Epilogue to "Sir Martin Mar-all; or, The Feign'd Innocence"

As country vicars, when the sermon 's done,
Run huddling to the benediction;
Well knowing, tho' the better sort may stay,
The vulgar rout will run unblest away:
So we, when once our play is done, make haste
With a short epilogue to close your taste.
In thus withdrawing we seem mannerly.
But when the curtain 's down we peep and see
A jury of the wits who still stay late,
And in their club decree the poor play's fate:
Their verdict back is to the boxes brought;
Thence all the town pronounces it their thought.
Thus, gallants, we like Lilly can foresee;
But if you ask us what our doom will be.
We by to-morrow will our fortune cast,
As he tells all things when the year is past.