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Approach, ye Furies fell!

O Fates, come, come,

Cut thread and thrum,

Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.

Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

Pyr.

O, wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?

Since lion vild hath here deflow’r’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.]

Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.

Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead, he is nothing.

The. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and yet prove an ass.

Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisby comes back and finds her lover?