[341] 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?
345 The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, [347] there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it [348] had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe’s garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and 350 very notably discharged. But, come, your Bergomask: let [351] 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,
355 As much as we this night have overwatch’d.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels and new jollity. [Exeunt.