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Tongue lose thy light, Moon take thy flight,
Dem. No Die, but an Ace for him ; for he is but one.
Lyf Less than an Ace, Man; for he is dead; he is now thing. ;
Thes. With the help of a Surgeon he might yet recover, and prove an Ass.
Hip. How chance the Moon-Mine is gone, before
Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a
Dem. A Moth will turn the Ballance, which Pyramus, which Thisby is the better.
Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet Eyes.
This. Asleep, my Love? What, dead, my Dove?
Tongue not a word; Come trusty Sword;
Thes. Moon-shine 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?
Thes. 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 hung himself in Thisby's Garter, it would have been a fine Tragedy: And so it is truly, and very notably discharg'd. But come, your Burgomask; 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-Neep the coming Morn, As much as we this Night have over-watch'd. This palpable gross Play hath well beguild The heavy Gate of Night. Sweet Friends to Będ. A Fortnight hold we this Solemnity, In nightly Revel, and new Jollity:
[Excunt, Enter Puck. Puck. Now the hungry Lion roars, And the Wolf beholds the Moon: Whilst the heavy Ploughman snoars, All with weary Task fore-done. Now the wasted Brands do glow, Whilst the Scritch-Owl, scritching loud, Puts the Wretch that lyes 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 Spright, In the Church-way Paths to glide ; And we Fairies, that do run By the triple Hecates team, From the presence of the Sun, Following Darkness like a Dream, Now are Frolick; not a Mouse Shall disturb this hallowed House, I am fent with Broom before, To sweep the Dust behind the Door.
Enter King and Queen of Fairies, with their Train. . 06. Through the House give glimmering Light, By the dead and drowsie Fire,
Every Elf and Fairy Spright,
Queen. First rehearse this Song by toat,
Now until the break of Day,
Puck. If we, Shadows, have offended,
And as I am honest Puck,