University of Virginia Library

SPECTRVM. THE PROLOGVE.

VVhat hoe, where are these paltrie Plaiers? stil poaring
in their papers and neuer perfect? for shame
come forth, your Audience stay so long, their eies waxe dim
with expectation.

[Enter one of the Players.]

How now my honest Rogue; what play shall wee haue
here to night?

Play.

Sir you may looke vpon the Title.

Prol.

What, Spectrum once again? Why noble Cerberus,
nothing but patch-pannell stuffe, olde gally-mawfreies and
cotten-candle eloquence? out you bawling bandogge fox-fird
slaue: you dried stockefish you, out of my sight.

[Exit the Player.]

Well tis no matter: Ile set mee downe and see't, and for
fault of a better, Ile supply the place of a scuruy Prologue.

Spectrum is a looking glasse indeede,
Where in a man a History may read,
Of base conceits and damned roguerie:
The very sinke of hell-bred villeny.

Enter a Iuggler.
Iuggler.

Why how now humorous George? what as necholy as a mantletree?
Will you see any trickes of Leigerdemaine, slight of hand,
clenly conuayance, or deceptio visus? what will you see
Gentleman to driue you out of these dumps?

Prol.

Out you soust gurnet, you Woolfist, be gon I say
and bid the Players dispatch and come away quickly, and
tell their fiery Poet that before I haue done with him; Ile
make him do penance vpon a stage in a Calues skin.

Iuggler.

O Lord sir ye are deceiued in me, I am no tale-carrier,
I am a Iuggler.
I haue the superficiall skill of all the seuen liberall scienes
at my fingers end.
Ile shew you a tricke of the twelues, and turne him ouer the
thumbes with a trice.

Ile make him fly swifter then meditation.

Ile shew you as many toies as there be minutes in a moneh,
and as many trickes as there be motes in the sunne.

Prol.

Prithee what trickes canst thou doe?

Iuggler.

Marry sir I wil shew you a trick of cleanly conueiance.
Heu fortuna furim nunquam credo, With a cast of cleane conueyance,
come aloft Iack for thy masters aduantage (hes
gone I warrant ye.)

Spectrum is conueied away: and Wily beguiled, stands in the place of it.
Prol.

Mas an tis well done, now I see thou canst doe
something, holde thee thers twelue pence for thy labour.

Goe to that barme-froth Poet and to him say,
He quite has lost the Title of his play,
His Calue skin iests from hence are cleane exil'd,
Thus once you see that Wily is beguil'd.

Exit the Iuggler.
Prol.
Now kind Spectators, I dare boldly say,
You all are welcome to our Authors play:
Be still a while, and ere we goe,
Weele make your eies with laughter flowe.
Let Momus mates iudge how they list,
We feare not what they babble:
Nor any paltry Poets pen,
Amongst that rascall rabble.
But time forbids me further speech,
My tongue must stop hir race:
My time is come, I must be dumbe,
And giue the Actors place.

Exit.