(Continues his meditation, unaware of them) Zooks, I prate like a death’s head. A thing done hath an end, God have mercy on us all! And I will read no more of the rubbish. (He casts the papers into the heart of the fire; they blaze up and he watches them burn to the last spark. Then he gives himself a mighty shake) A cup of sack to purge the brain! And I will go sup with Doll Tearsheet.
(The curtain falls quickly, it also is happy the play hath ended.)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.