EPILOGUE
Our play is done; and yours doth now begin:
What different fancies people now are in!
How strange and odd a mingle it would make,
If, ere they rise, 'twere possible to take
All votes!—5
But, as when an authentic watch is shown,
Each man winds up and rectifies his own;
So in our very judgments. First there sits
A grave grand jury on it of town wits;
And they give up their verdict: then again10
The other jury of the court comes in:
And that's of life and death; for each man sees;
That oft condemns, what th' other jury frees.
Some three days hence, the ladies of the town
Will come to have a judgment of their own.15
And, after them, their servants: then the city;
For that is modest, and is still last witty.
'Twill be a week at least yet, ere they have
Resolv'd to let it live, or give't a grave:
Such difficulty there is to unite20
Opinion, or bring it to be right.
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