html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }A painter hauing drawne with curious Art
The picture of a woman (euery part,
Limb'd to the life) hung out the peece to sell:
People (who pass'd along) veiwing it well,
Gaue seuerall verdicts on it. some dispraised
The haire, some sayd the browes too high were raised,
Some hit her o're the lippes, mislik'd their colour,
Some wisht her nose were shorter; some, the eyes fuller,
Others sayd roses on her cheekes should grow,
Swearing they lookt too pale, others cry'd no,
The workeman still as fault was found, did mend it,
In hope to please all; (but this worke being ended)
And hung open at stall, it was so vile,
So monstrous and so vgly all men did smile
At the poore Painters folly. Such wee doubt
Is this our Comedy, Some perhaps do floute
The plot, saying; 'tis too thinne, too weake, too meane,
Some for the person will reuile the Scoene.
And wonder, that a creature of her being
Should bee the subiect of a Poet, seeing
In the worlds eie, none weighes so light: others looke
For all those base trickes publish'd in a booke,
(Foule as his braines they flow'd from) of Cut-purse,
Of Nips and Foysts, nastie, obscoene discourses,
As full of lies, as emptie of worth or wit,
For any honest eare, or eye vnfit. And thus,
If we to euery braine (that's humerous)
Should fashion Sceanes, we (with the Painter) shall
In striuing to please all, please none at all.
Yet for such faults, as either the writers wit,
Or negligence of the Actors do commit,
Both craue your pardons: if what both haue done,
Cannot full pay your expectation,
The Roring Girle her selfe some few dayes hence,
Shall on this Stage, giue larger recompence.
Which Mirth that you may share in, her selfe does woe you,
And craues this signe, your hands to becken her to you.