 | The Wedding |  |
Epilogue.
Rawbone.
Gentle-men: Pray be fauourable to wake a Foole Dormant
amongst yee; I ha beene kickt, and kickt to that purpose,
may be, they knockt at the wrong doore, my braines are a
sleepe in the Garret. I must appeale from their feete to your
hands, there is no way but one, you must clap me, and clap
mee soundly d'ee heare, I shall hardly come to my selfe else.
Wake me with the loud Musicke of your hands.
Exit.
| The Wedding | |