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Pyr. I see a voice; now will I to the chink,
To spy an I can hear my Thisoy's face.
Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace.
. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay. Wall. Thus have I Wall my part discharged fo: And being done, thus Wall away doth go.
Exit. The. Now is the mure all down between the two neighbours
. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to rear, without warning
Hip. This is the filliest stuff that e'er I heard.
The. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.
Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.
The. If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion.
Enter Lion and Moon-shine.
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
The. A very gentle beart, and of a good conscience.
Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.
Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his difcretion, and the fox carries the goose.
The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well : leave it to his discretion, and let us hearken to the moon.
Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present.
The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.
Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present : Myself the man i' th’moon doth seem to be.
The. This is the greatest error of all the reft; the man should be put into the lanthorn: how is it else the man i' th' moon?
Dem. He dares not come there for the candle ; for, you fee, it is already in snuff.
Hip. I am weary of this moon; would he would change!
The. It appears by this small light of discretion, that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.
Lyf. Proceed, Moon.
Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the lanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog.
Dem. Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for they are in the moon. But filence; here comes Thisbe.
Hip. Well shone, Moon.
The. Well mouth'd, Lion.
I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright:
I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
O dainty duck! o deer!
Approach, you furies fell :
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell.
go near to make a man look fad.
no, no which was the fairest dame,
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
Lyf. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.
prove an ass.
Hip. How chance the Moon-fhine is gone, before Thisbe comes back, and finds her lover?
Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one for fuch a
Dem. A moth will turn the ballance, which Pyramus, which
Lys. She hath spy'd him already with those sweet eyes.
This. Alleep, my love ?
Thus Thisby ends;
The. Moon-fhine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
Bot. No, I assure you, the wall is down that parted their fathers.
Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a bergomask dance, between two of our company?
The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blam'd. Marry, if he that writ it had play'd Pyramus, and hung himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is truly, and very notably discharg’d. But, come, your bergomask; let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear, we shall out-sleep the coming morn, As much as we this night have over-watch'd. This palpable gross play hath well beguild The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. A fortnight hold we this solemnity, In nightly revel, and new jollity.
S CE N E
Enter Puck. Puck.
And the wolf behowls the moon:
fore-done. Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screechowl, screeching loud, Puts the wretch that lyes in wo
In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night,
That the graves, all. gaping wide,