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Eyes, do you see? How can it he? O dainty duck! O dear! Thy mantle good, What! stain’d with blood? Approach, ye Furies fell. O Fates! come, come; Cut thread and thrum; Quail, crush, conclude, and quell. THESEUS This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. HIPPOLYTA Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 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. [Stabs himself] 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. [Exit MOONSHINE] Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies] 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 yet prove an ass. HIPPOLYTA How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisby comes back and finds her lover? Re-enter THISBY THESEUS She will find him by starlight. 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. DEMETRIUS A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisby, 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 moans, videlicet:THISBY Asleep, my love? What, dead, my dove? O Pyramus, arise, Speak, speak. Quite dumb? Dead, dead? A tomb Must cover thy sweet eyes. These lily 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. |