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       We laugh, for what we have, are sorry: still

       Are children in some kind. Let us be thankefull

       For that which is, and with you leave dispute

       That are above our question. Let’s goe off,

       And beare us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.]

       EPILOGVE

       I would now aske ye how ye like the Play,

       But, as it is with Schoole Boyes, cannot say,

       I am cruell fearefull: pray, yet stay a while,

       And let me looke upon ye: No man smile?

       Then it goes hard, I see; He that has

       Lov’d a yong hansome wench, then, show his face—

       Tis strange if none be heere—and if he will

       Against his Conscience, let him hisse, and kill

       Our Market: Tis in vaine, I see, to stay yee;

       Have at the worst can come, then! Now what say ye?

       And yet mistake me not: I am not bold;

       We have no such cause. If the tale we have told

       (For tis no other) any way content ye

       (For to that honest purpose it was ment ye)

       We have our end; and ye shall have ere long,

       I dare say, many a better, to prolong

       Your old loves to us: we, and all our might

       Rest at your service. Gentlemen, good night. [Florish.]

       THE END