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Ay, that left pap, where heart doth hop :

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, now am I fled, my soul is in the sky; 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.

Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead; he is nothing

Tbel. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and prove an ass.

Hip. How chance the Moonshine is gone, before Thisoy comes back and finds her lover ?

Enter Thisby.
Thef. 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 Thisoy is the better.

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. Dem. And thus fhe moans, videlicet. -(392) 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, (40) This cherry nose,

(39) And thus be means -] Thus all the editions have it, I think without any meaning. It should be, thus she moans ; i. e. Jaments over her dead Pyramus. It is said a little above, And ber paffion ends the play:

(40) These lilly lips, this cherry nose.] All Thisby's lamentation, till now, runs in regular rhyme and metre. But both, by some accident, are in this fingle infance interrupted. I suspect, the Poet

These lilly brows,

This cberry rose, Now black brows being a beauty, lilly brows are as ridiculous as a sberry sose, green eyes, or cowhip cheeks,



*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;
Lave them in gore,

have shore
With sheers his thread of filk.
Tongue, not a word:
Come, trusty sword;
Come, blade, my breast imbrue:
And farewell, friends,
Thus Thisby ends;
Adieu, adieu, adieu.

1198. Moon-shine and Lion are left to bury the dead.' Dein, 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 bergomak dance, between two of our com

Thel. 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 blam'd. 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 bergomak; 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-sleep the coming morn, As much as we this night have over-watch’d. This palpable gross play hath well beguild The heavy gaite of night. Sweet friends, to bed, A fortnight hold we this solemnity, In nightly revel and new jollity.






Enter Puck.
Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon : (41)
Whilst the heavy plougnman snoars,

All with weary tak fore-done. Now the wasted brands do glow,

Whilft the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies 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 Faries, that do run

By the triple Hecate's team, From the prefence of the fun,

Following darkness like a dream, (41) And the wolf beholds be moon :) As it is the design of these lines to characterize the animals, as they present themselves at the hour of midnight; and as the wolf is not justly characteriz'd by faying he bebolds the moon; which all other beats of prey, then awake, do: and as the sounds these animals make at that season, seem alsó intended to be represented; I make no question but the Poet wrote ;

And the wolfe bebowls the moon. For fo the wolf is exa&tly characterized, it being his peculiar property to bowl at the moon ( Bebowl, as bemoan, befeem, betrim, and an hundred others.)

Mr. Warburton. So, again, in As you like it.

Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irisho

wolves againt the noon. So in Beaumont and Fletcber's Faithful Sbépberdess.

or the owl. Or our great enemy, that still doth bowl

Against tbe moon's pale beams. For this is spoken of the wolfe, and by a shepherd, to whom that beast was an enemy, with regard to his flock. And fo in Marston's Antonio and Mellida, where the whole passage seems to be copied from this of our Author.

Now barks the wolf against the full-cheek'd moon;
Now lyons half-cram'd entrails roar for food;
Now croaks the toad, and night-crows fbriek aloud,
Fluttring 'bout casements of departing Souls :
Now gape the graves, and thro' their yawns let loose
Imprison'd spirits to revisit earth.


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Now are frolick; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house.
I am sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter King and Queen of Fairies, with their Train.
Ob. Through the house give glimmering light,

By the dead and drowsy, fire,
Every elf, and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty after me
Sing, and dance it trippingly.
Queen. First rehearse this

song by rote,
To each word a warbling note.
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

The SON G.
Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each Fairy ftray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be:
And the issue, there create,
Ever shall be fortunate;
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be:
And the blots of nature's hand
Shall not in their iffae ftand;
Never mole, hair-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,

their children be.
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every Fairy take his gate,
And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace with sweet peace.
Ever shall it safely rest,
And the owner of it blest.
Trip away, make no stay;
Meet me all by break of day.


H 2

Puck. If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended;

have but Numbred here,
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theam
No more yielding than a dream,
(Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And as I am honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere 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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