EPILOGUE
Inconstancy, the reigning sin of the age,
5.3.1712527Will scarce endure true lovers on the stage.
5.3.1722528You hardly even in plays with such dispense,
5.3.1752531That I could three hours' constancy outlive.
5.3.1762532You fear, perhaps, whilst on the stage we are made
5.3.1772533Such saints, we shall indeed take up the trade.
5.3.1882544Well -- since you are all for blustering in the pit,
5.3.1922548Of that vast hand that first laid this design,
5.3.1932549That in great Shakespeare's right, he's bold to say
5.3.1952551The play your judgment damns, not you the play.