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:
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!
Now die, die, die, die, die.
[Dies. Exit Moonshine.]
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 prove an ass.
HIPPOLYTA.
How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?
THESEUS.
She will find him by starlight.
Enter Thisbe.
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.