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Lyf. This lion is a very fox for his valour.
Dem. Not so, my lord : for his valour cannot carry his discretion ; and the fox carries the goose.
Tbe. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well : leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon.
Moon. “This lanthorn doth the horned moon present:" Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.
Tbe. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.
Moon. “ This lanthorn doth the horned moon present; "Myself the man i’th’moon do seem to be.”
Tbe. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be
put into the lanthorn; 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!
Tbe. 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.
Lyf. Proceed, moon.
Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the lanthorn is the moon; 1, the man in the moon ; this thornbush, my thorn-bush ; and this dog, my dog.
Dem. Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for they are in the moon. But, filence; here comes Thisbe.
in snuff.]-(quibble) a pet, and the cinder of a candle. " Took it in fnuff.” Henry IV, Part 1, Act I, S. 3. Hot.
Enter Thisbe. This. “This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is my love?” Lion. « Oh” [The Lion roars. Thisbe runs off. Dem. Well roar’d, lion. The. Well run, Thisbe.
Hip. Well shone, moon.-Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.
The. Well TM mous'd, lion.
“ 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 ;-O spight!
“ But mark;-Poor knight; " What dreadful dole is here? Eyes, do
“ Thy mantle good,
What, stain'd with blood ?
" O fates! come, come ;
“ Cut thread and "thrum ;
• Quail, crush, conclude, and P 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.
n thrum ;]—the end of a weaver's warp. P quell!]-murder.
Pyr. “O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame?
“Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear : 6 Which is no, no—which was the fairest dame,
“That liv'd, that lov'd, that likod, that look’d, with
“ 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 fed ;
« ? Tongue, lose thy light!
“ Moon, take thy flight ! “Now die, die, die, die, die.” (Dies. Exit Moonshine. 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.
Tbe. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and prove an ass.
Hip. How chance the moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? The. She will find him by star-light.
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 Thisbe, is the better.
Lyf. She hath spied him already, with those sweet eyes.
Dem. And thus the 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 lilly brows,
“ This cherry nose,
“ Are gone, are gone :
“ Lovers, make moan !
" O fifters three,
« Come, come, to me,
« Lay them in gore,
“ Since you have shore
“Tongue, not a word :
“Come, trusty sword;
“ And farewel, 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 'Bergomalk dance, between two of our company?
S“ His eyes were green as leeks.
“ Hath not so green &c. an eye.”
ROMEO AND JUlier, A& III, S. 5. Nurfe. Bergomak dance, ]-a comic dance of Venetian peasants.
Lovers, to bed; 'ris almost fairy time.
. 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;
very notably discharg'd. But come, your Bergomalk: let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve :
I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn,
Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,
All with weary task fordone.
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
In remembrance of a shroud.
That the graves, all gaping wide,
In the church-way paths to glide:
beavy gait]-flow progress, course.
w beholds. Y brands-embers.