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Lys. Proceed, Moon.

Moon. All that I have to say is to tell you that the lanthorn is the moon, I the man i’ th’ moon, this thorn-bush my thorn-bush, and this dog my dog.

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

Enter Thisby.

This.

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

Lion.

O!

[The Lion roars. Thisby runs off.]

Dem. Well roar’d, Lion.

The. Well run, Thisby.

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

[The Lion shakes Thisby’s mantle.]

The. Well mous’d, Lion.

Enter Pyramus.

Dem. And then came Pyramus.

[Exit Lion.]

Lys. And so the lion vanish’d.

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?