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

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
Thisby comes back, and finds her Lover?

Enter Thisby.
Thes. She will find him by Star-light.
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 Moth will turn the Ballance, which Pyramus, which Thisby is the better.

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet Eyes.
Dem. And thus she means, 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 lilly Lips, 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 Sheers, this Thread of Silk,

Tongue not a word; Come trusty Sword;
Come Blade, my Breast imbrue:
And farewel Friends, thus Thisby ends;
Adieu, adieu, adieu.

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?

E 4

Ther.

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,
Hop as light as Bird from Brier,
And this Ditty after me, Sing and Dance it trippingly,

Queen. First rehearse this Song by toat,
To each Word a warbling Note. ;. .
Hand in hand, with Fairy grace,
Will we fing and bless this Place,

The SONG.

Now until the break of Day,
Through this House each Fairy stray,
To the best Bride-bed will we,
Which by us all Blessed be;
And the Ifue there create,
Ever Mall be Fortunate :
So Mall all the Couples three,
Ever true in loving be :
And the Blots in Nature's Hand
Shall not in their Isne stand;
Never Mole, Hare-lip, nor Scar,
Nor mark: Prodigious, such as are
Despised in Nativity,
Shall upon their Children be.
With this Field Dew confecrate,
Every Fairy take his Gate,
And each several Chamber bless,
Through this Palace with Sweet Peace,
Ever shall in Safety rest,
And the owner of it bleft.
Trip away, make no stay;
Meet me all by Break of Day.

Puck. If we, Shadows, have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but Slumbred here,
While these Visions did appear.
And this weak and idle Theam,
No more yielding but a Dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you Pardon, we will mend.

And

And as I am honest Puck,
If we have unearned Luck,
Now to 'scape the Serpent's Tongue,
We will make Amends e’er long :
Else the Puck a Liar call.
So good Night unto you all.
Give me your Hands, if we be Friends,
And Robin shall restore Amends,

Exeunt omnes,

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