 | The Vnfortunate Mother |  |
Proeme To the Reader.
Reader, thou wilt undoe my Poems fateIf thy opinion be prejudicate:
If not, then I shall neither hope nor feare,
Whether thou wilt be partiall or severe.
But 'cause I know not how thou art inclin'd,
Ile tell thee what shalt not, and what shalt find.
Here are no bumbast raptures swelling high,
To plucke Iove and the rest downe from the sky.
Here is no fence that must by thee be scann'd,
Before thou canst the meaning understand.
Here is not any glorious Scene of state;
Nor Christning set out with the Lottery Plate.
There's no disguise in't; no false beard, that can
Discover severall persons in one man.
No Politician tells his plots unto
Those in the Pit, and what he meanes to doe.
But now me thinkes I heare some Criticke say,
All these left out there's nothing in the play.
Yes: Thou shalt find plaine words, and language cleane;
That Cockram needs not tell thee what they meane.
Shalt find strict method in't, and every part
Severely order'd by the rules of Art.
A constant Seene: the businesse it intends
The two houres time of action comprehends.
Read it with observation then, and be
My Judge from reason; not from tyranny.
Thine Thomas Nabbes.
| The Vnfortunate Mother | |