Massinger, Philip · published 1632 · first performed or written 1631 [licensed for stage, Mar 11] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.73 · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
BUT that imperious custom warrants it, Our Author with much willingness would omit This Preface to his new work. He hath found (And suffered for't) many are apt to wound His credit in this kind: and whether he, Express himself fearful, or peremptory, He cannot scape their censures who delight To misapply whatever he shall write. 'tis his hard fate. And though he will not sue, Or basely beg such suffrages, yet to you Free, and ingenious spirits, he doth now, In me present his service, with his vow He hath done his best, and though he cannot glory In his invention, (this work being a story, Of reverend Antiquity) he doth hope In the proportion of it, and the scope, You may observe some pieces drawn like one Of a steadfast hand, and with the whiter stone To be marked in your fair censures. More than this I am forbid to promise, and it is With the most till you confirm it: since we know whate'er the shaft be, Archer, or the bow, From which 'tis sent, it cannot hit the white Unless your approbation guide it right. AS ever (Sir) you lent a gracious ear To oppressed innocence, now vouchsafe to hear A short petition, At your feet in me The Poet kneels, and to your Majesty Appeals for justice. What we now present, When first conceived, in his vote and intent, Was sacred to your pleasure; in each part With his best of fancy, judgement, language, art, Fashioned, and formed so, as might well, and may Deserve a welcome, and no vulgar way. He durst not (Sir) at such a solemn feast Lard his grave matter with one scurrilous jest, But laboured that no passage might appear, But what the Queen without a blush might hear. And yet this poor work suffered by the rage, And envy of some Catos of the stage: Yet still he hopes, this Play which then was seen With sore eyes, and condemned out of their spleen, May be by you, The supreme judge, set free, And raised above the reach of calumny. IN your six years' travail, friend, no doubt you have met with Many, and rare adventures, and observed The wonders of each climate, varying in The manners, and the men, and so return, For the future service of your prince and country, In your understanding bettered. Sir, I have made oft The best use in my power, and hope my gleanings, After the full crop others reaped before me, Shall not when I am called on, altogether Appear unprofitable: yet I left The miracle of miracles in our age At home behind me; everywhere abroad Fame with a true, though prodigal voice, delivered Such wonders of Pulcheria the Princess, To the amazement, nay astonishment rather Of such as heard it, that I found not one In all the States and Kingdoms that I passed through, Worthy to be her second.
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BVT that imperious custome warrants it, Our Author with much willingnes would omit This Preface to his new worke. Hee hath found (And suffer'd for't) many are apt to wound His credit in this kind: and whether hee, Expresse himselfe fearefull, or peremptorie, Hee cannot scape their censures who delight To misapplie what euer hee shall write. Tis his hard fate. And though hee will not sue, Or basely beg such suffrages, yet to you Free, and ingenious spirits, hee doth now, In mee present his seruice, with his vow Hee hath done his best, and though hee cannot glorie In his inuention, (this worke being a storie, Of reuerend Antiquitie) hee doth hope In the proportion of it, and the scope, You may obserue some peeces drawne like one Of a stedfast hand, and with the whiter stone To bee mark'd in your faire censures. More then this I am forbid to promise, and it is With the most 'till you confirme it: since wee know What ere the shaft bee, Archer, or the bow, From which 'tis sent, it cannot hit the white Vnlesse your approbation guide it right. AS euer (Sir) you lent a gratious eare To oppress'd innocence, now vouchsafe to heare A short petition, At your feete in mee The Poet kneeles, and to your Maiestie Appeales for iustice. What wee now present, When first conceiu'd, in his vote and intent, Was sacred to your pleasure; in each part With his best of sancie, iudgment, language, art, Fashiond, and form'd so, as might well, and may Deserue a wellcome, and no vulgar way. Hee durst not (Sir) at such a solemne feast Lard his graue matter with one scurrilous ieast, But labour'd that no passage might appeare, But what the Queene without a blush might heare. And yet this poore worke suffer'd by the rage, And enuie of some Catos of the stage: Yet still hee hopes, this Play which then was seene With sore eyes, and condemn'd out of their spleen, May bee by you, The supreme iudge, set free, And rais'd aboue the reach of calumnie. IN your six yeeres trauaile, friend, no doubt you haue met with Many, and rare aduentures, and obseru'd The wonders of each climate, varying in The manners, and the men, and so returne, For the future seruice of your prince and country, In your vnderstanding betterd. Sir, I haue made oft The best vse in my power, and hope my gleanings, After the full crop others reapd before me, Shall not when I am call'd on, altogether Appeare vnprofitable: yet I left The miracle of miracles in our age At home behind me; euery where abroad Fame with a true, though prodigall voyce, deliuer'd Such wonders of Pulcheria the Princesse, To the amazement, nay astonishment rather Of such as heard it, that I found not one In all the States and Kingdomes that I pass'd through, Worthy to be her second.