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EPILOGUE.


HOST:    
Our play is done, and yours doth now begin:
  1
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.—
But as when an authentic watch is shown,
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Each man winds up and rectifies his own,
So in our very judgments. For there sits
A grave grand jury on it of town wits,
And they give up their verdict; then again
  10
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
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Will come to have a judgment of their own.
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
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Resolv'd to let it live, or giv't a grave.
Such difficulty there is to unite
Opinion, or bring it to be right.







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