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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.
The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er
Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valor.
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. •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
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,
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!
Eyes, do you see?
How can it be?
Thy mantle good,
What, stain'd with blood ?
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.
Which is no, no—which was the fairest dame,
Out, sword, and wound
Where heart doth hop :
Now am I dead,
Now am I fled ;
Tongue, lose thy light!
Moon, take thy flight !
[dies. Exit Moonshine. 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 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.
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 ?
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,
Tongue, not a word :
Come, trusty sword;