Moon.
This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;
Myself the man i’ the moon do seem to be.
Theseus.
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?
Demetrius.
He dares not come there for the candle; for, you see, it is already in snuff.
Hippolyta.
I am aweary of this moon: would he would change!
Theseus.
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.
Lysander.
Proceed, Moon.
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.
Demetrius.
Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for all these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.
