The hectors, or, The false challenge a comedy written in the year MDCLV, the scene, London.

I'Ll not enquire why this All-knowing Age Hath crop'd the Laurell, that adorn'd the Stage, That Loooking-Glasse of Morals, whose reflex Shew'd most their errors, whom it most did vex. But this I'le say, who e're the Author be Of this same piece, if't were my chance to see Him; as I have this issue of his brain, I'de beg the favour, that hee'd write again; For till I read it from the self same pen, Such height of Sense and Wit, I ne're agen Shall hope to see; a strain (when read) you'l say, (As many things now are) in a new way. Here's Comick mirth, yet mix't with serious lines, As if the Author had dig'd up the mines Of Mercury and Plato, and cull'd thence Their chiefest treasure, and would it dispense In plain, though lively phrase. Here's no Courts, no Kings, (I do suppose the Author thought such things Not now in use.) And what is yet more rare, Here is no dabling Poet, no nor bare, Poor Belgick Captain; But what's most a wonder, You shall but once read here Iove and Thunder; No Academick wit, the Senses five, Or Liber all Sciences not here contrive Into a plot he doth, or wedding make Upon Parnassus, or a storie take From Lucian. I shall puzzle you, you'l cry, What a deuce then can this play e're be? Why It is—But stay, read it your selfe, and then Judge rightly, and I'me sure you'l quit my pen.