dwarfland

PYRAME

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 liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer.

Come tears, confound,

Out sword, and wound

The pap of Pyramus :

Ay, that left pap,

Where heart doth hop.

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.

A Midsummer Night's Dream, V, I. Shakespeare.