The occasion is fair, and the
subject would be pleasant to handle the difference of styles betwixt
him and Fletcher, and wherein, and how far they are both to be
imitated. But since I must not be over-confident of my own
performance after him, it will be prudence in me to be silent.
Yet, I hope, I may affirm, and without vanity, that, by imitating
him, I have excelled myself throughout the play; and particularly,
that I prefer the scene betwixt Antony and Ventidius in the first
act, to anything which I have written in this kind.
PROLOGUE
What flocks of critics hover here to-day,
As vultures wait on armies for their prey,
All gaping for the carcase of a play!
With croaking notes they bode some dire event,
And follow dying poets by the scent.
Ours gives himself for gone; y' have watched your time:
He fights this day unarmed,--without his rhyme;--
And brings a tale which often has been told;
As sad as Dido's; and almost as old.
His hero, whom you wits his bully call,
Bates of his mettle, and scarce rants at all;
He's somewhat lewd; but a well-meaning mind;
Weeps much; fights little; but is wond'rous kind.
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