EPILOGUE, T IS ten to one, this Play can never please All that are here: Some come to take their ease, And fleep an act or two; but those, we fear, We've frighted with our trumpets: fo'tis clear, They'll fay, 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 conftruction of good wom'n; (For fuch a one we fhew'd'em) If they fmile, And fay, 'twill do; I know within a while All the beft men are ours; for 'tis ill hap, If they hold, when their ladies bid'em clap. The End of the Fifth Volume. |