To the Reader.
Reader, the Sale-man sweares, youle take it very
ill, if I say not somewhat to you too, Introth
you are a stranger to me; why should I Write to
you? you neuer writ to mee, nor I thinke will not
answere my Epistle. I send a Comedie to you heer,
as good as I could then make; nor sleight my presentation,
because it is a play: For I tell thee Reader,
if thou bee'st ignoraunt, a Play is not so ydle a
thing as thou art, but a Mirrour of mens liues and
actions now, be it perfect or imperfect, true or false,
is the Vice or Vertue of the Maker. This is yet, as
well, as I can, Qualeis ego vel Cluuienus, Thou must
needs haue some other Language then thy Mother
tong, for thou thinkst it impossible for me to write
a Play that did not vse a word of Latine, though he
had enough in him. I haue beene vexed with vile
playes my selfe, a great while, hearing many, nowe
I thought to be euen with some, and they shoulde
heare mine too. Fare thee well, if thou hast any
thing to say to me, thou know'st where to heare of
me for a yeare or two, and no more I assure thee.
N. F.
