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Pyr. No, in truth, Sir, he should not. "Deceiving me," is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you.-Yonder she
This. "O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,
Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee."
This. "My love! thou art my love, I think."
This. "And I like Helen, till the fates me kill."
Pyr. "O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall!"
[Exeunt PYRAMUS and THISBE. Wall. "Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus wall away doth go."
The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.
Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.
The. The best in this kind are but shadows; 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 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,
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.
The. True; and a goose for his discretion.
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 present ;"—
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' 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.
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 all these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.
This. "This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?"
Dem. Well roared, lion.
The. Well moused, lion.
[THISBE runs off.
The. Well run, Thisbe.
Hip. Well shone, moon.-Truly, the moon shines with a good [The Lion tears THISBE'S mantle, and exit.
Pyr. "Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
But stay,-O spite !-
O dainty duck! O dear!
What, stain'd with blood?
O fates, come, come,
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 deflower'd my dear :
That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer.
Come, tears, confound;
The pap of Pyramus,
Ay, that left pap,
Where heart doth hop:—
My soul is in the sky:
Tongue, lose thy light!
Now die, die, die, die, die."
Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.
Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?
The. She will find him by starlight.-Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.
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; he for a man, God warrant us,-she for a woman, God
Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.
"Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
This cherry nose,
With hands as pale as milk;
Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word:
Come, trusty sword;
Come, blade, my breast imbrue :
And farewell, friends,-
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 father. 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 Bergcmask let your epilogue alone.
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:-
I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn,
The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.—
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon ;
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
In remembrance of a shroud.
That the graves, all gaping wide,
In the church-way paths to glide:
By the triple Hecate's team,
Following darkness like a dream,
Through this house each fairy stray.
Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their train.
Obe. Through the house give glimmering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Hop as light as bird from brier;
Obe. Now, until the break of day,