The Prologue

In Troy there lyes the Scene: From Iles of Greece The Princes Orgillous, their high blood chaf’d Haue to the Port of Athens ſent their ſhippes Fraught with the miniſters and inſtruments Of cruell Warre: Sixty and nine that wore Their Crownets Regall, from th’ Athenian bay Put forth toward Phrygia, and their vow is made To ranſacke Troy, within whoſe ſtrong emures The rauiſh’d Helen, Menelaus Queene, With wanton Paris sleepes, and that’s the Quarrell. To Tenedos they come, And the deepe-drawing Barke do there diſgorge Their warlike frautage: now on Dardan Plaines The freſh and yet unbruiſed Greekes do pitch Their braue Pauillions. Priams ſix-gated City, Dardan and Timbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien, And Antenonidus with maſsie Staples And correſponſiue and fulfilling Bolts Stirre up the Sonnes of Troy. Now Expectation tickling skittiſh ſpirits, On one and other ſide, Troian and Greeke, Sets all on hazard. And hither am I come, A Prologue arm’d, but not in confidence Of Authors pen, or Actors voyce, but ſuited In like conditions, as our Argument, To tell you (faire Beholders) that our Play Leapes ore the vaunt and firſtlings of those broyles, Beginning in the middle. ſtarting thence away, To what may be digeſted in a Play: Like, or finde fault, do as your pleaſures are, Now good, or bad, ’tis but the chance of Warre.