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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;- spite!

“ But mark;- Poor knight, “ What dreadful dole is here!

* Eyes, do you see?

“ How can it be?
“O dainty duck! O dear!
“Thy mantle good,

What, stain'd with blood?
Approach, ye furies fell!
“ 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. 0, 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:

Tongue, lose thy light!
“ Moon, take thy flight!
“ Now die, die, die, die, die.

[Dies. Erit Moonshine. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but


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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 68.

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.

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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?

“ What dead, my dove? “ O Pyramus, arise,

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.

“ O sisters three,

“ Come, come, to me,
““ With hands as pale as milk;

“ Lay them in gore,

“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;

“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 69, 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: 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 gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.-
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt.


Enter Puck.
Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,

All with weary task fordone 70.
Now the wasted brands do glow,

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,
Every one lets forth his sprite,

In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecat's team,
From the presence of the sun,

Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolick; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent, with broom, before,

To sweep the dust behind the door.
Enter Oberon and Titania, with their Train.

Obe. Through this house give glimmering light,

By the dead and drowsy fire:
Every elf, and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it trippingly.
Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote:
To each word a warbling note,
Hand in hand with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

Obe. Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.

To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;

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