You are builder of your own,
And whatever Heaven hath gi’n you,
You preserve the state still in you.
Here ended the fortune-telling. And now, a dance of clowns, “Cockrel, Clod, Town’head, and Puffy,” each personated by knights, delighted the company with a colloquy in prose, and in their hands the conduct of the piece remained until the Gipsies, metamorphosed, “appeared in rich habits, to close the whole with a eulogy upon King James.”
A song was introduced just before the conclusion:—
Oh, that we understood
Our good!
There’s happiness indeed in blood,
And store—
But how much more When virtue’s flood