THESEUS Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
DEMETRIUS Ay, and Wall too.
BOTTOM No, I assure you, the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company?
THESEUS No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe’s garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is truly, and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue alone.
[Dance, and exeunt actors.] (5.1.341-352)
Out of a stunned silence: Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead, which is a statement of fact, and also an acknowledgement of the perennial theatrical problem, how do you get the bodies off? but there’s also some pathos: all too often, Everyone Dies. And bathos: because it’s Lion and Moonshine and the latter’s hands are full with his lantern and his thornbush and his wee dog. Demetrius (shut up Demetrius) has to add his contribution, but at least he gets a notably silly last line: aye, and Wall too. So really it’s going to be down to Lion, because Wall can’t really bend.
This is the longest Bottom has ever gone without speaking and he can’t stop himself—presumably he sits up, suddenly?—but also he’s anxious to reassure the audience: no, I assure you, the wall is down that parted their fathers. There’s been no suggestion, actually, that the lovers’ families have any enmity between then, it’s surely there because of the Romeo and Juliet parallel (and also comedy). Will it please you to see the epilogue—there’s an epilogue? is Quince steeling himself to go again?—or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company? Bottom messes up his verbs, obviously, but the main point is the dance, a nice cheerful stompy one. No epilogue I pray you—anguished glances from Hippolyta and others? not just because they can’t take any more of this, but because they’re desperate to get to bed—but Theseus is courteous: for your play needs no excuse. That’d be the customary function of the epilogue, but, as Theseus points out, for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Nicely done, Theseus, the equivalent of going round after the show and declaring, darling, wonderful is not the word! Marry, if he that writ it—anguished/hopeful look from Quince?—had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe’s garter—even if the denouement had included such an action (a traditional lover’s death, but also ridiculous)—it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is truly, and very notably discharged. Excellent story, great play, very, um, distinctive in its performance. It was great! No, really. Theseus the politician, but also aware that if he encourages them too much, it could go badly wrong. But come, your Bergomask—show us your dance! give us some music (and everyone can join in, giving Hermia and Helena in particular something to do)—let your epilogue alone. Please. No epilogue.
