Excerpt from The Letters of Charles Lamb, Vol. 2: Newly Arranged With Additions, Edited With Introduction and Notes by Alfred Ainger
I will barely add, as you are on the very point of printing, that in my Opinion neither prologue nor epilogue should accompany the play. It can only serve to remind your readers of its fate. Both sup pose an audience, and, that jest being gone, must convert into burlesque. Nor would I (but therein cus tom and decorum must be a law) print the actors' names. Some things must be kept out Of sight.
I have done, and I have but a few square inches Of paper to fill up. I am emboldened by a little jorum Of punch (vastly good) to say that next to one man, I am the most hurt at our ill success. The breast Of Hecuba, where she did suckle Hector, looked not to be more lovely than Marshal's fore head when it Spit forth sweat, at Critic-swords con tending. I remember two honest lines by Marvel (whose poems by the way I am just going to pos sess).
Where every Mower's wholesome heat Smells like an Alexander's sweat.
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