PROLOGUE. New plays and maidenheads are near akin: Much followed both, for both much money gi’en, If they stand sound and well. And a good play, Whose modest scenes blush on his marriage day And shake to lose his honour, 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. Exit._] ACT I SCENE I. Athens. Before a temple Enter Hymen with a torch burning; a Boy, in a white robe before singing, and strewing flowers. After Hymen, a Nymph encompassed in her tresses, bearing a wheaten garland; then Theseus between two other Nymphs with wheaten chaplets on their heads. Then Hippolyta, the bride, led by Pirithous, and another holding a garland over her head, her tresses likewise hanging. After her, Emilia, holding up her train. Then Artesius and Attendants. [_Music._] The Song _Roses, their sharp spines being gone, Not royal in their smells alone, But in their hue; Maiden pinks of odour faint, Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true;_ _Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Merry springtime’s harbinger, With harebells dim, Oxlips in their cradles growing, Marigolds on deathbeds blowing, Lark’s-heels trim;_ [_Strews flowers._] _All dear Nature’s children sweet Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet, Blessing their sense. Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious or bird fair, Is absent hence._ _The crow, the sland’rous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar, Nor chatt’ring ’pie, May on our bride-house perch or sing, Or with them any discord bring, But from it fly._ Enter three Queens in black, with veils stained, with imperial crowns. The first Queen falls down at the foot of Theseus; the second falls down at the foot of Hippolyta; the third before Emilia. FIRST QUEEN. For pity’s sake and true gentility’s, Hear and respect me.