Page 1750 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4
P. 1750
THE EPILOGUE IT
’Tis ten to one this play can never please
All that are here. Some come to take their ease,
And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,
We’ve frighted with our trumpets; so, ’tis clear,
They’ll say ’tis naught. Others to hear the city [5]
Abused extremely, and to cry “That’s witty!” −
Which we have not done neither; that, I fear,
All the expected good we’re like to hear
For this play at this time is only in
The merciful construction of good women, [10]
For such a one we showed ’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.
