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Enter PYRAMUS. Pyr. “ Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny
beams; “ I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright: "For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, “ I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
“ But stay;- spite!
“ But mark;- Poor knight, “ What dreadful dole is here!
* Eyes, do you see?
“ How can it be?
What, stain'd with blood?
• Cut thread and thrum; “ Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!" The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
frame: “ Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear: “Which is-no, no—which was the fairest dame, “ That liv'd, that lov’d, that lik'd, that look'd,
Out, sword, and wound
“ The pap of Pyramus :
“Ay, that left pap,
« Where heart doth hop:
“ Now am I dead,
Tongue, lose thy light!
[Dies. Erit Moonshine. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but
Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.
The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and prove an ass 68.
Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?
The. She will find him by star-light.-Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.
Enter Thisbe. Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, for such a Pyramus: I hope, she will be brief.
Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better.
Lys. She hath spied him already, with those sweet eyes.
Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet,
This. “Asleep, my love?
“ What dead, my dove? “ O Pyramus, arise,
Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Dead, Dead? A tomb
“ These lily brows,
“ This cherry nose,
“ Are gone, are gone:
“ Lovers, make moan!
“ O sisters three,
“ Come, come, to me,
“ Lay them in gore,
“Since you have shore
“Tongue, not a word:
“ Come, trusty sword;
“ And farewell, friends;
“Thus Thisby ends: “ Adieu, adieu, adieu."
[Dies. The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and wall too.
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 69, 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 blamed. Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hang'd 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:-
And the wolf behowls the moon;
All with weary task fordone 70.
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,
That the graves, all gaping wide,
In the church-way paths to glide:
By the triple Hecat's team,
Following darkness like a dream,
To sweep the dust behind the door.
Obe. Through this house give glimmering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Hop as light as bird from brier;
SONG AND DANCE.
To the best bride-bed will we,