21382050Duke. No Epilogue, I pray you. For your Play needs no

21392051excuse. Neuer excuse: For when the Players are all deade,

21402052there neede none to be blamed. Mary, if hee that writ it,

21412053had played Pyramus, and hangd himselfe in Thisbies gar-

21422054ter, it would haue beene a fine tragedy: and so it is truely,

21432055and very notably discharg'd. But come your Burgomaske:

21442056let your Epilogue alone.

21452057The iron tongue of midnight hath tolde twelue.

21462058Louers to bed, tis almost Fairy time.

21472059I feare we shall outsleepe the comming morne,

21482060As much as wee this night haue ouerwatcht.

21492061This palpable grosse Play hath well beguil'd

21502062The heauie gate of night. Sweete friends, to bed.

21512063A fortnight holde we this solemnitie,

21522064In nightly Reuels, and new iollity. Exeunt.

21542066Puck. Now the hungry Lyons roares.

21552067And the wolfe beholds the Moone;

21562068Whilst the heauie ploughman snores,

21572069All with weary taske foredoone.

21582070Now the wasted brands doe glowe,

21592071Whilst the scriech-owle, scrieching lowd,

21602072Puts the wretch, that lyes in woe,

21612073In remembrance of a shrowde.

21622074Now it is the time of night,

21632075That the graues, all gaping wide,

21642076Euery one lets forth his spright,

21652077In the Churchway paths to glide.

21662078And wee Fairies, that doe runne,

21672079By the triple Hecates teame,

21682080From the presence of the Sunne,

21692081Following darkenesse like a dreame,

21702082Now are frollick: not a mouse

21712083Shall disturbe this hallowed house.

21722084I am sent, with broome, before,