To the nobly disposed, virtuous, and faithful-
breasted ROBERT GREY Esquire, one of the
grooms of his Highness’ bed-chamber,
his poor well-willer wisheth
his best wishes, hic et
supra.

Worthy Sir,
’Tis but a play, and a play is but a butt, against which many shoot many arrows of envy; ’tis the weaker part, and how much more noble shall it be in you to defend it. Yet if it be (as some philosophers have left behind ‘em) that this megacosm, this great world, is no more than a stage, where every one must act his part, you shall of necessity have many part-takers, some long, some short, some indifferent, all some; whilst indeed the players themselves have the least part of it, for I know few that have lands (which are a part of the world), and therefore no grounded men; but howsoever they serve for mutes, happily they must wear good clothes for attendance. Yet all have exits, and must all be stripped in the tiring-house (viz. the grave), for none must carry anything out of the stock. You see, sir, I write as I speak, and I speak as I am, and that’s excuse enough for me. I did not mean to write an epistle of praise to you; it looks so like a thing I know you love not, flattery, which you exceedingly hate actively, and unpleasingly accept passively: indeed, I meant to tell you your own, that is, that this child of the Muses is yours; whoever begat it, ’tis laid to your charge, and (for aught I know) you must father and keep it too. If it please you, I hope you shall not be ashamed of it neither, for it has been seen (though I say it) in good companies, and many have said it is a handsome pretty-spoken infant. Now be your own judge: at your leisure look on it, at your pleasure laugh at it; and if you be sorry it is no better, you may be glad it is no bigger.

Yours ever,
William Rowley