To the illustrious princess, Mary, duchess of Norfolk.

Madam,

This tragedy of Queen Mary, though forbidden the stage, has acted its part almost as public, particularly, Your Grace has been acquainted with its misfortune, having done it the honour to peruse it in sheets and because your noble father, the earl of Peterborough (whose name I shall never mention without my greatest zeal and respect), has vouchsafed me the charity to protect it against its enemies and to stand betwixt his Royal Highness and them, the worst of which and indeed the only persons in their stations to do me such an injury, I have cause to believe, were they that took the same course and with as much reaso, to silence the play of the earl of Essex, which was the first that got them and theirs money and reputation. I present it to Your Grace with those few alterations which his Royal Highness, the best of judges, was pleased to mark with his own hand and I should not have presumed to put it in print without following those most judicious amendments, with which he was pleased to consent to the acting of it, till the same evil spirits, by themselves, or others (for I have heard, it has been protested, this play should never be acted, if they could hinder it) in contradiction to his Royal Highness’s pleasure, because it was in favour to me, incensed the king with a wrong interpretation of the scenes, or of the story, though, I make no doubt, but his most sacred Majesty, by Your Grace’s means, when he considers what a penetrating loss it has been to an unfortunate and faithful subject and shall look on it in print, but he will soon perceive the loyalty of the writing and be of the same opinion with his royal brother, in permitting it to be acted. And now, Madam, after I have told my own pitiful tale, I am afraid to approach Your Grace, least it should be thought design in me, as most dedications to persons of your high rank are branded with and that flattery is the side wind or bias that carries them, though about, the surest way to their aim; but I am of opinion, and the thought of it has emboldened me, that it is profaneness to think nobility and graces like yours are of that allay which either can or will be flattered. For who dares imagine, when I am to speak to the duchess of Norfolk (the next of quality to the royal family in the three kingdoms) that I can say enough of her admired character? You are joined by heaven to a prince who is the true inheritor of all the virtues and greatness, as well as the blood of that illustrious duke, the hero in the play. To say more, in whose praise is to repeat his character that I have filled all the scenes with; I will only add this observation: never man was more brave, nor more unfortunate, unhappy, that he died for his loyalty, his truth and succouring the distressed and happy that he will have the glory of it to eternity, but to complete his joys, looks down from heaven and sees you in his princely off-springs arms, a reward that only can exceed his injuries; since from those chaste embraces, he hopes will proceed a race of successors that will make the noblest and best of houses flourish, whilst the stars shine or the world lasts. You are such an early patroness of wit that like young Alexander, you travelled over and conquered all that rare world, sooner and in a lesser time than others have learned their mother tongue, as if it were inspired, not studied, and as heaven, though it be heaven, would not be admired, nor perspicuous to men’s eyes, unless the sun were in it, to attract the sight, so the divine power has given you so many excellent beauties to adorn your other parts, that whosoever sees so glorious a fabric without, may be sure to find a richer furniture within; you are the only person too, who having so large a portion of both, yet envy not the enjoyment of them in others. Hail then monarchess of wit and beauty! (For all that have or pretend to either, are your subjects) be pleased to accept of this poem, it is your tribute and though it be mean, it is like the poor woman’s mite, it is my all and best of essays in this kind; yet, were it sure to survive as many years as Homer’s works, Your Grace’s name prefixed, will be the only soul that’s moving in it, or can make the pages deathless. I dare say no more, for fear I should commit more faults, but humbly beg leave to withdraw as pilgrims from their shrine, to make a zealous and constant repetition of this to myself in private, with my prayers for your eternal happiness, which shall ever be the theme and wishes of,

Madam,

Your Grace’s most humble, most devoted and most obedient servant,

John Banks.