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Thisby !


Pyr. I see a voice; now will I to the chink,

To spy an I can hear my Thisoy's face.
This. My love ! thou art my love, I think.

Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace.
And like Limander am I trusty still.
This. And I like Helen, 'till the fates me kill.
Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.
This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.
Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.
. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all

Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?

. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay. Wall. Thus have I Wall my part discharged fo: And being done, thus Wall away doth go.

Exit. The. Now is the mure all down between the two neighbours

. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to rear, without warning

Hip. This is the filliest stuff that e'er I heard.

The. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.

Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.

The. If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion.

Enter Lion and Moon-shine.
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
No lion fell, nor else no lion's dam:
For if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place, 'twere pity of

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

my life.


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Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.
Lyf. This lion is a very fox for his valour.
The. True; and a goose for his discretion.

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

The. 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 hearken to the moon.

Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present.
Dem. He should have worn the horns upon his head. .

The. 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 doth seem to be.

The. This is the greatest error of all the reft; the man should be put into the lanthorn: how is it else the man i' th' moon?

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle ; for, you fee, it is already in snuff.

Hip. I am weary of this moon; would he would change!

The. It appears by this 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; 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 lanthorn; for they are in the moon. But filence; here comes Thisbe.

Enter Thisbe.
This. This is old Ninny's tomb; where is my love ?
Lion. Oh. Ho. Ho. [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.


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Eyes, do

The. Well mouth'd, Lion.
Dem. And then came Pyramus.
Lys. And so the lion vanilh’d.

Enter Pyramus.
Pyr. Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy funny 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: o spite !
But mark, poor knight,
What dreadful dole is here?


How can it be!

O dainty duck! o deer!
Thy mantle good;
What, stain’d with blood !

Approach, you 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,

go near to make a man look fad.
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
Pyr. O, wherefore, nature, didft'thou lions frame?
Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear : 4

no, no which was the fairest dame,
That liv’d, that lov'd, that lik’d, that look'd with cheer.
Come, tears, confound: out, sword; and wound


of Pyramus.
Ay, that left pap, where heart doth hop:

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
Now am I dead, now am I Aed, 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.



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Vol. I.

Lyf. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.
The. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and

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Hip. How chance the Moon-fhine is gone, before Thisbe comes back, and finds her lover?

Enter Thisbe.
The. She will find him by ftar-light.
Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.

Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one for fuch a
Pyramus : I hope, she will be brief.

Dem. A moth will turn the ballance, which Pyramus, which
Thisbe, is the better.

Lys. She hath spy'd him already with those sweet eyes.
Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.

This. Alleep, my love ?
What dead, my dove ?
O Pyramus, arise :
Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Dead, dead ? a tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These lilly lips, this cherry nofe,
These yellow cowslip cheeks
Are gone, are gone :
Lovers, make moan!
His eyes were green as leeks.
O fifters three,
Come, come to me,
With hands as pale as milk;
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
With sheers this thread of filk.
Tongue, not a word:
Come, trusty sword;
Come, blade, my breast imbrue:
And farewel, friends,


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Thus Thisby ends;
Adieu, adieu, adieu.

The. Moon-fhine 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 bergomask dance, between two of our company?

The. 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 Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is truly, and very notably discharg’d. But, come, your bergomask; 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 gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. A fortnight hold we this solemnity, In nightly revel, and new jollity.


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