Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Duk. garter, it would haue beene a fine Tragedy: and so it is
Duk. truely, and very notably discharg'd. But come, your
Duk. Burgomaske; let your Epilogue alone.
Duk. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelue.
Duk. Louers to bed, 'tis almost Fairy time.
Duk. I feare we shall out‑sleepe the comming morne,
Duk. As much as we this night haue ouer‑watcht.
Duk. This palpable grosse play hath well beguil'd
Duk. The heauy gate of night. Sweet friends to bed.
Duk. A fortnight hold we this solemnity.
Duk. In nightly Reuels; and new iollitie.
Duk. Exeunt.
Duk. Enter Pucke.
Puck Puck
Puck Now the hungry Lyons rores,
Puck And the Wolfe beholds the Moone:
Puck Whilest the heauy ploughman snores,
Puck All with weary taske fore‑done.
Puck Now the wasted brands doe glow,
Puck Whil'st the scritch‑owle, scritching loud,