Tongue lofe thy light, Moon take thy flight,

Now die, die, die, die, die.

Dem. No Die, but an Ace for him; for he is but one. Lyf. Lefs than an Ace, Man; for he is dead; he is nothing.

Thef. With the help of a Surgeon he might yet recover, and prove an Afs.

Hip. How chance the Moon-fhine is gone, before Thisby comes back, and finds her Lover?

Enter Thisby.

Thef. She will find him by Star-light.

Here the comes; and her Paffion ends the Play.

Hip. Methinks the should not ufe à long one for fuch a Pyramus: I hope the will be brief.

Dem. A Moth will turn the Ballance, which Pyramus, which Thisby is the better.

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet Eyes. Dem. And thus fhe means, videlicet.

This. Afleep, my Love? What, dead, my Dove?

O Pyramus arise :

Speak, fpeak. Quite dumb? Dead, dead? A Tomb
Muft cover thy fweet Eyes.

Thefe lilly Lips, this cherry Nofe,

Thefe yellow Cowflip Cheeks

Are gone, are gone: Lovers make moan.

His Eyes were green as Leeks.

O Sifters three, come, come to me,
With Hands as pale as Milk;

Lay them in

gore, fince you have thore With Sheers, this Thread of Silk,

Tongue not a word; Come trufty Sword;
Come Blade, my Breaft imbrue:

And farewel Friends, thus Thisby ends;
Adieu, adieu, adieu.

Thef. Moon-fhine and Lion are left to bury the Dead.
Dem. Ay, and Wall too.

Bot. No, I affure you, the Wall is down that parted their Fathers. Will it please you to fee the Epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask Dance, between two of our Company?

Thef. No Epilogue, I pray you; for your Play needs no excufe. Never excufe; for when the Players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had play'd Pyramus, and hung himself in Thisby's Garter, it would have been a fine Tragedy: And fo it is truly, and very notably discharg'd. But come, your Burgomask; 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 fhall out-fleep the coming Morn,
As much as we this Night have over-watch'd.
This palpable grofs Play hath well beguil'd
The heavy Gate of Night. Sweet Friends to Bed.
A Fortnight hold we this Solemnity,
In nightly Revel, and new Jollity:

Enter Puck.

Puck. Now the hungry Lion roars,
And the Wolf beholds the Moon:
Whilst the heavy Ploughman fnoars,
All with weary Task fore-done.
Now the wafted Brands do glow,
Whilft the Scritch-Owl, fcritching loud,
Puts the Wretch that lyes in Woe
In remembrance of a Shroud.
Now it is the time of Night,
That the Graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his Spright,
In the Church-way Paths to glide;
And we Fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecates team,
From the presence of the Sun,
Following Darkness like a Dream,
Now are Frolick; not a Mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed House.
I am fent with Broom before,
To sweep the Duft behind the Door.

[Exeunt.

Enter King and Queen of Fairies, with their Train. Ob. Through the House give glimmering Light, By the dead and drowfie Fire,

Every Elf and Fairy Spright,

Hop as light as Bird from Brier,

And this Ditty after me, Sing and Dance it trippingly,

Queen. Firft rehearse this Song by foat,

To each Word a warbling Note.

Hand in hand, with Fairy grace,

Will we fing and bless this Place.

The SON G.

Now until the break of Day,
Through this House each Fairy ftray,
To the best Bride-bed will we,
Which by us fhall Blessed be;
And the Iffue there create,
Ever fhall be Fortunate:
So fhall all the Couples three,
Ever true in loving be:

And the Blots in Nature's Hand
Shall not in their Iffue ftand;
Never Mole, Hare-lip, nor Scar,
Nor mark Prodigious, fuch as are
Defpifed in Nativity,

Shall upon their Children be.
With this Field Dew confecrate,

Every Fairy take his Gate,

And each feveral Chamber bless,
Through this Palace with fweet Peace,
Ever fhall in Safety rest,

And the Owner of it bleft.
Trip away, make no stay ;

Meet me all by Break of Day.

Puck. If we, Shadows, have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but Slumbred here,
While these Visions did appear.
And this weak and idle Theam,
No more yielding but a Dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you Pardon, we will mend.

And

And as I am honest Puck,

If we have unearned Luck,

Now to 'fcape the Serpent's Tongue,
We will make Amends e'er long:
Elfe the Puck a Liar call.

So good Night unto you all.

Give me your Hands, if we be Friends,
And Robin fhall reftore Amends.

[Exeunt omnes.

THE

MERCHANT

O F

VENICE.

A

COMEDY.

Printed in the YEAR 1709.