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“Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
“ He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast; “And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade,
“ His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, “Let lion, moon-shine, wall, and lovers twain, “At large discourse, while here they do remain.”
[Exeunt Prol., THISBE, Lion, and Moon-shine. The. I wonder if the lion be to speak.
Dem. No wonder, my lord. One ļion may, when many asses do.
Wall. “In this same interlude, it doth befall, “That I, one Snout by name, present a wall: “ And such a wall, as I would have you think, " That had in it a crannied hole, or chink, “ Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, “Did whisper often very secretly. “ This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show 66 That I am that same wall. The truth is so: “And this the cranny is, right and sinister, “Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.'
The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?
Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord. The. Pyramuś draws near the wall. Silence !
Enter PYRAMUS. Pyr. “O grim-looked night! O night with hue so black !
“O night, which ever art, when day is not ! “O night, 6 night, alack, alack, alack,
“I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot! “ And thou, wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
“That stand'st between her father's ground and mine ; " Thou wall, 0 wall, O sweet and lovely wall, “Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.
[Wall holds up his fingers. . Thanks, courteous wall. Jove shield thee well for this ?
“But what see I? No Thisby do I see. “O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss.
“ Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me!" The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again
. Pyr: No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving me,
is Thisby's cue. She is to enter now,
and I am to spy
her through the wall
. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you. – Yonder she comes.
This. “O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, “For parting my fair Pyramus and me. “My cherry lips have often kissed thy stones;
Thy stones, with lime and hair knit up in thee.” Pyr. “I see a voice: now will I to the chink, " To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. “Thisby!"
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.”
Wall. “ Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so ; “And, being done, thus wall away doth go.'
[Exeunt Wall, PYRAMUS, and THISBE. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbors.
Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.
Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever 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 man 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 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
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 present.” 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 doth 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; 1, 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 shir es 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.
Enteri 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 !
66 What dreadful dole is here !
"Eyes, do you see?
“How can it be?
What, stained with blood ?
O fates! come, come;
“Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!" The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would gc near to make a man look sad.
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
" 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
“Come, tears, confound. “Out, sword, and wound 66 The pap of Pyramus ;
“Ay, that left pap,
“Where heart doth hop;
“ Now am I dead,
“ Now am I fled;
“ Tongue, lose thy light!
“Moon, take thy flight!
[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? “O Pyramus, arise ;
“Speak, speak. Quite dumb ?
“Dead, dead ? A tomb
“These lily brows,
" This cherry nose,
“ Are gone, are gone.
"Lovers, make moan!
Come, come, to me,
“Lay them in gore,
“ Tongue, not a word.—
“Come, trusty sword;
“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
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 himself with Thisbe's gar ter, 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.