(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?