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The. Well run, Thisbe.
Hip. Well shone, Moon. Truly the moon shines with a good grace. [The Lion shakes Thisbe's mantle, and exit.
The. Well moused, Lion.
260 Enter PYRAMUS. Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;
But stay, O spite !
But mark, poor knight,
Eyes, do you see?
How can it be?
270 Thy mantle good,
What, stain'd with blood !
O Fates, come, come,
Cut thread and thrum;
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell! The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear:
Come, tears, confound;
Out, sword, and wound
Ay, that left pap,
Tongue, lose thy light;
Moon, take thy flight: [Exit Moonshine. Now die, die, die, die, die.
[Dies. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.
The. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and prove an ass.
Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?
301 The. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.
Re-enter THISBE. Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.
Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us.
Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.
Asleep, my love ?
What, dead, my dove?
Speak, speak. Quite dumb ?
Dead, dead ? A tomb
These lily lips,
This cherry nose,
() Sisters Three,
With hands as pale as milk;
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
Tongue, not a word:
330 Come, blade, my breast imbrue: [Stabs herself.
And, farewell, friends;
Thus Thisby ends :
[Dies. The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and Wall too.
Bot. [Starting up.] No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company ? The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no
Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. But, come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone.
[A dance. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve: Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
350 This palpable gross play hath well beguiled The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. A fortnight hold we this solemnity, In nightly revels and new jollity.
[Exeunt. Enter Puck. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
All with weary task fordone.
360 Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
That the graves all gaping wide,
In the church-way paths to glide:
By the triple Hecate's team,
Enter OBERON and TITANIA with their train.
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Hop as light as bird from brier;
380 Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote,
To each word a warbling note:
Will we sing, and bless this place. [Song ana dance. Obe. Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
Despised in nativity,
[Exeunt Oberon, Titania and train. Puck. If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,