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Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.
The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Moon. “This lantern doth the horned moon pre
sent ; 'Myself the man i' th' moon do seem to be.'
The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : the man
should be put into the lantern: How is it else the man i' the moon ?
Dem. He dares not come there for the candle : for, you see, it is already in snuff*.
Hip. I am aweary of this moon: Would, he would change!
The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.
Lys. Proceed, moon.
Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the lantern 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 lantern; for they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe.
love? Lion. « Oh
[The lion roars.--Thisbe runs off Dem. Well roared, lion. The. Well run, Thisbe.
Hip. Well shone, moon.--Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. The. Well moused, lion.
(The Lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit. Dem. And so comes Pyramus. Lys. And then the moon vanishes.
* In anger; a quibble.
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 trnest Thisby's sight.
But stay ;-0 spite!
But mark :---Poor knight, "What dreadful dole is here?
' Eyes, do you see?
• How can it be?
What, stain'd with blood ?
O fates! come, come;
3 Quail, crush, conclude, and quellt! 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.
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 with
Out, sword, and wound
Ay, that left pap,
Where heart doth hop:
Now am I dead,
" Tongue, lose thy light!
Moon, take thy flight!
[Dies.-Exit Moonshine. Deni. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is butone.
+ Destroy. Countenance.
* Coarse yarn.
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.
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
What, dead, my dove?
Dead, dead? A tomb
* These lily brows,
This cherry nose,
Are gone, are gone :
make moan !
o sisters three,
Come, come, to me,
Lay them in gore,
have shore With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word :
Come, trusty sword;
. And farewell, friends ;
Thus, Thisby ends :
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, 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 hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. 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 overwatch'a. This palpable gross play hath well beguild The heavy gait * of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.-A fortnight hold we this solemnity, In nightly revels, and new jollity. (Exeunt.
And the wolf behowls the moon;
All with weary task fordone f.
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
In remembrance of a shroud.
That the graves, all gaping wide,
In the church-way paths to glide : And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecat's team,
Following darkness like a dream,
Enter Oberon and Titania, with their Train.
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Hop as light as bird from brier;
Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote :
SONG AND DANCE.
Obe. Now, until the break of day,