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 present. “Myself the man i’the 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. 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 you,

that 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.

Enter ThisBE. This. “ This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my

love?" Lion. “Oh,"

[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. The. Well moused, lion.

[The Lion tears THISBE's mantle, and exit.

Dem. And so comes Pyramus.
Lys. And so the lion vanished.

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 ;-0 spite !

“But mark ;-Poor knight, " What dreadful dole is here!

“Eyes, do you see?

6. How can it be?
“O dainty duck! O dear!

• Thy mantle good,

“What, stained with blood ? “ Approach, ye furies fell !

"O fates! come, come;

“ Cut thread and thrum ; “Quail, crush, conclude, and quell !” 2 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. “0, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame?

“ Since lion vile hath here defloured my dear : " Which is—no, no—which was the fairest dame, “ That lived, that loved, that liked, that looked with

cheer.3
“ Come, tears, confound.

“Out, sword, and wound
“ The pap of Pyramus ;

“ Ay, that left pap,

1

“ Now am I dead,

“ Now am I fled ;
“My soul is in the sky,

“Tongue, lose thy light!

“ Moon, take thy flight!
6 Now die, die, die, die, die.”

[Dies.-Exit Moon-shine. 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 moon-shine 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.

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 ? 60 Pyramus, arise ;

“ Speak, speak. Quite dumb ?

“ Dead, dead ? A tomb
• Must cover thy sweet eyes.

“ These lily brows,

“ 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,

" And farewell, 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 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 blamed. `Marry, if
he that writ it, had played Pyramus, and hanged him-
self with Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine
tragedy; and so it is, truly, and very notably discharged.
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 outsleep the coming morn,
As much as we this night have overwatched.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled
The heavy gait of night.—Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity
In nightly revels, and new jollity.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Puck.
Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,

All with weary task foredone.? Now the wasted brands do glow,

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching 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 sprite,

In the church-way paths to glide; And we fairies, that do run,

By the triple Hecat's team,
From the presence of the sun,

Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic. Not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed house ;
I am sent, with broom, before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.?

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train. Obe. Through this 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.

Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote.
To each word a warbling note,