 | Love And Honovr |  |
EPILOGUE.
Troth Gentlemen you must vouchsafe a whileT'excuse my mirth, I cannot chuse but smile,
And 'tis to think, how like a subtle spy
Our Poet waits below to heare his destiny;
Just in the Entry as you passe, the place
Where first you mention your dislike or grace:
Pray whisper softly that he may not heare,
Or else such words as shall not blast his eare.
| Love And Honovr | |