(A) THE | WOMAN | HATER. | As it hath beene lately Acted by | the Children of Paules: | LONDON | Printed, and are to be sold | by John Hodgets in Paules | Church-yard. 1607.

(B) THE | WOMAN | HATER. | As it hath beene lately Acted by | the Children of Paules: | LONDON | Printed by R. R. and are to be | sold by John Hodgets in Paules | Church-yard. 1607.

(C) THE | WOMAN | HATER. | As it hath beene Acted by his Majesties | Servants with great Applause. | Written by | John Fletcher Gent. | LONDON, | Printed for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at | his Shop at the Princes Armes in St. Pauls | Church-yard. 1648.

(D) THE | WOMAN | HATER, | OR THE | Hungry Courtier. | A COMEDY, | As it hath been Acted by his Majesties | Servants with great Applause. | Written by | Francis Beamont
and
John Fletcher. Gent. | LONDON, | Printed for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at | his Shop at the Princes Armes in St. Pauls | Church-yard. 1649.

The Prologue to the Woman-hater, or the Hungry Courtier.

Ladies take't as a secret in your Eare,
In stead of homage, and kind welcome here,
I heartily could wish you all were gone;
For if you stay, good faith, we are undone.
Alas! you now expect, the usuall wayes
Of our addresse, which is your Sexes praise:
But we to night, unluckily must speake,
Such things will make your Lovers-Heart-strings breake,
Bely your Virtues, and your beauties staine,
With words, contriv'd long since, in your disdaine.
'Tis strange you stirre not yet; not all this while
Lift up your Fannes to hide a scornefull smile:
Whisper, or jog your Lords to steale away;
So leave us t'act, unto our selves, our Play:
Then sure, there may be hope, you can subdue
Your patience to endure an Act or two:
Nay more, when you are told our Poets rage
Pursues but one example, which that age
Wherein he liv'd produc'd; and we rely
Not on the truth, but the varietie.
His Muse beleev'd not, what she then did write;
Her Wings were wont to make a nobler flight;
Sor'd high, and to the Stars, your Sex did raise;
For which, full Twenty yeares, he wore the Bayes.
'Twas he reduced Evandra from her scorne,
And taught the sad Aspacia how to mourne;
Gave Arethusa's love a glad reliefe.
And made Panthea elegant in griefe.
If those great Trophies of his noble Muse,
Cannot one humor 'gainst your Sex excuse
Which we present to night; you'l finde a way
How to make good the Libell in our Play:
So you are cruell to your selves; whilst he
(Safe in the fame of his integritie)
Will be a Prophet, not a Poet thought;
And this fine Web last long though loosely wrought.

The Epilogue to the Woman-hater, or the Hungry Courtier.

The monuments of Vertue and desert,
Appeare more goodly when the glosse of Art
Is eaten off by time, then when at first:
They were set up, not censur'd at the worst
We have done our best for your contents to fit,
With new paines, this old monument of wit.

Dramatis Personæ,