yself, that I have not copied my author servilely:
Words and phrases must of necessity receive a change in succeeding
ages; but it is almost a miracle that much of his language remains
so pure; and that he who began dramatic poetry amongst us, untaught
by any, and as Ben Jonson tells us, without learning, should by the
force of his own genius perform so much, that in a manner he has left
no praise for any who come after him. The occasion is fair, and the
subject would be pleasant to handle the difference of styles betwixt
him and Fletcher, and wherein, and how far they are both to be
imitated. But since I must not be over-confident of my own
performance after him, it will be prudence in me to be silent.
Yet, I hope, I may affirm, and without vanity, that, by imitating
him, I have excelled myself throughout the play; and particularly,
that I prefer the scene betwixt Antony and Ventidius in the first
act, to anything which I have written in this kind.

PROLOGUE

What flocks of critics hover here to-day,
As vultures wait on armies for their prey,
All gaping for the carcase of a play!
With croaking notes they bode some dire event,
And follow dying poets by the scent.
Ours gives himself for gone; y' have watched your time:
He fights this day unarmed,--without his rhyme;--
And brings a tale which often has been told;
As sad as Dido's; and almost as old.
His hero, whom you wits his bully call,
Bates of his mettle, and scarce rants at all;
He's somewhat lewd; but a well-meaning mind;
Weeps much; fights little; but is wond'rous kind.
In short, a pattern, and companion fit,
For all the keeping Tonies of the pit.
I could name more: a wife, and mistress too;
Both (to be plain) too good for most of you:
The wife well-natured, and the mistress true.
Now, poets, if your fame has been his care,
Allow him all the candour you can spare.
A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day;
Like Hectors in at every petty fray.
Let those find fault whose wit's so very small,
They've need to show that they can think at all;
Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
He who would search for pearls, must dive below.
Fops may have leave to level all they can;
As pigmies would be glad to lop a man.
Half-wits are fleas; so little and so light,
We scarce could know they live, but that they bite.
But, as the rich, when tired with daily feasts,
For change, become their next p