Pyr. I fee a voice; now will I to the chink, To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. Thisby ! Thif. My love! thou art my love, I think. Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace. Thif. And I like Helen, 'till the fates me kill. Pyr. O, kifs me through the hole of this vile wall. Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway? [Exit. The. Now is the mure all down between the two neighbours. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to rear, without warning. Hip. This is the fillieft ftuff that e'er I heard. The. The beft in this kind are but fhadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. The. If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pafs for excellent men. Here come two noble beafts. in, a moon and a lion. Enter Lion and Moon-fhine. Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear For if I fhould as lion come in ftrife Into this place, 'twere pity of my life. The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. Dem. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not fo, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his difcretion, and the fox carries the goose. The. His difcretion, I am fure, cannot carry his valour; for the goofe carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us hearken to the moon. Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present. Dem. He fhould have worn the horns upon his head. The. He is no crefcent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon prefent : Myself the man i' th' moon doth feem to be. The. This is the greatest error of all the reft; the man should be put into the lanthorn: how is it else the man i' th' moon? Dem. He dares not come there for the candle; for, you fee, it is already in fnuff. Hip. I am weary of this moon; would he would change! The. It appears by this fmall light of difcretion, that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. Lyf. Proceed, Moon. Moon. All that I have to fay, is, to tell you that the lanthorn 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 lanthorn; for they are in the moon. But filence; here comes Thibe.. Enter Thisbe. This. This is old Ninny's tomb; where is my love? Lion. Oh. Ho. Ho. Dem. Well roar'd, Lion. [The lion roars, Thisbe runs off. The. Well run, Thibe. Hip. Well fhone, Moon. Truly the Moon fhines with a good grace. The. The. Well mouth'd, Lion. Dem. And then came Pyramus. Lyf. And fo the lion vanish'd. Enter Pyramus. Pyr. Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy funny beams; For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering ftreams, But stay: o fpite! But mark, poor knight, What dreadful dole is here? Eyes, do you fee! How can it be ! O dainty duck! o deer! Thy mantle good; What, ftain'd with blood! Approach, you furies fell: O fates! come, come: Cut thread and thrum, Quail, crush, conclude, and quell. The. This paffion, and the death of a dear friend, Would go near to make a man look fad. Hip. Befhrew 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, fword, 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 foul is in the sky, Now die, die, die, die, die. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. VOL. I. S Lyf. Lys. Lefs than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing. The. With the help of a furgeon he might yet recover, and prove an ass. Hip. How chance the Moon-shine is gone, before Thisbe comes back, and finds her lover? Enter Thilbe. The. She will find him by ftar-light. Here she comes; and her paffion ends the play. Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one for fuch a Pyramus: I hope, fhe will be brief. Dem. A moth will turn the ballance, which Pyramus, which Thibe, is the better. Lys. She hath spy'd him already with those sweet eyes. This. Afleep, my love? What dead, my dove? O Pyramus, arise : Speak, fpeak. Quite dumb? Muft cover thy sweet eyes. O fifters three, Come, come to me, With hands as pale as milk; Lay them in gore, Since you have fhore With fheers this thread of filk. Tongue, not a word: Come, trufty fword; Come, blade, my breaft imbrue : Thus Thus Thisby ends; Adieu, adieu, adieu. The. Moon-fhine and Lion are left to bury the dead. Bot. No, I affure 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 excufe; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blam'd. Marry, if he that writ it had play'd Pyramus, and hung himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and fo it is truly, and very notably discharg'd. But, come, your bergomafk; 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-fleep the coming morn, Puck. SCENE III. Enter Puck. WOW the hungry lion roars, N° And the wolf behowls the moon: Whilft the heavy ploughman fnores, Whilft the screechowl, fcreeching loud, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, [Exeunt. S 2 Every |