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Page 24
Re-enter THISBY
THISBY. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?
LION. [Roaring] O- [THISBY runs off]
DEMETRIUS. Well roar'd, Lion.
THESEUS. Well run, Thisby.
HIPPOLYTA. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good
grace. [The LION tears THISBY'S Mantle, and exit]
THESEUS. Well mous'd, Lion.
Re-enter PYRAMUS
DEMETRIUS. And then came Pyramus.
LYSANDER. And so the lion vanish'd.
PYRAMUS. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;
For, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams,
I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.
But stay, O spite!
But mark, poor knight,
What dreadful dole is here!
Eyes, do you see?
How can it be?
O dainty duck! O dear!
Thy mantle good,
What! stain'd with blood?
Approach, ye Furies fell.
O Fates! come, come;
Cut thread and thrum;
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell.
THESEUS. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go
near to make a man look sad.
HIPPOLYTA. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
PYRAMUS. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear;
Which is- no, no- which was the fairest dame
That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer.
Come, tears, confound;
Out, sword, and wound
The pap of Pyramus;
Ay, that left pap,
Where heart doth hop. [Stabs himself]
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
Now am I dead,
Now am I fled;
My soul is in the sky.
Tongue, lose thy light;
Moon, take thy flight. [Exit MOONSHINE]
Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies]
DEMETRIUS. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.
LYSANDER. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.
THESEUS. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and
yet prove an ass.
HIPPOLYTA. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisby comes
back
and finds her lover?
Re-enter THISBY
THESEUS. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and
her
passion ends the play.
HIPPOLYTA. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a
Pyramus; I hope she will be brief.
DEMETRIUS. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which
Thisby, is the better- he for a man, God warrant us: She for
a
woman, God bless us!
LYSANDER. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.
DEMETRIUS. And thus she moans, videlicet:-
THISBY. Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise,
Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Dead, dead? A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These lily lips,
This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone;
Lovers, make moan;
His eyes were green as leeks.
O Sisters Three,
Come, come to me,
With hands as pale as milk;
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word.
Come, trusty sword;
Come, blade, my breast imbrue. [Stabs herself]
And farewell, friends;
Thus Thisby ends;
Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies]
THESEUS. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
DEMETRIUS. Ay, and Wall too.
BOTTOM. [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?
THESEUS. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no
excuse.
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
hang'd himself in Thisby's garter, it would have been a fine
tragedy. And so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd.
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.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels and new jollity. Exeunt
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