Enter Lion and MOONSHINE. Lion. “You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do

fear The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on

floor, May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,

When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am
A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam :
For if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.'

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.

Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er

I saw.

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valor.
The. True; and a goose for his discretion.

Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valor cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose.

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valor; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well : leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the

moon.

Moon. •This lantern doth the horned moon pre

sent:' Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.

The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Moon. • This lantern doth the horned moon pre

sent :

Myself the man i' th' 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.1

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 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 they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe,

you, that

Enter THISBE.

This. . This is old Ninny's tomb : where is my

love?' Lion. •0—!' [the lion roars. Thisbe runs off. Dem. Well roared, lion. The. Well run, Thisbe.

Hip. Well shone, moon.—Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.

" A quibble. Snuff signifies both the cinder of a candle and basty anger.

The. Well moused, lion.

[the lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit. Dem. And so comes Pyramus. Lys. And then the moon vanishes.

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 Thisby's sight.

But stay ;— spite !

But mark ;-Poor knight!
What dreadful dole is here?

Eyes, do you see?

How can it be?
O dainty duck! O dear!

Thy mantle good,

What, stain'd with blood ?
Approach, ye furies fell!

O fates! come, come;

Cut thread and thrum; 1

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 deflour'd my dear;

Which is no, no—which was the fairest dame,
That lived, that loved, that liked, that look'd with

cheer. 1
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 fled ;
My soul is in the sky :

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.

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

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

The. She will find him by star-light.—Here she comes ; and her passion ends the play.

1 Countenance.

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.

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. Dem. And thus she 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 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 :