Pet. Yes, your whore without doubt, Sir.
Ant. Whipt! 'pray Gentlemen.
Duke. Why, would you have her once more rob ye? the young Boy
You may forgive, he was entic'd.
John. The whore, Sir,
Would rather carry pity: a handsome whore.
Ant. A Gentleman I warrant thee.
Pet. Let's in all,
And if we see contrition in your whore, Sir,
Much may be done.
Duke. Now my dear fair to you,
And the full consummation of my Vow. [Exeunt.
Prologue.
Aptness for Mirth to all, this instant Night
Thalia hath prepared for your delight,
Her Choice and curious Viands, in each part
Season'd with rarities of Wit and Art;
Nor fear I to be tax'd for a vain boast,
My Promise will find Credit with the most,
When they know ingenious Fletcher made it, he
Being in himself a perfect Comedie:
And some sit here, I doubt not, dare averr
Living he made that House a Theatre
Which he pleas'd to frequent; and thus much we
Could not but pay to his lo[v]d Memorie.
For our selves, we do entreat that you would not
Expect strange turns, and windings in the Plot,
Objects of State, and now and then a Rhime,
To gall particular Persons with the time;
Or that his towring Muse hath made her flight
Nearer your apprehension than your sight;
But if that sweet Expressions, quick Conceit,
Familiar Language, fashion'd to the weight
Of such as speak it, have the power to raise
Your Grace to us, with Trophies to his Praise;
We may profess, presuming on his Skill,
If his Chances please not you, our Fortune's ill.