Playes written by the thrice noble, illustrious and excellent princess, the Lady Marchioness of Newcastle.

TO THE READERS.

NOBLE READERS,

I Said in the beginning of this Book of Playés, in one of my Epistles, that I should not trouble you with any more of my Works, unless one, which was a History of the Life of my Noble Lord; but since this Book of Playes was not only writ, but pack'd up, ready to send into England to be Printed, I by chance have entred into another Work, like those that travel and know not where to go, wander about, and at last light upon a path-way that leads them to some Village; so I wanting some In∣formations from those that could truly, and would faithfully inform me of such actions and passages as were to be inscribed in my History, so as I could not go so rea∣dily on with that work, I was forced to sit idle, as having no work to do, which troubled me much, not knowing what to write of: for though I am lazie, and unactive to any other Imployments, and had rather sit still, and do nothing, than have my thoughts obstructed, or disturbed from their usual Contemplations, with noise, or com∣pany, or any other Action or Imployment, but writing; for writing is as pencilling thoughts, and I take as much delight as Painters, which draw men, and other crea∣tures; So I, to draw my fancies opinions and conceptions upon white Paper, with Pen and Ink, words being the figures of thoughts, and letters of words; but writing is but the figuring of the figure, and Writers are but Copyers: But after some idle time, at last I fell upon a vein of writing Letters, and so fast did the vein run at first, as in one Fortnight I writ above threescore Letters, but I find it begins to flag, like one that hath been let much bloud formerly, it may gush, or stream full out at the opening of a vein, but cannot bleed long, they will faint for want of bloud, or spirit, having let out much bloud formerly; so is it in my writing; for though I desire to make them up a hundred, yet I believe I shall not go much further, ••inding my spirits of Fancy grow weak, and dull, and the vein of VVit empty, having lately writ 21 Playes, with 12 Epistles, and one Introduction, besides Prologues, and Epi∣logues. My Readers may say this is an Inventory, or a bill of Fare; no, it is to let them understand my VVit is drawn dry: for though Histories of Truth need not the flourish of VVit, and no fancy ought to be inscrib'd therein; yet all such VVriters, which are rather to get Fame by Feigning, than to divulge Truth by Explaining, should be attended with VVit, and drest with Fancy. But these Letters I mention, I thought to joyn them to this Book of Playes, believing there would not be so many of them, as to be in Folio by themselves; but fearing I should surfeit my Readers with too great a Volume, I have altered that intention, and will rather chuse to pre∣sent them one Book at a time, like those that entertain with one dish of meat, to whet their Appetites, than to present more tocloy their Gusto. But it may be some will say there is enough of my Playes, to surfeit, as being not delicious, and choyce food for the mind, as pleasant and profitable reading: My advice is, that they may taste,

and feed of one Play, and if they find it unpleasant, or hard of digestion, let them feed of no more, but let them feed of other Poetical Dishes, drest by other Poetical Cooks, that may better please them; for as French Cooks are accounted the best for corporal meats, so the Greeks and Latins for poetical Meats, but I am neither a Greek nor a Latin Cook; I cannot dress, or cook after the Fashions or Phancies; I never was bound Apprentice to Learning, I am as ignorant of their Arts and Meats, as of their Persons and Nations; I am like a plain, cleanly English Cook-maid, that dresses Meat rather wholsomely than luxuriously, a roast Capon without lard, a shoul∣der of Mutton with a sawce of Capers and Olives, a piece of boyld Beef and Tur∣nips, and for desert, a plain Apple-tart, or a Pear-pye; 'Tis true, on Feastival daies I have dressed Olioes, and Bisks, but neither after the French, Italian, nor Spanish way, but a compound of my own dressing, that might please home-bred Per∣sons, although not Great, or Forein Travellers, as great Scholars, or learned Men; neither have I Cookery to please queasie Appetites: I have only this to say for my self, I am more industrious than expensive, more cleanly than curious; and if you do not like, nor approve of my service, I will not expect much praise for my Wa∣ges: You may turn me away, which is, to put my VVorks out of your Studies. I on∣ly desire I may not depart with your displeasures, but as an honest, poor Servant, that rather wanted Art and Skill in my VVorks, than VVill, or Indeavour to make, or dresse them to every Palate.

And so Farewell.