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Thé. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.
Moon. This lantern doth the hornéd moon preV
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 snutt 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.
Enter THISBE This. This is old Ninny's' tomb. Where is my love ?'
Lion. • Oh
[The Lion roars.—THISBE runs off.
[The Lion tears THISBE's mantle, and exit.
But stay ;-0 spite !
But mark, poor knight,
Eyes, do you see?
How can it be? <?.?'O dainty duck! O dear!
Thy mantle good,
What, stained with blood!
Leon, take thy flight!
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. O, wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions
frame, Since lion vile hath here defloured my dear ? Which is—no, no—which was the fairest dame, That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with
Come, tears, confound;
Out, sword, and wound
Ay, that left pap,
Where heart doth hop > [Stabs. Thus die I, thus, thus, thus !
Now am I dead;
Now am I fled ;
[Exit Moonshine. Now die, die, die, die, die.'
[Dies. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is but
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 yet prove an ass.
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 bless
Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.
Dem. And thus she means, videlicet :-
What, dead, my dove?
Speak, speak! Quite dumb ?
Dead, dead? A tomb
These lily lips,
This cherry nose,
Are gone, are gone !
Lovers, make moan!
O Sisters Three,
Come, come to me,
Lay them in gore,
have shore With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word :
Come, trusty sword;
And farewell, friends.
Thus Thisbe ends :-
[Dies. The. Moonshine and Litn are left to bury the dead. 4:P 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.
The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the