'Twould wrong our author to bespeak your ears; Your persons he adores, but judgment fears: For where you please but to dislike, he shall Be atheist thought, that worships not his fall. Next to not marking, 'tis his hope that you, Who can so ably judge, can pardon too. His conversation will not yet supply Follies enough to make a comedy: He cannot write by th' poll; nor act we here Scenes, which perhaps you should see liv'd elsewhere. No guilty line traduceth any; all We now present is but conjectural; 'Tis a mere guess: those then will be to blame Who make that person, which he meant but name. That web of manners which the stage requires, That mass of humours which poetic fires Take in, and boil, and purge, and try, and then With sublimated follies cheat those men That first did vent them, are not yet his art; But, as drown'd islands or the world's fifth part, Lie undiscover'd; and he only knows Enough to make himself ridiculous. Think, then, if here you find nought can delight, He hath not yet seen vice enough to write. THE ORDINARY. ACT I., SCENE I. HEARSAY, SLICER, SHAPE, MEANWELL. HEAR. We're made, my boys, we're made! methinks I am Growing into a thing that will be worshipp'd. SLICER. I shall sleep one day in my chain and scarlet At Spital-sermon. SHAPE. Were not my wit such, I'd put out moneys of being Mayor. But, O this brain of mine! that's it that will Bar me the city honour. HEAR. We're cri'd up O' th' sudden for the sole tutors of the age. SHAPE. Esteem'd discreet, sage trainers up of youth. HEAR. Our house becomes a place of visit now. SLICER. In my poor judgment, 'tis as good my lady Should venture to commit her eldest son To us as to the Inns-of-Court: He'll be Undone here, only with less ceremony. HEAR. Speak for our credit, my brave man of war. What, Meanwell, why so lumpish? MEAN. Pray you, be quiet. HEAR. Thou look'st as if thou plott'st the calling in O' th' Declaration, or the abolishing[116] O' th' common prayers. Cheer up; say something for us. MEAN. Pray, vex me not. SLICER. These foolish, puling sighs Are good for nothing, but to endanger buttons. Take heart of grace, man.[117] MEAN. Fie, y' are troublesome! HEAR. Nay, fare you well then, sir. [_Exeunt_ HEARSAY, SLICER, SHAPE.