Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
This beauteous lady Thisby is certain.

By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn
Met at a tomb to woo by pale moonlight.
This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name,
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
Did scare away, or rather did affright...

If we offend, we've got good will,
If we our crude, our measure's plain
Our true intent is your delight
It's merry, tragical and brief...
Oh Pyramus...Pyramus...loved Thisby

And as she fled, her mantle she did fall,
Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain,
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall,
And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain,
Da da da da da da da da da da

Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast,
Thus he died,
He died, he died,
His soul in the sky...

Now Thisby's passion ends the play in tears,
Asleep, My Dear?
What, Dead, My Dove? Arise!
Tongue not a word,
Come blade my breast imbrue,

Thus Thisby end, adieu, adieu,
Adieu, adieu, adieu, adieu, adieu, adieu, adieu,

If we offend, we've got good will,
If we our crude, our measure's plain
Our true intent is your delight
It's merry, tragical and brief...
Oh Pyramus...Pyramus...loved Thisby
Da da da da da da da da da da
Oh Pyramus...Pyramus...loved Thisby