The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.

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.

Enter THISBE

This. This is old Ninny's' tomb. Where is my

love?'

[The Lion roars.—THISBE runs off.

Dem. Well roared, Lion.

H/The. Well run, Thisbe.

TrHip. Well shone, Moon.-Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.

[The Lion tears THISBE's mantle, and exit.

The. Well moused, Lion.

Lys. And so the lion vanished.

Dem. And then came Pyramus.

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 Thisbe's sight. But stay ;-0 spite !

But mark, poor knight,

What dreadful dole is here?

Eyes, do you see?

How can it be?

AMO dainty duck! O dear!

Thy mantle good,

What, stained 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. 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 cheer.

Moon, take thy flight!

Tongue, lose thy light!

[Exit Moonshine.

[Dies.

fall Now die, die, die, die, die.'

Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but

one.

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.

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; he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless

us.

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet

eyes.

Dem. And thus she means, videlicet :—

What, dead, my dove?

O Pyramus, arise !

Speak, speak! Quite dumb?

Dead, dead? A tomb

Must cover thy sweet eyes,
These lily 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 shears his thread of silk.

Tongue, not a word:

Come, trusty sword;

Come, blade, my breast imbrue: [Stabs.

And farewell, friends.

Thus Thisbe ends :

Adieu, adieu, adieu.'.

[Dies.

The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.

HPDem. 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