Prologue.
A Story, and a known one, long since writ,
Truth must take place, and by an able wit,
Foul mouth'd detraction daring not deny
To give so much to Fletcher's memory;
If so, some may object, why then do you
Present an old piece to us for a new?
Or wherefore will your profest Writer be
(Not tax'd of theft before) a Plagiary?
To this he answers in his just defence,
And to maintain to all our Innocence,
Thus much, though he hath travell'd the same way,
Demanding, and receiving too the pay
For a new Poem, you may find it due,
He having neither cheated us, nor you;
He vowes, and deeply, that he did no[t] spare
The utmost of his strengths, and his best care
In the reviving it, and though his powers
Could not as he desired, in three short hours
Contract the Subject, and much less express
The changes, and the various passages
That will be look'd for, you may hear this day
Some Scenes that will confirm it is a play,
He being ambitious that it should be known
What's good was Fletcher's, and what ill his own.
Epilogue.
Still doubtfull, and perplex'd too, whether he
Hath done Fletcher right in this Historie,
The Poet sits within, since he must know it,
He with respect desires that you would shew it
By some accustomed sign, if from our action,
Or his indeavours you meet satisfaction,
With ours he hath his ends, we hope the best,
To make that certainty in you doth rest.
THE
PILGRIM.
A
COMEDY.