The Author, royal sir, so dreads this night, As if for writing he were doom'd to th' sight; Or else, unless you do protect his fame, Y' had sav'd his play, and sentenc'd him to th' flame. For though your name or power were i' th' reprieve, Such works, he thinks, are but condemn'd to live. Which for this place, being rescu'd from the fire, Take ruin from th' advancement, and fall higher. Though none, he hopes, sit here upon his wit, As if he poems did, or plays commit; Yet he must needs fear censure that fears praise, Nor would write still, were't to succeed i' th' bays: For he is not o' th' trade, nor would excel In this kind, where 'tis lightness to do well. Yet, as the gods refin'd base things, and some Beasts foul i' th' herd grew pure i' th' hecatomb; And as the ox prepar'd and crowned bull Are offerings, though kept back, and altars full; So, mighty sir, this sacrifice being near The knife at Oxford, which y' have kindled here, He hopes 'twill from you and the Queen grow clean, And turn t' oblation, what he meant a scene. THE PROLOGUE AT BLACKFRIARS. Were it his trade, the Author bid me say, Perchance he'd beg you would be good to th' play; And I, to set him up in reputation, Should hold a basin forth for approbation. But praise so gain'd, he thinks, were a relief Able to make his comedy a brief; For where your pity, must your judgment be, 'Tis not a play, but you fir'd houses see. Look not his quill, then, should petitions run; No gatherings here into a Prologue spun. Whether their sold scenes be dislik'd, or hit, Are cares for them who eat by th' stage and wit. He's one whose unbought Muse did never fear An empty second day or a thin share; But can make th' actors, though you come not twice, No losers, since we act now at the king's price, Who hath made this play public; and the same Power that makes laws redeem'd this from the flame: For th' Author builds no fame, nor doth aspire To praise from that which he condemn'd to th' fire. He's thus secure then, that he cannot win A censure sharper than his own hath been. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. +Warehouse+, _an old merchant_. +Frank Plotwell+, _his nephew_. +Cypher+, _his factor_. +Bannswright+, _old Plotwell disguised_. +Aurelia+, _Penelope Plotwell disguised_. +Seathrift+, _a merchant_. +Timothy+, _his son_. +Dorcas+, _Susan Seathrift disguised_. +Bright+, } +Newcut+, } _two Templars_. +Mistress Scruple+, _a Puritan schoolmistress_. +Mistress Holland+, _a sempstress on the Exchange_. +Quartfield+, _a captain_. +Salewit+, _a poet_. +Roseclap+, _one that keeps an ordinary_. +Millicent+, _his wife_. +'Prentice.+ +Two Footmen.+ +Boy+ _that sings_. _The Scene, London._ THE CITY-MATCH.[180] ACT I., SCENE I.