And thou, O Wall, thou fweet and lovely Wall,
That ftands between her Father's Ground and mine,
Thou Wall, O Wall, O fweet and lovely Wall,
Shew me thy Chink, to blink through with mine Eyn.
Thanks, courteous Wall; Jove fhield thee well for this.
But what fee I? No Thisby do I fee.

O wicked Wall, through whom I fee no Blifs,
Curst be thy Stones for thus deceiving me.

Thef. The Wall, methinks, being fenfible, fhould Curfe

again.

Pyr. No in truth, Sir, he should not. Deceiving mes
Is Thisby's cue; the is to enter, and I am to spy
Her through the Wall. You fhall fee it will fall.
Enter Thisby.

Pat. I told you; yonder fhe comes.

This. O Wall, full often haft thou heard my Moans,
For parting my fair Pyramus and me.

My cherry Lips hath often kifs'd thy Stones;
Thy Stones with Lime and Hair knit up in thee.
Pyr. I hear a Voice; now will I to the Chink,
To fpy and I can fee my Thisby's Face. Thisby?
Thif. My Love thou art, my Love, I think.

Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy Lovers Grace.
And like Limander am I trusty ftill.

This. And I like Helen, 'till the Fates me kill.
Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.

Thif. As Shafalus to Procras, I to you.

Pyr. O kifs me through the hole of this vile Wall. This. I kifs the Wall's hole, not your Lips at all. Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's Tomb meet me ftraightway? Thif. Tide Life, tide Death, I come without delay. Wall. Thus have I Wall, my part discharged so: And being done, thus Wall away Thef. Now is the Moral down between the two Neighbours.

doth

go.

་

[Exit.

Dem. No remedy, my Lord, when Walls are fo wilful, to hear without warning.

Hip. This is the fillieft Stuff that e'er I heard.

Thef. The beft in this kind are but Shadows, and the worft are no worse, if Imagination amend them.

Hip.

Hip. It must be your Imagination then, and not theirs. Thef. If we imagine no worfe of them than they of themfelves, they may pafs for Excellent Men. Here comes two noble Beafts, in a Man and a Lion.

Enter Lion and Moon-fhine.

Lion. You Ladies, you, whofe gentle Hearts do fear
The fmalleft monftrous Moufe that creeps on floor,
May now perchance both quake and tremble here,
When Lion rough in wildeft Rage doth roar.
Then know that I, one Snug the Joiner, am
No Lion fell, nor elfe no Lion's Dam:
For if I fhould as Lion come in Strife
Into this place, 'twere pity of my Life.

Thef. A very gentle Beaft, and of a good Conscience,
Dem. The very beft at a Beaft, my Lord, that e'er I faw.
Lyf. This Lion is a very Fox for his Valour.

Thef. True, and a Goofe for his Difcretion.

Dem. Not fo, my Lord? for his Valour cannot carry his Difcretion, and the Fox carries the Goose:

Thef. His Difcretion I am fure cannot carry his Valour; for the Goofe carries not the Fox. It is well: Leave it to his Difcretion, and let us hearken to the Moon,

Moon. This Lanthorn doth the horned Moon prefent. Dem. He fhould have worn the Horns on his Head. Thef. He is no Crefcent, and his Horns are invifible, within the Circumference.

Moon. This Lanthorn doth the horned Moon prefent: My felf the Man i'th' Moon doth feem to be.

Thef. This is the greateft error of all the reft: The Man should be put into the Lanthorn: How is it elfe the Man i' th' Moon?

Dem. He dares not come there for the Candle;

For you see it is already in Souff.

Hip. I am weary of this Moon; would he would Change.

Thef. It appears by his fmall Light of Discretion, that he is in the Wane; but yet in courtefie, in all reason, we must stay the time.

Lyf Proceed, Moon.

Moon. All that I have to fay, is to tell you, that the

Lanthorn is the Moon; I, the Man in the Moon; this Thorn Bufh, 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 Thisby.

R

Enter Thisby.

Thif. This is old Ninny's Tomb; where is thy Love?
Lion. Oh.

Dem. Well roar'd Lion.

Thef. Well run Thisby.

Hip. Well fhone Moon.

[The Lion roars, Thisby runs off.

Truly the Moon fhines with good grace.

Thef. Well mouth'd Lion.

Dem. And then came Pyramus,

Lyf. And fo the Lion vanish'd.

Enter Pyramus.

Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy funny Beams;
I thank thee, Moon, for fhining now fo bright:

For by thy gracious, golden, glittering Streams,
I truft to tafte of trueft Thisby's fight.

But ftay: O fpight! but mark, poor Knight,
What dreadful dole is here?

Eyes do you fee! How can it be !

O dainty Duck! O Deer!

Thy Mantle good; what ftain'd with Blood!
Approach you Furies fell:

O Fates! Come, come: Cut Thred and Thrum,
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell.

Thef. This Paffion, and the Death of a dear Friend,
Would go near to make a Man look fad.

Hip. Befhrew my Heart, but I pity the Man.
Pyr. O wherefore, Nature, didft thou Lions frame?
Since Lion wild hath here Deflour'd my Dear:

Which is No, no-which was the faireft Dame,

That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with Cheer.

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

Tongue lofe 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. Lyf. Lefs than an Ace, Man; for he is dead; he is nothing.

Thef. With the help of a Surgeon he might yet recover, and prove an Aís.

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

Enter Thisby.

Thef. She will find him by Star-light.

Here she comes; and her Paffion ends the Play.

Hip. Methinks he should not ufe a long one for fuch a Pyramus: I hope fhe will be brief.

Dem. A Moth will turn the Ballance, which Pyramus, which Thisby is the better.

Lyf. She hath fpied him already with thofe fweet Eyes. Dem. And thus the means, videlicet.

This. Afleep, my Love? What, dead, my Dove?
O Pyramus arife:

Speak, fpeak. Quite dumb? Dead, dead? A Tomb
Muft cover thy fweet Eyes.

Thefe lilly Lips, this cherry Nofe,

Thefe yellow Cowflip Cheeks

Are gone, are gone: Lovers make moan.

His Eyes were green as Leeks.

O Sifters three, come, come to me,

With Hands as pale as Milk;

Lay them in gore, fince you have fhore
With Sheers, this Thread of Silk.

Tongue not a word; Come trufty Sword;
Come Blade, my Breaft imbrue:

And farewell Friends, thus Thisby ends;
Adieu, adieu, adieu.

Thef. Moon-fhine and Lion are left to bury the Dead.
Dem. Ay, and Wall too.

Bot. No, I affure you, the Wall is down that parted their Fathers. Will it pleafe you to fee the Epilogue, or to bear a Bergomask Dance, between two of our Company?

E 4

Thef.

Thef. No Epilogue, I pray you; for your Play needs no excufe. Never excufe; 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 Thisby's Garter, it would have been a fine Tragedy: And so it is truly, and very notably discharg'd. But come, your Burgomask; let your Epilogue alone. [Here a Dance of Clowns. The Iron Tongue of Midnight hath told twelve. Lovers, to Bed, 'tis almoft Fairy time.

I fear we shall out-fleep the coming Morn,
As much as we this Night have over-watch'd.
This palpable grofs Play hath well beguil'd
The heavy Gate of Night. Sweet Friends to Bed.
A Fortnight hold we this Solemnity,
In nightly Revel, and new Jollity.
Enter Puck.

Puck. Now the hungry Lion roars,
And the Wolf beholds the Moon:
Whilft the heavy Ploughman fnoars,
All with weary Task fore-done.
Now the wafted Brands do glow,
Whilft the Scritch Owl, fcritching loud,
Puts the Wretch that lyes 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 Spright,
In the Church-way Paths to glide;
And we Fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecates team,
From the prefence of the Sun,
Following Darkness like a Dream,
Now are Frolick; not a Moufe
Shall difturb this hallowed House.
I am fent with Broom before,
To fweep the Duft behind the Door.

[Exeunt

Enter King and Queen of Fairies, with their Train.
Ob. Through the Houfe give glimmering Light,
By the dead and drowfie Fire,