 | The villain |  |
THE PROLOGUE.
As
I appear, (me-thinks) I hear some say,
O, this is He that must excuse the Play!
They better guess than those who think I'm sent
To dare the Censures of th'Impertinent;
Such a Poetique Choler would appear
Just like that Courage which is rais'd by Fear.
O, this is He that must excuse the Play!
They better guess than those who think I'm sent
To dare the Censures of th'Impertinent;
Such a Poetique Choler would appear
Just like that Courage which is rais'd by Fear.
But (Gentlemen) in troth I'm only come
To tell ye that the Author is gone home,
To shun your Doom, like some poor Couzen'd Wench
That has not Confidence t'out-face the Bench.
We were such Fools as to perswade his Stay,
But (smiling at us) He made haste away,
And said ye could not so much honor lack,
As to speak ill of him behind his back.
To tell ye that the Author is gone home,
To shun your Doom, like some poor Couzen'd Wench
That has not Confidence t'out-face the Bench.
We were such Fools as to perswade his Stay,
But (smiling at us) He made haste away,
And said ye could not so much honor lack,
As to speak ill of him behind his back.
| The villain | |