No More Learning

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.
Tongue, not a word.
Come, trusty sword;
Come, blade, my breast imbrue. [Stabs herself]
And farewell, friends;
Thus Thisby ends;
Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies]
THESEUS.
Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
DEMETRIUS. Ay, and Wall too.
BOTTOM. [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?
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
hang'd himself in Thisby's garter, it would have been a fine
tragedy. And so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd. But
come, your Bergomask; let 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,
As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd
The heavy gait of night.