Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;

I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright;

For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,

I trust to take of truest Thisby's sight.

But stay: O spite!

But mark, boor knight,

What dreadful dole is here?

Eyes, do you see?

How can it be?

O dainty duck, O dear!

Thy mantle good,

What, stained with blood?

Approach, ye furies fell!

O Fates, come, come,

Cut thread and thrum,

Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?

Since lion vile hath here deflow'red my dear;

Which is-no. no!-which was the fairest dame

That lived, that, loved, that liked, that looked with cheer.

Come, tears, confound,

Out sword, and wound;

The pap of Pyramus;

Ay, the 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.

Now die, die, die, die, die.