must come in sick; he must call his officers to account, yield his
throne to Autumn, make Winter his executor, with tittle-tattle Tom-boy.
God give you good night in Watling Street; I care not what you say now,
for I play no more than you hear; and some of that you heard too (by
your leave) was _extempore_. He were as good have let me had the best
part, for I'll be revenged on him to the uttermost, in this person of
Will Summer, which I have put on to play the prologue, and mean not to
put it off till the play be done. I'll sit as a chorus, and flout the
actors and him at the end of every scene. I know they will not interrupt
me, for fear of marring of all; but look to your cues, my masters, for I
intend to play the knave in cue, and put you besides all your parts, if
you take not the better heed. Actors, you rogues, come away; clear your
throats, blow your noses, and wipe your mouths ere you enter, that you
may take no occasion to spit or to cough, when you are _non plus_. And
this I bar, over and besides, that none of you stroke your beards to
make action, play with your cod-piece points, or stand fumbling on your
buttons, when you know not how to bestow your fingers. Serve God, and
act cleanly. A fit of mirth and an old song first, if you will.

_Enter_ SUMMER, _leaning on_ AUTUMN'S _and_ WINTER'S
_shoulders, and attended on with a train of Satyrs and
Wood-nymphs, singing_.[22]

_Fair Summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore,
So fair a summer look for never more:
All good things vanish less than in a day,
Peace, plenty, pleasure, suddenly decay.
Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou, leav'st to appear.