leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present; 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'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. Enter Thisbe. This. "This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is my love?" Lion. "Oh-" [The Lion rears. Thisbe runs off. Dem. Well roar'd, lion. The. Well run, Thisbe. Hip. Well shone, moon.-Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. The. Well mous'd, 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? "O fates! come, come; "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. 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 cheer. "Come, tears, confound; "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: 66 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 one. 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 moans, videlicet. This. "Asleep, my love? 66 What, dead, my dove? "O Pyramus, arise, 66 Speak, speak. Quite dumb? "Dead, dead? A tomb "Must cover thy sweet eyes. "These lily brows, "This cherry nose, "These yellow cowslip cheeks, "Are gone, are gone: "Lovers, make moan! "His eyes were green as leeks. "Come, come, to me, "With hands as pale as milk; 66 Lay them in gore, "Since you have shore "With shears his thread of silk. "Come, trusty sword; Come, blade, my breast imbrue: And farewel, 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 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 : your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns. let I fear, we shall out-sleep the coming morn, [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter Puck. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, ́ Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, |