On any man, that brings his Table-booke
To write downe, what againe he may repeate
At some greate Table, to deserve his meate.
Let such come sweld with malice, to apply
What is mirth here, there for an injurie.
Nor Lord, nor Lady we have tax'd; nor State,
Nor any private person, their poore hate
Will be starv'd heere, for envy shall not finde,
One touch that may be wrested to her minde.
And yet despaire not Gentlemen, The play
Is quicke and witty; so the Poets say,
And we believe them; the plott neate, and new,
Fashiond like those, that are approv'd by you.
Onely 'twill crave attention, in the most;
Because one point unmark'd, the whole is lost
Heare first then, and judge after, and be free,
And as our cause is, let our censure be.
| The Custome of the Countrey | |