Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am
A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam;

For, if I should as lion come in strife

Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I

Dem.

saw.

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour.

The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose.

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present ;Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.

Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present; Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be.

The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be put into the lanthorn. How is it else the man i' the moon?

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle; for, you see, it is already in snuff.

Hip. I am aweary of this moon: would he would change!

The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.

Lys.

Moon.

Proceed, Moon.

All that I have to say, 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.

R

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for all these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.

Enter THISBE.

This. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?

Lion. [Roaring] Oh

Dem. Well roared, Lion.

The. Well run, Thisbe.

[Thisbe runs off.

Hip. Well shone, Moon. Truly the moon shines with a good grace.

[The Lion shakes Thisbe's mantle, and exit.

The. Well moused, Lion.

Lys. And so the lion vanished.

Dem. And then came Pyramus.

Enter PYRAMUS.

Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,
I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.

But stay, O spite!

But mark, poor knight,

What dreadful dole is here!

Eyes, do you see?

How can it be?

O dainty duck! O dear!

Thy mantle good,

What, stain'd with blood!
Approach, ye Furies fell!

O Fates, come, come,
Cut thread and thrum;

Quail, crush conclude, and quell!

The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.

Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
Pyr. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear :

Which is no, no-which was the fairest dame
That lived, that loved, that liked, that look'd with
cheer.

Come, tears, confound;

Out, sword, and wound

The pap of Pyramus ;

Ay, that left pap,

Where heart doth hop: [Stabs himself.

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.

Now am I dead,

Now am I fled;

My soul is in the sky:

Tongue, lose thy light;

Moon, take thy flight: [Exit Moonshine.

Now die, die, die, die, die.

[Dies.

Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. Lys. Less 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 Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?

The. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.

Re-enter THISBE.

Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus,

which Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God warrant she for a woman, God bless us.

us;

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet

eyes.

Dem. And thus she means, videlicet :

This.

Asleep, my love?

What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise!

Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Dead, dead? A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.

These lily lips,

This cherry nose,

These yellow cowslip cheeks,

Are gone, are gone:
Lovers, make moan:

His eyes were green as leeks.
O Sisters Three,

Come, come to me,

With hands as pale as milk;

Lay them in gore,

Since you have shore

With shears his thread of silk.

Tongue, not a word:

The.

Adieu, adieu, adieu.

Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.

Dem. Ay, and Wall too.

Bot. [Starting up] No, I assure you; the wall is down

that parted their fathers.

Will it please you to see the

epilogue, 20 or to hear a Bergomask 21 dance between two of our company?

The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if ye that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. But, come, your Bergomask let your epilogue alone.

[A dance. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve: Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.

I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn
As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels and new jollity.

W. Shakespeare.

THE friends of Henry Wharton had placed so much reliance on his innocence, that they were unable to see the full danger of his situation. As the moment of trial, however, approached, the uneasiness of the youth himself increased; and after spending most of the night with his afflicted family, he awoke, on the following morning, from a short and disturbed slumber, to a clearer sense of his condition, and survey of the means that were to extricate him from it with