 | The Queene of Arragon |  |
The Prologue at the Fryers.
Ere we begin, that no man may repentTwo shillings and his time; the Author sent
The Prologue, with the errors of his Play,
That who will, may take his money and away.
First for the Plot, it's no way intricate
By crosse deceits in love, nor so high in state,
That we might have given out in our Play-bill,
This day's the Prince writ by Nick Machivill.
The Language too is easie, such as fell
Unstudyed from his pen, not like a spell
Bigge with misterious words, such as inchant
The halfe witted, and confound the ignorant.
Then what must needes afflict the Amorist,
No Virgin here in breeches, casts a mist
Before her Lovers eyes; No Ladies tell
How their blood boyles, how high their veines doe swell.
But what is worse, no bawdy mirth is here;
(The wit of bottle Ale, and double Beere)
To make the wife of Citizen protest,
And Country Justice sweare, twas a good Jest.
Now sirs you have the errors of his wit:
Like or dislike, at your owne perills be't.
| The Queene of Arragon | |