in the names
of favour, but the names of justice to what I write; and do presently
call you to the exercise of that noblest, and manliest virtue; as
coveting rather to be freed in my fame, by the authority of a judge,
than the credit of an undertaker. Read, therefore, I pray you, and
censure. There is not a line, or syllable in it, changed from the
simplicity of the first copy. And, when you shall consider, through the
certain hatred of some, how much a man's innocency may be endangered by
an uncertain accusation; you will, I doubt not, so begin to hate the
iniquity of such natures, as I shall love the contumely done me, whose
end was so honourable as to be wiped off by your sentence.

Your unprofitable, but true Lover,

BEN JONSON.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

MOROSE, a Gentleman that loves no noise.

SIR DAUPHINE EUGENIE, a Knight, his Nephew.

NED CLERIMONT, a Gentleman, his Friend.

TRUEWIT, another Friend.

SIR JOHN DAW, a Knight.

SIR AMOROUS LA-FOOLE, a Knight also.

THOMAS OTTER, a Land and Sea Captain.

CUTBEARD, a Barber.

MUTE, one of MOROSE's Servants.

PARSON.

Page to CLERIMONT.

EPICOENE, supposed the Silent Woman.

LADY HAUGHTY, LADY CENTAURE, MISTRESS DOL MAVIS,
Ladies Collegiates.

MISTRESS OTTER, the Captain's Wife, MISTRESS TRUSTY,
LADY HAUGHTY'S Woman, Pretenders.

Pages, Servants, etc.

SCENE -- LONDON.

PROLOGUE

Truth says, of old the art of making plays
Was to content the people; and their praise
Was to the poet money, wine, and bays.

But in this age, a sect of writers are,
That, only, for particular likings care,
And will taste nothing that is popular.

With such we mingle neither brains nor breasts;
Our wishes, like to those make public feasts,
Are not to please the cook's taste, but the guests'.

Yet, if those cunning palates hither come,
They shall find guests' entreaty, and good room;
And though all relish not, sure there will be some,

That, when they leave their seats, shall make them say,
Who wrote that piece, could so have wrote a play,
But that he knew this was the better way.

For, to present all custard, or all tart,
And have no other meats, to bear a part.
Or to want bread, and salt, were but course art.

The poet prays you then, with better thought
To sit; and, when his cates are all in brought,
Though there be none far-fet, there will dear-bought,

Be fit for ladies: s