Hip. This is the fillieft ftuff that e'er I heard. The. The beft in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worfe, if imagination amend them. Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. The. If we imagine no worfe of them than they of themselves, they may pafs for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. 8 Enter Lion and Moonfhine. Lion. You, ladies, you, whofe gentle hearts do fear The smallest monflrous moufe that crops on looľ, May now, perchance, both quake and vedla mere, When Lion rough in wildeft ag Then know that 1, one Snug the jo, The. A very gentle beaft, and of a good confcience. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I faw. Lyf. This Lion is a very fox for his valour. Dem. Not fo, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the fox carries the goofe. 4 The. 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. The. He is no crefcent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon prefent: Myfelf the man i'th' moon doth feem to be.. The. This is the greatest error of all the reft; the man fhould 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 fee, it is already in fouff. * Hip. I am weary of this moon; 'would, he would change! The. It appears by his fmall light of difcretion, that he is in the wane; but yet in curtesy, 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-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog. Dem. Why, all thefe fhould be in the lanthorn; for they are in the moon. But filence; here comes Thisby Enter Thifbe. Thif. This is old Ninny's tomb; where is my love? The. Well run Thisbe. Hip, Well fhone, Moon. Truly, the Moon fhines with a good grace. The. Well mouz'd, Lion. An Equivocation. Snuff fignifies both the cinder of a candle, and hafty anger. Dem. Dem. And then came Pyramus. 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 ftreams, 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 dear! What, ftain'd with blood! O fates! come, come: Quail, crush, conclude, and quell. The. 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. Which is no, no-which was the faireft dame, Come tears, confound: Out fword, 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 fied,' My My foul is in the sky; Tongue, loose thy light, Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies. Dem. No die but an ace for him; for he is but one. Lys. Lefs 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 the Moonfbine is gone, before Thisby come back and finds her lover? Enter Thisbe. The. She will find him by ftar-light. Here fhe comes; and her paffion ends the Play. Hip. Methinks, fhe fhould not use a long one for fuch a Pyramus: I hope, fhe will be brief. Dem. A moth will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better. * Lyf. She hath fpied him already with thofe fweet eyes. Dem. And thus fhe moans, videlicet Thif. Alleep, my love? What dead, my dove? O Pyramus, arise : Speak, fpeak. Quite dumb? Dead, dead? a tomb Must cover thy fweet eyes, I. Makes this fpeech a little longer but not better. And thus fhe means. -] Thus all the Editions have it. It should be, thus the moans; i. e. laments over her dead Pyramus. THEOBALD. 1 Thefe lilly Lips, this cherry Thefe Thefe yellow cowflip cheeks, His eyes were green as leeks. Come, come to me, With hands as pale as milk; Lave them in gore, Since you have shore With fhears his thread of filk. Tongue, not a word Come, trufty fword; Come, blade, my breast imbrue : And farewel, friends, Thus Thiby ends; Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies. The. Moonshine 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 hear a bergomask dance, between two of our company? The. 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 hé, that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hung himfelf in Thibe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy and to it is, truly, and very notably discharg'd. But come, your bergomafk; 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. Now black Brows being a Beauty a cherry Nofe, green Eyes, or lilly Brows are as ridiculous as Ceruflip Cheeks. THEOBALD. |