 | Changes : Or, Love in a Maze |  |
70
Epilogus.
Ovr Poet knowes you will be just, but weAppeale to mercy, he desires that yee
Would not distaste his Muse, because of late
Transplanted, which would grow here, if no fate
Have an unlucky bode opinion
Comes hither but on crutches yet, the Sun
Hath lent no beame to warme us, if this Play
Proceed more fortunate, wee shall blesse the day.
And love that brought you hither; tis in you
To make a little sprigge of Laurel grow,
And spread into a grove, where you may sit,
And heare soft stories, when by blasting it,
You gaine no honour, though our ruines lye
To tell the spoiles of your offended eye:
If not for what we are, for alas here
No Roscious moues to charme your eyes, or eare,
Yet as you hope hereafter to see Playes,
Encourage us and give our Poet bayes.
Exeunt.
FINIS.
| Changes : Or, Love in a Maze | |