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To the Reader
REader, the Sale-man sweares, youle take it very ill, if I say not somewhat to you too, Introth you are a stranger to me; why should I Write to you? you neuer writ to mee, nor I thinke will not answere my Epistle. I send a Comedie to you heer, as good as I could then make; nor sleight my pre∣sentation, because it is a play: For I tell thee Rea∣der, if thou bee'st ignoraunt, a Play is not so ydle a thing as thou art, but a Mirrour of mens Liues and actions now, be it perfect or imperfect, true or false, is the Vice or Vertue of the Maker. This is yet, as well, as I can, Qualeis ego vel Cluuienus, Thou must needs haue some other Language then thy Mother rong, for thou thinkst it impossible for me to write a Play that did not vse a word of Latine, though he had enough in him. I haue beene vexed with vile playes my selfe, a great while, hearing many, nowe I thought to be euen with some, and they shoulde heare mine too. Fare thee well, if thou hast any thing to say to me, thou know'st where to heare of me for a yeare or two, and no more I assure thee.
N. F.