With shears his thread of silk336.
Tongue, not a word.
Come, trusty sword,
Come, blade, my breast imbrue339.
Stabs herself
And farewell friends,
Thus Thisbe ends:
Adieu, adieu, adieu.
Dies
THESEUS Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
DEMETRIUS Ay, and Wall too.
BOTTOM No, I assure you, the wall is down that
Gets up
parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or
to hear a Bergomask dance between347 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 hung 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.
A dance
The iron tongue of midnight hath told355 twelve.
Lovers, to bed, 'tis almost fairy time.
I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn
As much as we this night have overwatched358.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled359
The heavy gait360 of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity361, In nightly revels and new jollity.
Exeunt