ACT V, SCENE 1, (5)

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. Here she comes; and
her passion ends the play.

[Re-enter Thisbe]

HIPPOLYTA
Methinks she should not use a long one for such a
Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.

DEMETRIUS
A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, whichThisbe, is the better; he for a man, God warrant us;
she for a woman, God bless us.

LYSANDER
She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.

DEMETRIUS
And thus she means, videlicet:--

Thisbe
Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise!
Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Dead, dead? A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These My lips,
This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone:
Lovers, make moan:
His eyes were green as leeks.
O Sisters Three,
Come, come to me,
With hands as pale as milk;
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word:
Come, trusty sword;

[Stabs herself]

And, farewell, friends;
Thus Thisbe ends:
Adieu, adieu, adieu.

[Dies]

THESEUS
Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.

DEMETRIUS
Ay, and Wall too.

BOTTOM [Starting up]
No 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?

THESEUS
No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no
excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all
dead, there needs none to be blamed. Marry, if he
that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself
in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine
tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably
discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let yourepilogue 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
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]

[Enter PUCK]

PUCK
Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic: not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door. (ref: Act 5, Scene 1, lines 396-397)