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 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 should not ufe à long one for fuch a Pyramus: I hope the will be brief. Dem. A Moth will turn the Ballance, which Pyramus, which Thisby is the better. Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet Eyes. Dem. And thus fhe means, videlicet. This. Afleep, my Love? What, dead, my Dove? O Pyramus arise : 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 thore With Sheers, this Thread of Silk, Tongue not a word; Come trufty Sword; And farewel 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 please you to fee the Epilogue, or to hear 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 blamed. 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 almost Fairy time. I fear we fhall out-fleep the coming Morn, Enter Puck. Puck. Now the hungry Lion roars, [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. Firft rehearse this Song by foat, 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. Every Fairy take his Gate, And each feveral Chamber bless, And the Owner of it bleft. Meet me all by Break of Day. Puck. If we, Shadows, have offended, And |