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New plays and maidenheads are near akin:
Much followed both, for both much...
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New plays and maidenheads are near akin:
Much followed both, for both much money giv'n,
If they stand sound and well. And a good play,
Whose modest scenes blush on his marriage day
And shake to lose his honor, is like her
That after holy tie and first night's stir
Yet still is modesty, and still retains
More of the maid, to sight, than husband's pains.
We pray our play may be so, for I am sure
It has a noble breeder and a pure,
A learned, and a poet never went
More famous yet 'twixt Po and silver Trent.
Chaucer, of all admired, the story gives;
There, constant to eternity, it lives.
If we let fall the nobleness of this,
And the first sound this child hear be a hiss,
How will it shake the bones of that good man
And make him cry from underground "O, fan
From me the witless chaff of such a writer
That blasts my bays and my famed works makes
lighter
Than Robin Hood!" This is the fear we bring;
For, to say truth, it were an endless thing
And too ambitious, to aspire to him,
Weak as we are, and, almost breathless, swim
In this deep water. Do but you hold out
Your helping hands, and we shall tack about
And something do to save us. You shall hear
Scenes, though below his art, may yet appear
Worth two hours' travel. To his bones sweet sleep;
Content to you. If this play do not keep
A little dull time from us, we perceive
Our losses fall so thick we must needs leave.
[Flourish. He exits.]
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HIPPOLYTA. [to Theseus]
Though much unlike
You should be so transported, as much sorry
I should be such a suitor, yet I think
Did I not, by th' abstaining of my joy--
Which breeds a deeper longing--cure their surfeit
That craves a present med'cine, I should pluck
All ladies' scandal on me. [She kneels.]
Therefore, sir,
As I shall here make trial of my prayers,
Either presuming them to have some force,
Or sentencing for aye their vigor dumb,
Prorogue this business we are going about, and hang
Your shield afore your heart--about that neck
Which is my fee, and which I freely lend
To do these poor queens service.
PROLOGUE. New plays and maidenheads are near akin:
Much followed both, for both much money giv'n,
If they stand sound and well. And a good play,
Whose modest scenes blush on his marriage day
And shake to lose his honor, is like her
That after holy tie and first night's stir
Yet still is modesty, and still retains
More of the maid, to sight, than husband's pains.
We pray our play may be so, for I am sure
It has a noble breeder and a pure,
A learned, and a poet never went
More famous yet 'twixt Po and silver Trent.
Chaucer, of all admired, the story gives;
There, constant to eternity, it lives.
If we let fall the nobleness of this,
And the first sound this child hear be a hiss,
How will it shake the bones of that good man
And make him cry from underground "O, fan
From me the witless chaff of such a writer
That blasts my bays and my famed works makes
lighter
Than Robin Hood!" This is the fear we bring;
For, to say truth, it were an endless thing
And too ambitious, to aspire to him,
Weak as we are, and, almost breathless, swim
In this deep water. Do but you hold out
Your helping hands, and we shall tack about
And something do to save us. You shall hear
Scenes, though below his art, may yet appear
Worth two hours' travel. To his bones sweet sleep;
Content to you. If this play do not keep
A little dull time from us, we perceive
Our losses fall so thick we must needs leave.
[Flourish. He exits.]
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