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