Page 2712 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1
P. 2712
be brief. [310]
DEMET RIUS
A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better;
he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us!
LY SANDER
She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. [315]
DEMET RIUS
And thus she means, videlicet-
T HISBE (Stabs herself.)
(Dies.)
Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise!
Speak, speak! Quite dumb? [320]
Dead, dead? A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These lily lips,
This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks, [325]
Are gone, are gone!
Lovers, make moan;
His eyes were green as leeks.
O Sisters Three,
Come, come to me, [330]
With hands as pale as milk;
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word; [335]
Come, trusty sword,
Come, blade, my breast imbrue!
And farewell, friends;
Thus Thisbe ends:
Adieu, adieu, adieu! [340]
