Text — Epilogue

'Tis ten to one, this play can never pleaseAll that are here. Some come to take their easeAnd sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,We've frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear 4They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear the cityAbus'd extremely, and to cry, 'That’s witty!'Which we have not done neither: that, I fear,All the expected good we're like to hear 8For this play at this time is only inThe 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 12All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hapIf they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.

7 that: so that