Act 5 — THE PROLOGUE AT THE FRIARS.

Ere we begin, that no man may repent Two shillings and his time, the Author sent The prologue with the errors of his play, That, who will, may take his money and away. First for the plot, it's no way intricate By cross deceits in love, nor so high in state, That we might have given out in our playbill, This day's "The Prince," writ by Nick Machiavil. The language too is easy, such as fell Unstudied from his pen: not like a spell Big with mysterious words, such as enchant The half-witted, and confound the ignorant. Then what must needs afflict the amorist, No virgin here in breeches casts a mist Before her lover's eyes: no ladies tell, How their blood boils, how high their veins do swell. But, what is worse, no bawdy mirth is here (The wit of bottle-ale and double-beer), To make the wife of citizen protest, And country-justice swear 'twas a good jest. Now, sirs, you have the errors of his wit: Like or dislike, at your own perils be't.