KING_HENRY_VIII|EPILOGUE THE EPILOGUE.

    'Tis ten to one this play can never please
    All that are here. Some come to take their ease
    And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,
    W'have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,
    They'll say 'tis nought; others to hear the city
    Abus'd extremely, and to cry 'That's witty!'
    Which we have not done neither; that, I fear,
    All the expected good w'are like to hear
    For this play at this time is only in
    The merciful construction of good women;
    For such a one we show'd 'em. If they smile
    And say 'twill do, I know within a while
    All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap
    If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.