Those golden pallaces, those gorgeous halles,
With fourniture superfluouslie faire;
Those statelie courts, those sky encountring walles,
Evanish all like vapours in the aire.
End of the Parodies.
Our parodies are ended. These our authors,
As we foretold you, were all Spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air.
And, like the baseless fabric of these verses,
The Critic’s puff, the Trade’s advertisement,