A Midsummer Nights Dream

Du. A verie gentle beast, and of good conscience Dem. The verie best at a beast, my Lord, y ere I saw Lis. This Lion is a verie Fox for his valor Du. True, and a Goose for his discretion Dem. Not so my Lord: for his valor cannot carrie his discretion, and the fox carries the Goose Du. His discretion I am sure cannot carrie his valor: for the Goose carries not the Fox. It is well; leaue it to his discretion, and let vs hearken to the Moone Moone. This Lanthorne doth the horned Moone present De. He should haue worne the hornes on his head Du. Hee is no crescent, and his hornes are inuisible, within the circumference Moon. This lanthorne doth the horned Moone present: My selfe, the man i'th Moone doth seeme to be Du. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the man Should be put into the Lanthorne. How is it els the man i'th Moone? Dem. He dares not come there for the candle. For you see, it is already in snuffe Dut. I am wearie of this Moone; would he would change Du. It appeares by his smal light of discretion, that he is in the wane: but yet in courtesie, in all reason, we must stay the time Lys. Proceed Moone Moon. All that I haue to say, is to tell you, that the Lanthorne is the Moone; I, the man in the Moone; this thorne bush; my thorne bush; and this dog, my dog Dem. Why all these should be in the Lanthorne: for they are in the Moone. But silence, heere comes Thisby. Enter Thisby. This. This is old Ninnies tombe: where is my loue? Lyon. Oh. The Lion roares, Thisby runs off. Dem. Well roar'd Lion Du. Well run Thisby Dut. Well shone Moone. Truly the Moone shines with a good grace Du. Wel mouz'd Lion Dem. And then came Piramus Lys. And so the Lion vanisht. Enter Piramus. Pyr. Sweet Moone, I thank thee for thy sunny beames, I thanke thee Moone, for shining now so bright: For by thy gracious, golden, glittering beames, I trust to taste of truest Thisbies sight. But stay: O spight! but marke, poore Knight, What dreadful dole is heere? Eyes do you see! How can it be! O dainty Ducke: O Deere! Thy mantle good; what staind with blood! Approch you furies fell: O Fates! come, come: Cut thred and thrum, Quaile, crush, conclude, and quell Du. This passion, and the death of a deare friend, Would go neere to make a man looke sad Dut. Beshrew my heart, but I pittie the man Pir. O wherefore Nature, did'st thou Lions frame? Since lion vilde hath heere deflour'd my deere: Which is: no, no, which was the fairest Dame That liu'd, that lou'd, that like'd, that look'd with cheere. Come teares, confound: Out sword, and wound The pap of Piramus: I, that left pap, where heart doth hop; Thus dye I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, now am I fled, my soule is in the sky, Tongue lose thy light, Moone take thy flight, Now dye, dye, dye, dye, dye Dem. No Die, but an ace for him; for he is but one Lis. Lesse then an ace man. For he is dead, he is nothing Du. With the helpe of a Surgeon, he might yet recouer, and proue an Asse Dut. How chance Moone-shine is gone before? Thisby comes backe, and findes her Louer. Enter Thisby. Duke. She wil finde him by starre-light. Heere she comes, and her passion ends the play Dut. Me thinkes shee should not vse a long one for such a Piramus: I hope she will be breefe Dem. A Moth wil turne the ballance, which Piramus which Thisby is the better Lys. She hath spyed him already, with those sweete eyes Dem. And thus she meanes, videlicit This. Asleepe my Loue? What, dead my Doue? O Piramus arise: Speake, speake. Quite dumbe? Dead, dead? A tombe Must couer thy sweet eyes. These Lilly Lips, this cherry nose, These yellow Cowslip cheekes Are gone, are gone: Louers make mone: His eyes were greene as Leekes. O Sisters three, come, come to mee, With hands as pale as Milke, Lay them in gore, since you haue shore with sheeres, his thred of silke. Tongue not a word: Come trusty sword: Come blade, my brest imbrue: And farwell friends, thus Thisbie ends; Adieu, adieu, adieu Duk. Moone-shine & Lion are left to burie the dead Deme. I, and Wall too