Given to your service John Fletcher.

These lines are in A and B.

To the inheritour of all worthines,
Sir William Scipwith. 
Ode.

If from servile hope or love,
                      I may prove
But so happy to be thought for
Such a one whose greatest ease
                      Is to please
(Worthy sir) I have all I sought for,

For no ich of greater name,
                      which some clame
By their verses do I show it
To the world; nor to protest
                      Tis the best
These are leane faults in a poet

Nor to make it serve to feed
                      at my neede
Nor to gaine acquaintance by it
Nor to ravish kinde Atturnies,
                      in their journies. 
Nor to read it after diet

Farre from me are all these Ames
                      Fittest frames
To build weakenesse on and pitty
Onely to your selfe, and such
                      whose true touch
Makes all good; let me seeme witty.

The Admirer of your vertues, John Fletcher.

These verses are in A and B.

To the perfect gentleman Sir Robert Townesend.

If the greatest faults may crave
Pardon where contrition is
(Noble Sir) I needes must have
A long one; for a long amisse
If you aske me (how is this)
Upon my faith Ile tell you frankely,
You love above my meanes to thanke yee. 
Yet according to my Talent
As sowre fortune loves to use me
A poore Shepheard I have sent,
In home-spun gray for to excuse me. 
And may all my hopes refuse me: 
But when better comes ashore,
You shall have better, newer, more. 
Til when, like our desperate debters,
Or our three pild sweete protesters
I must please you in bare letters
And so pay my debts; like jesters,
Yet I oft have seene good feasters,
Onely for to please the pallet,
Leave great meat and chuse a sallet.

All yours John Fletcher: 

These lines are in A and B.

To the Reader.

If you be not reasonably assurde of your knowledge in this kinde of Poeme, lay downe the booke or read this, which I would wish had bene the prologue.  It is a pastorall Tragic-comedie, which the people seeing when it was plaid, having ever had a singuler guift in defining, concluded to be a play of contry hired Shepheards, in gray cloakes, with curtaild dogs in strings, sometimes laughing together, and sometimes killing one another:  And misling whitsun ales, creame, wasiel & morris-dances, began to be angry.  In their error I would not have you fall, least you incurre their censure.  Understand therefore a pastorall to be a representation of shepheards and shephearddesses, with their actions and passions, which must be such as may agree with their natures at least not exceeding former fictions, & vulgar traditions: