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 no thing. Thef. With the help of a Surgeon he might yet recover, and prove an Afs. 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 the comes; and her Paffion ends the Play. Hip. Methinks the fhould not use 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. Lys. She hath fpied him already with thofe fweet Eyes. Dem. And thus the means, videlicet. This. Afleep, my Love? What, dead, my Dove? Speak, fpeak. Quite dumb? Dead, dead? A Tomb 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, Lay them in gore, fince you have shore Tongue not a word; Come trufty Sword; And farewell Friends, thus Thisby ends; Thef. Moon-fhine and Lion are left to bury the Dead. Bot. No, I affure you, the Wall is down that parted their Fathers. Will it pleafe you to fee the Epilogue, or bear a Bergomask Dance, between two of our Company? 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 fo 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, Enter Puck. Puck. Now the hungry Lion roars, To fweep the Duft behind the Door. [Exeunt Enter King and Queen of Fairies, with their Train. Ob. Through the House give glimmering Light, By the dead and drowfie Fire, Every Elf and Fairy Spright, Hop as light as Bird from Brier, And this Ditty after me, Sing and Dance it trippingly. Queen. First rehearse this Song by roat, To each Word a warbling Note. Hand in hand, with Fairy grace, Will we fing and bless this Place. The SON G. Now until the break of Day, And the Blots in Nature's Hand Shall upon their Children be. With this Field Dew confecrate, Every Fairy take his Gate, And each feveral Chamber blefs, Ever fhall in fafety rest, And the Owner of it bleft.. Trip away, make no stay; Meet me all by Break of Day. Puck. If we, Shadows, have offended, And And as I am honeft Puck, If we have unearned Luck, Now to 'scape the Serpent's Tongue, We will make Amends e'er long: So good Night unto you all. Give me your Hands, if we be Friends, [Exeunt omnes. AAAAAA |