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Dem. Ay, and Wall too.

[Bot.] [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?

The. 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 blam’d. Marry, if he that writ it had play’d 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 outsleep 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. 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;