FOOTNOTES:

[176] 8th of October 1638. Rymer's "Fœd." xx. 317.—Gilchrist.

[177] It was not published till 1664, but the title-page expresses that it was "made English from the original in the year 1638." This fact also appears from the dedication to the Marquis of Newcastle, which is a masterpiece of solid reasoning and critical acumen, where the author mentions that "these pieces were translated for your private entertainment above five-and-twenty years since." He adds that he was then only a student of Christ Church, and that he should have translated more "if the late barbarous times had not broke my study." In the course of this preface (for the epistle is to be so considered) Mayne very severely lashes the republicans for their ignorance and presumptuousness.—Collier (note altered).

[178] From the Prologue and Epilogue it appears that this play was acted by command of the king, both at Whitehall and at the Blackfriars Theatre.—Collier.

[179] Among others he has a poem prefixed to Cartwright's "Plays and Poems," and another "Jonsonius Virbius."—Gilchrist. [The late Mr Bolton Corney thought that to Mayne ought to be attributed the verses before the second folio of Shakespeare, signed J. M. S., quasi Jasper Mayne, Student.]

[THE PROLOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN.]

The Author, royal sir, so dreads this night,
As if for writing he were doom'd to th' sight;
Or else, unless you do protect his fame,
Y' had sav'd his play, and sentenc'd him to th' flame.
For though your name or power were i' th' reprieve,
Such works, he thinks, are but condemn'd to live.
Which for this place, being rescu'd from the fire,
Take ruin from th' advancement, and fall higher.
Though none, he hopes, sit here upon his wit,
As if he poems did, or plays commit;
Yet he must needs fear censure that fears praise,
Nor would write still, were't to succeed i' th' bays:
For he is not o' th' trade, nor would excel
In this kind, where 'tis lightness to do well.
Yet, as the gods refin'd base things, and some
Beasts foul i' th' herd grew pure i' th' hecatomb;
And as the ox prepar'd and crowned bull
Are offerings, though kept back, and altars full;
So, mighty sir, this sacrifice being near
The knife at Oxford, which y' have kindled here,
He hopes 'twill from you and the Queen grow clean,
And turn t' oblation, what he meant a scene.

[THE PROLOGUE AT BLACKFRIARS.]

Were it his trade, the Author bid me say,
Perchance he'd beg you would be good to th' play;
And I, to set him up in reputation,
Should hold a basin forth for approbation.
But praise so gain'd, he thinks, were a relief
Able to make his comedy a brief;
For where your pity, must your judgment be,
'Tis not a play, but you fir'd houses see.
Look not his quill, then, should petitions run;
No gatherings here into a Prologue spun.
Whether their sold scenes be dislik'd, or hit,
Are cares for them who eat by th' stage and wit.
He's one whose unbought Muse did never fear
An empty second day or a thin share;
But can make th' actors, though you come not twice,
No losers, since we act now at the king's price,
Who hath made this play public; and the same
Power that makes laws redeem'd this from the flame:
For th' Author builds no fame, nor doth aspire
To praise from that which he condemn'd to th' fire.
He's thus secure then, that he cannot win
A censure sharper than his own hath been.

[DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.]

Warehouse, an old merchant.
Frank Plotwell, his nephew.
Cypher, his factor.
Bannswright, old Plotwell disguised.
Aurelia, Penelope Plotwell disguised.
Seathrift, a merchant.
Timothy, his son.
Dorcas, Susan Seathrift disguised.
Bright,two Templars.
Newcut,
Mistress Scruple, a Puritan schoolmistress.
Mistress Holland, a sempstress on the Exchange.
Quartfield, a captain.
Salewit, a poet.
Roseclap, one that keeps an ordinary.
Millicent, his wife.
'Prentice.
Two Footmen.
Boy that sings.

The Scene, London.

THE CITY-MATCH.[180]

[ACT I., SCENE I.]

Warehouse, Seathrift.

Sea. I promise you 'twill be a most rare plot.

Ware. The city, Master Seathrift, never yet
Brought forth the like: I would have them that have
Fin'd twice for sheriff, mend it.

Sea. Mend it! why,
'Tis past the wit o' th' court of aldermen.
Next merchant-tailor, that writes chronicles,[181]
Will put us in.

Ware. For, since I took him home,
Though, sir, my nephew, as you may observe,
Seem quite transfigur'd, be as dutiful
As a new 'prentice, in his talk declaim
'Gainst revelling companions, be as hard
To be entic'd from home as my door-posts,
This reformation may but be his part,
And he may act his virtues. I have not
Forgot his riots at the Temple. You know, sir——

Sea. You told me, Master Warehouse.

Ware. Not the sea,
When it devour'd my ships, cost me so much
As did his vanities. A voyage to the Indies
Has been lost in a night: his daily suits
Were worth more than the stock that set me up;
For which he knew none but the silk-man's book,
And studied that more than the law. He had
His loves, too, and his mistresses; was enter'd
Among the philosophical madams;[182] was
As great with them as their concerners; and, I hear,
Kept one of them in pension.

Sea. My son too
Hath had his errors: I could tell the time
When all the wine which I put off by wholesale
He took again in quarts; and at the day
Vintners have paid me with his large scores: but
He is reformed too.

Ware. Sir, we now are friends
In a design.

Sea. And hope to be in time
Friends in alliance, sir.

Ware. I'll be free;
I think well of your son.

Sea. Who? Timothy?
Believe't, a virtuous boy; and for his sister,
A very saint.

Ware. Mistake me not, I have
The like opinion of my nephew, sir;
Yet he is young, and so is your son; nor
Doth the church-book say they are past our fears.
Our presence is their bridle now; 'tis good
To know them well whom we do make our heirs.

Sea. It is most true.

Ware. Well; and how shall we know
How they will use their fortune, or what place
We have in their affection, without trial?
Some wise men build their own tombs; let us try,
If we were dead, whether our heirs would cry,
Or wear[183] long cloaks. This plot will do't.

Sea. 'Twill make us
Famous upon the Exchange for ever. I'll home,
And take leave of my wife and son.

Ware. And I'll
Come to you at your garden-house.[184] Within there.

[Exit Seathrift.