1 And I like Helen, till the fates me kill.
2 Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.
3 A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love.
4 I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.
5 First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide.
6 If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, And kill me too.
7 For Pyramus therein doth kill himself, Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess, Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears The passion of loud laughter never shed.
8 Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get you your weapons in your hand and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good monsieur, bring me the honey-bag.
9 Write me a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the more better assurance, tell them that I Pyramus am not Pyramus but Bottom the weaver.
10 He follow'd you; for love I follow'd him; But he hath chid me hence, and threaten'd me To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too: And now, so you will let me quiet go, To Athens will I bear my folly back, And follow you no further.
11 Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; Then for the third part of a minute, hence; Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds; Some war with reremice for their leathern wings, To make my small elves coats; and some keep back The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.