Come, blade, my breast imbrue: (Stabs herself.)
And, farewell, friends:
Thus Thisbe ends:
Adieu, adieu, adieu. (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?