"Upon the public stage to Albion's eye I here present my new-born poesy, Not with vain-glory puft to make it known, Nor Indian-like with feathers not mine own To deck myself, as many use to do; To filching lines I am a deadly foe," &c. Presently the poet indulges in his invocation:-- "Matilda fair, guide you my wand'ring quill!" Having turned some thirty thousand verses off the reel, "J. M., Gent." abruptly concludes, with the remark,-- "My leave I here of poetry do take, For I have writ until my hand doth ache." There is a fine field for an editor in _The New Metamorphosis_; virgin soil, I warrant. Manningham in his _Diary_, under date 21st November 1602, has been at the pains to record a _bon mot_ of Marston:--"Jo. Marstone, the last Christmas, when he daunct with Alderman Mores wives daughter, a Spaniard borne, fell into a strange commendation of hir witt and beauty. When he had done she thought to pay him home, and told him, she _thought_ he was a poet. 'Tis true, said he, for poets feigne and lye, and soe did I, when I commended your beauty, for you are exceeding foule." Not a very witty saying, and not very polite. In 1633, William Sheares the publisher issued, in 1 vol. sm. 8vo, _The Workes_[30] _of Mr. John Marston, being Tragedies and Comedies collected into one volume_ containing the two parts of _Antonio and Mellida_, _Sophonisba_, _What You Will_, _The Fawn_, and _The Dutch Courtezan_. The following dedicatory epistle to Viscountess Falkland, in which the publisher insists on the modesty (save the mark!) of Marston's Muse, is found in some copies:-- "TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE LADY ELIZABETH CAREY, VISCOUNTESS FALKLAND.