(Re-enter Pyramus.)

PYR.

Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;

I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;

For, by thy gravious, golde, glittering gleams,

I trust to take of truest Thisby’s sight.

But stay, O spite!

But mark, poor knight,

What dreadful dole is here!

Eyes, do you see?