Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is
but one.
Lys. Less than an ace, man, for he is dead;
he is nothing.317
The. With the help of a surgeon, he might
yet recover, and prove an ass.
Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone before
Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?321
The. She will find him by starlight. Here
she comes; and her passion ends the play.
Enter Thisbe.
Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one
for such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.325
Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyra-
mus, which Thisbe, is the better: he for a man,
God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us.
Lys. She hath spied him already with those
sweet eyes.330
Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet:—
This.Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise!
Speak, speak! Quite dumb?
Dead, dead! A tomb336
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These lily lips,
This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,340
Are gone, are gone:
Lovers, make moan!
His eyes were green as leeks.
314 No . . . ace; cf. n.
326, 327 which . . . which: whether . . . or
328 warrant: defend
