98
Prologue to a reviv'd
Play of Mr Fletcher's,
call'd The Woman-hater.
Ladies! take't as a secret in your Eare,
In stead of homage, and kind welcome here,
I heartily could wish, you all were gone;
For if you stay, good faith, wee are undone.
Alas! you now expect, the usuall wayes
Of our addresse, which is, your Sexes praise:
But wee to night, unluckily must speake,
Such things, will make your Lovers Heart-strings breake;
Bely your Virtues, and your beauties staine,
With words, contriv'd long since, in your disdaine.
'Tis strange you stirre not yet; not all this while
Lift up your Fannes, to hide a scornefull smile:
Whisper, nor jog your Lords to steale away;
So leave us t'act, unto our selves, our Play:
In stead of homage, and kind welcome here,
I heartily could wish, you all were gone;
For if you stay, good faith, wee are undone.
Alas! you now expect, the usuall wayes
Of our addresse, which is, your Sexes praise:
But wee to night, unluckily must speake,
Such things, will make your Lovers Heart-strings breake;
Bely your Virtues, and your beauties staine,
With words, contriv'd long since, in your disdaine.
'Tis strange you stirre not yet; not all this while
Lift up your Fannes, to hide a scornefull smile:
Whisper, nor jog your Lords to steale away;
So leave us t'act, unto our selves, our Play:
Then
