html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }A play (expected long) makes the Audience looke
For wonders:—that each Scæne should be a booke,
Compos'd to all perfection; each one comes
And brings a play in's head with him: up he summes,
What he would of a Roaring Girle haue writ;
If that he findes not here, he mewes at it.
Onely we intreate you thinke our Scæne,
Cannot speake high (the subiect being but meane)
A Roaring Girle (whose notes till now neuer were)
Shall fill with laughter our vast Theater,
That's all which I dare promise: Tragick passion,
And such graue stuffe, is this day out of fashion.
I see attention sets wide ope her gates
of hearing, and with couetous listning waites,
To know what Girle, this Roaring Girle should be.
(For of that Tribe are many.) One is shee
That roares at midnight in deepe Tauerne bowles,
That beates the watch, and Constables controuls;
Another roares i'th day time, sweares, stabbes, gives braues,
Yet sells her soule to the lust of fooles and slaues.
Both these are Suburbe-roarers. Then there's (besides)
A ciuill Citty Roaring Girle, whose pride,
Feasting, and riding, shakes her husbands state,
And leaues him Roaring through an yron grate.
None of these Roaring Girles is ours: shee flies
With wings more lofty. Thus her character lyes,
Yet what neede characters? when to giue a gesse,
Is better then the person to expresse;
But would you know who 'tis? would you heare her name?
Shee is cal'd madde Moll; her life, our acts proclaime.