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EPILOGUE, 'T?

I S ten to one, this Play can never please

All that are here : fome come to take their eafe, And jeep an ałt or two; but those, we fear, We've frighted with our trumpets: fo 'tis clear, They'll say, it's naught. Others, to hear the city Abus'd extremely, and to cry, That's witty ! Which we have not done neither ; that, I fear, All the expected Good w'are like to hear For this Play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good wom'n ; (For such a one we few'd'em) If they smile, And say, 'twill do ; I know within a while All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap, If they hold, when their ladies bid 'em clap.

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