 | The Cardinall |  |
Prologue.
The Cardinal, 'cause we express no scene,We doe believe most of you Gentlemen
Are at this hour in France, and busie there,
Though you vouchsafe to lend your bodies here;
But keep your fancy active, till you know
By th'progress of our Play, 'tis nothing so;
A Poets art is to lead on your thought
Through subtle paths and workings of a plot,
And where your expectation does not thrive,
If things fall better, yet you may forgive;
I will say nothing positive, you may
Think what you please, we call it but a Play,
Whether the comick Muse, or Ladies love,
Romance, or direfull Tragedy it prove,
The Bill determines not; and would you be
Perswaded, I would have't a Comedie,
For all the purple in the name, and state
Of him that owns it; but 'tis left to fate;
Yet I will tell you e'r you see it plaid,
What the Author, and he blusht too, when he said
(Comparing with his own for't had been pride
He thought, to build his wit a Pyramyde
Vpon anothers wounded Fame,) this Play
Might rivall with his best, and dar'd to say—
Troth I am out; he said no more; you then,
When'ts done, may say your pleasures Gentlemen.
| The Cardinall | |