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Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er
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.
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 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. 6. This lantern doth the horned moon pre
“ Myself the man i'the'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.4
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.
that the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon;
4 In anger; a quibble:
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.
Enter ThisBE. This. “This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is my
love? Lion. “Oh,"
[The Lion roars.--TILISE runs of: 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.
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?
Eyes, do you see?
“ How can it be?
" Thy mantle good,
“ What, stain'd with blood ? " Approach, ye furies fell!
« O fates! come, come ;
“ Cut thread and thrum;
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
« Out, sword, and wound: “The pap of Pyramus :
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
4 Coarse' yarn. 5 Destroy.
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 cyes. 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, 6. 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
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
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 epiJogue 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 gait 7 of night. ---Sweet friends, to bed. A fortnight hold we this solemnity, In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Eteunt.