Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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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,
Puck Puts the wretch that lies in woe,
Puck In remembrance of a shrowd.
Puck Now it is the time of night,
Puck That the graues, all gaping wide,
Puck Euery one lets forth his spright,