O
wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
Since lion vile hath here
deflower'd my dear:
Which is'no, no'which was the fairest dame
That
lived, that loved, that liked, 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]