Note: Images of the original pages, originally obtained from the HathiTrust Digital Library, are available through the Google Books Library Project. See http://www.google.com/books?id=WVI6AQAAMAAJ THE LADY OF PLEASVRE. A COMEDIE, As it was Acted by her Majesties Servants, at the private House in _Drury_ Lane. Written by _James Shirly_. [Illustration] _LONDON_, Printed by _Tho. Cates_, for _Andrew Crooke_, and _William Cooke_. 1637. Persons of the Comedy. _Lord._ _Sir Thomas Bornewell._ _Sir William Sentlove._ _Mr. Alex. Kickshaw._ _Mr. John Littleworth._ _Mr. Hairecut._ _Mr. Fredericke._ Steward to the Lady _Aretina_. Steward to the Lady _Celestina_. _Secretary._ _Servants, &c._ _Aretina_, Sir _Thomas Bornwells_ Lady. _Celestina_, a young Widow. _Isabella._ _Mariana._ _Madam Decoy._ Scene the Strand. [Illustration] TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE RICHARD LORD LOVELACE _of_ Hurley. My Lord, I _Cannot want encouragement to present a Poeme to your Lordship, while you possesse so noble a breast, in which so many seedes of honour, to the example and glory of your Name obtain'd, before your yeares a happy maturity. This Comedy fortunate in the Scene, and one that may challenge a place in the first forme of the Authors compositions, most humbly addresseth it selfe to your honour, if it meete your_ _gracious acceptance, and that you repent not to be a Patron, your Lordshipps will onely crownes the imagination, and for ever by this favour oblige_, My Lord _The most humble Services_ _of your Honourer_, IAMES SHIRLY. The Lady of Pleasure. _The First Act._ _Enter_ Aretina _and her Steward_. _Stew._ Be patient Madam, you may have your pleasure. _Are._ Tis that I came to towne for, I wo'd not Endure againe the countrey conversation, To be the Lady of sixe shires I the men So neare the Primitive making, they retaine A sence of nothing but the earth, their braines And barren heads standing as much in want Of plowing as their ground, to heare a fellow Make himselfe merry and his horse with whisteling Sellingers round, to observe with what solemnitie They keepe their Wakes, and throw for pewter Candlestickes, How they become the Morris, whith whose bells They ring all into Whitson Ales, and sweate, Through twenty Scarffes and Napkins, till the Hobbyhorse Tire, and the maide Marrian dissolv'd to a gelly, Be kept for spoone meate. _Ste._ These with your pardon are no Argument To make the country life appeare so hatefull, At least to your particular, who enjoy'd A blessing in that calme; would you be pleasd To thinke so, and the pleasure of a kingdome, While your owne will commanded what should move Delight, your husbands love and power joyned To give your life more harmony, you liv'd there, Secure and innocent, beloved of all, Praisd for your hospitality, and praid for, You might be envied, but malice knew Not where you dwelt, I wo'd not prophecy But leave to your owne apprehension What may succeede your change.