2nd Play. I'll call 'em in: I think they are but in the tyring-room. [The dance done.]
1st Play. Come, come; let's go away to dinner. [Exeunt omnes.
EPILOGUE.
The play is at an end, but where's the plot?
That circumstance our poet Bayes forgot.
And we can boast, tho' 'tis a plotting age,
No place is freer from it than the stage.
The ancients plotted, tho', and strove to please
With sense that might be understood with ease;
They every scene with so much wit did store,