Celestia’s sun slowly rose over the town of Ponyville, its rays stretching from town hall to Sugarcube Corner to the orchard of Sweet Apple Acres. As the rays bathed the farm in golden light, several shone through the window of one particular bedroom and fall on the bed where a large red stallion and a small purple unicorn slept peacefully, his large forearms wrapped around her. When the rays landed on Big Macintosh, he squeezed his eyes tighter and held Twilight closer to him, trying to ignore the day’s beginning. Finally, the farm’s rooster crowed and Mac knew then he had to get up. Personally, he would’ve loved to spend the whole morning, heck, the whole day even, in bed with Twilight, but he knew if he wasn’t up by the time the rooster crowed, Applejack would come in his room and throw one heck of a fit until he got up and that was something he did not want, especially at this hour. With a groan, he forced himself to let go of Twilight and began to rise when she suddenly rolled over and clung to him fiercely.
“Whoa there, girl, didn’t y’all hear the rooster? Ah gotta get up now.” Mac told her.
Twilight looked at him with pleading eyes. “Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day: it was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: believe me, love, it was the nightingale.”
Mac chuckled, recognizing what she was quoting. “It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.” He recited, waving a hoof at the dawn.
The purple unicorn refused to loosen her grip, and clung tighter, burying her face in his neck. “Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: it is some meteor that the sun exhales, to be to thee this night a torch-bearer, and light thee on thy way to Mantua: therefore stay yet; thou need’st not to be gone.” Her muffled words said.
The red stallion sighed and lowered himself back into bed, letting his filly warm him with her presence.
“Let me be ta’aen, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye, ‘tis but the pale reflection of Cynthia’s brow; nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is’t, my soul? Let’s talk; it is not day.” He said, kissing the top of Twilight’s head.
As the two resumed snuggling, their blissfulness was interrupted by a pounding on Big Mac’s door that made them jump.
“MAC! Y’all git yer lazy bum outta bed or Ah’m gonna come in there and drag it out mahself!”
The two stared at the door as Applejack’s hoofsteps faded away, and then looked at each other.
“It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; this doth not so, for she divideth us: some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, hunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.” Twilight giggled.
“More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!” Mac chuckled.
“Then, window, let day in, and let life out!” Twilight said, using her magic to open the door.
“Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I’ll descend.” Big Mac gave Twilight one of the kisses she’d grown to love so, got up, and headed out the door, grabbing his harness as he went.
“Art thou gone so? Love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, for in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years ere I again behold my Romeo!” She called from the bed.
“Farewell! I will omit no opportunity that may convey my greetings, my love, to thee.” Mac called back.
Twilight giddily ran to the doorway and stuck her head out. “O think’st thou we shall ever meet again?”
“I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve for sweet discourses in our time to come.” Mac replied as he trotted downstairs and out the front door. Twilight ran to the window and stuck her head out.
“O God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb: either my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.”
“And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!” With that, Mac headed off to find Applejack, knowing she’d give him quite an earache when he found her and not caring at all. Twilight watched him go until he was out of sight, and then threw herself back on the bed.
“O fortune, fortune! All men call thee fickle: if thou art fickle, why dost thou with him. That is renown’d for faith? Be fickle, fortune; for then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, but send him back.” She concluded, staring up at the ceiling and practically glowing with her love.