| Closing Line | Play |
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| And since this business so fair is done, // Let us not leave till all our own be won. | |
| And then to Rome:–come, Dolabella, see // High order in this great solemnity. | |
| And we shall shock them: nought shall make us rue, // If England to itself do rest but true. | |
| As you from crimes would pardon'd be, // Let your indulgence set me free. | |
| But that's all one, our play is done, // And we'll strive to please you every day. | |
| For never was a story of more woe, // Than of Juliet and her Romeo. | |
| Give me your hands, if we be friends // And Robin shall restore amends. | |
| He has business at his house; for all shall stay: // This little one shall make it holiday.* | |
| I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make court'sy, bid me farewell. | |
| (…) I heard a bird so sing, // Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king // Come, will you hence?* | |
| Make way breed peace; make peace stint war; make each // Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. // Let our drums strike. | |
| March sadly after: grace my mournings here, // In weeping after this untimely bier. | |
| Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king; // But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. | |
| Myself will straight abroad; and to the state // This heavy act with heavy heart relate. | |
| Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again: // The she may long live here, God say amen! | |
| Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; // Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. | |
| Perform'd in this wide gap of ime, since irst // We were dissever'd; hastily lead away. | |
| Set on there;–Never was a war did cease, // Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. | |
| So on your patience evermore attending, // New joy wait on you! Here our play hath ending. | |
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| So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show // What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know. | |
| So, call the field to rest: and let's away, // To part the glories of this happy day. | |
| So, thanks, to all at once, and to each one, // Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. | |
| Sound, drums and trumpet!–farewell, sour annoy! // For here, I hope, begins our everlasting joy. | |
| Sound, drums and trumpet:–and to London all; // And more such days as these to us befall! | |
| Take up the bodies: such a sight as this // Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. // Go, bid the soldiers shoot. | |
| That done, our day of marriage shall be yours; // One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. | |
| The oldest hat borne most: we, that are young, // Shall never see so much, nor live so long. | |
| The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this way. | |
| Then, afterwards, to order well the state, // That lie event may ne'er it ruinate. | |
| Think not on him till to-morrow: Ill devise thee brave punishments fot him. – Strike up, pipers! | |
| Till then I'll sweat, and seek about for eases; // And at that time bequeath you my diseases. | |
| 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. | |
| To Master Brook, you yet shall hold your word; // For he, to-night, shall lie with mistress Ford. | |
| We came into the world like brother and brother; // And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another. | |
| Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing // So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. | |
| Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake, // In your fair minds let this acceptance take. | |
| Which to this hour bewail this injury, // Yet he shall have a noble memory. // Assist. | |
| Your old loves to us: we, and all our might // Rest at your service. Gentlemen, good night. | |
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