Enter Thisbe (Flute).

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 moth will turn the balance, which Pyramus,

which Thisbe, 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—

FLUTE, as 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 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.

Tongue, not a word!

Come, trusty sword,

Come, blade, my breast imbrue!

Thisbe stabs herself.

And farewell, friends.

Thus Thisbe ends.

Adieu, adieu, adieu.      Thisbe falls.

THESEUS Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the

dead.

DEMETRIUS Ay, and Wall too.

Bottom and Flute arise.

BOTTOM 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?

THESEUS No epilogue, I pray you. For your play needs

no excuse. Never excuse. For when the players are

all dead, there need 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 your

epilogue alone.

Dance, and the players exit.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.

Lovers, to bed! ’Tis almost fairy time.

I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn

As much as we this night have overwatched.

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.      They exit.

Enter Robin Goodfellow.

ROBIN

Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon,

Whilst the heavy plowman 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 hallowed house.

I am sent with broom before,

To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter Oberon and Titania, King and Queen of Fairies,

with all their train.

OBERON

Through the house give glimmering light,

By the dead and drowsy fire.

Every elf and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier,

And this ditty after me,

Sing and dance it trippingly.

TITANIA

First rehearse your song by rote,

To each word a warbling note.

Hand in hand, with fairy grace,

Will we sing and bless this place.

Oberon leads the Fairies in song and dance.

OBERON

Now, until the break of day,

Through this house each fairy stray.

To the best bride-bed will we,

Which by us shall blessed be,

And the issue there create

Ever shall be fortunate.

So shall all the couples three

Ever true in loving be,

And the blots of Nature’s hand

Shall not in their issue stand.

Never mole, harelip, nor scar,

Nor mark prodigious, such as are

Despised in nativity,

Shall upon their children be.

With this field-dew consecrate

Every fairy take his gait,

And each several chamber bless,

Through this palace, with sweet peace.

And the owner of it blest,

Ever shall in safety rest.

Trip away. Make no stay.

Meet me all by break of day.

All but Robin exit.

ROBIN

If we shadows have offended,

Think but this and all is mended:

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,

No more yielding but a dream,

Gentles, do not reprehend.

If you pardon, we will mend.

And, as I am an honest Puck,

If we have unearned luck

Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,

We will make amends ere long.

Else the Puck a liar call.

So good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends,

And Robin shall restore amends.

He exits.