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of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion.
Enter Lion and Moonshine. Lion. “You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do
fear • The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on
floor, May now, perchance, both quake and tremble
here, · When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. • Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am • A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam: • For if I should as lion come in strife • Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.'
The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.
Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour.
Dem. Not so, my lord: for his valour cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose.
T'he. 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 listen to the moon. Moon. · This lantern doth the horned moon pre
sent: 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
present; • 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' th' moon?
Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: for, you see, it is already in snuff.1
Hip. I am aweary of this moon : Would, he would change!
T'he. 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; 1, 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; bere comes Thisbe.
Enter Thisbe. This. This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is my
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.
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 ;-0 spite !
• But mark :-Poor knight, • What dreadful dole is here!
(1) In anger ; a quibble.
Thy mantle good,
i O fates! come, come ;
• Cut thread and thrum ;! • Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!' 2 The. This passion, and the death of a deat friend, would go near to make a man look sad.
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions
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 with
• Out, sword, and wound
Ay, that left pap;
• Where heart doth hop: • Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
• Now am I dead,
• Now am I fled; My soul is in the sky:
• Tongue, lose thy light!
• Moon, take thy flight! • Now, die, die, die, die, die.
(Dies.-Exit 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,
prove an ass. Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?
(1) Coarse yarn. (2) Destroy. (3) Countenance. 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 Py. ramus, 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?
Speak, speak. Quite dumb ?
• Dead, dead? A tomb • Must cover thy sweet eyes.
· 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, 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'd. This palpable gross play hath well beguild The heavy gaiti of night. --Sweet friends, to bed.A fortnight hold we this solemnity, In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Enter Puck. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.2 Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in wo,
In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night,
That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide : And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate's team,
Following darkness like a dream,