 | The Just General |  |
Epilogue, to the Reader.
Now Critick woudbees, (faith) my play's not goodYou'l say, because when read 'tis understood.
Would I have pleas'd you, I should have written so,
Not to understand't my self (nor you) you know
When you have read it. (pox on't) what's easily said,
Though ne'r so quick, ought to be buried.
Which if it be, 'twill rise again by fits,
To fright you (if you have any) from your wits.
Which to preserve, be modest, or write better,
You'h more then paid me then, I'l rest your debtor.
As unto all wipes out my faulty score,
Till by my next, I run indebted more.
FINIS.
| The Just General | |