 | The Coxcombe |  |
118
The Prologue.
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 owne
Were this way skilfull, and without the crime
Of flatteries I may 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 then a dish,
That's cook'd with care, and serv'd into the wish,
Of curious pallats) 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 deni'd
A free and noble bearing, 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.
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