age. Wherein, as we have justly observed no man to come near your Lordships but with a kind of religious address, it hath been the height of our care, who are the presenters, to make the present worthy of your Highnesses by the perfection.
But there we must also crave our abilities to be considered, my Lords. We cannot go beyond our own powers: country hands reach forth milk, cream, fruits, or what they have; and many nations, we have heard, that had not gums and incense, obtained their requests with a leavened cake. It was no fault to approach their gods by what means they could; and the most, though meanest, of things are made more precious when they are dedicated to temples. In that name, therefore, we most humbly consecrate to your Highnesses these remains of your servant Shakespeare: that what delight is in them may be ever your Lordships’, the reputation his, and the faults ours, if any be committed by a pair so careful to show their gratitude both to the living and the dead as is
Your Lordships’ most bounden
John Heminge
Henry Condell
(B) Epistle of Heminge and Condell to the readers of the Folio.
To the Great Variety of Readers.—From the most able to him that can but spell: there you are numbered. We had rather you were weighed; especially when the fate of all books depends upon your capacities, and not of your heads alone, but of your purses. Well, it is now public, and you will stand for your privileges, we know: to read and censure. Do so, but buy it first: that doth best commend a book, the sta-
