Act IV, Scene 1

 

Playwright:

 With haste, my angel.

The Playwright orders Puck away, who exits through the audience with tears.

                                    So soon I follow.

I shall leave behind a world of phantoms,

Yet woven amid the crossroads of time

Where I have sat, perhaps, with no more greed

Than an unrequited king or beggar;

And I, indeed, have lifted in my hand,

With my own volition, a mortal sword

And struck at the desires which rampaged

Through my soul, casting them, but in neither

Fury nor malice, at the seat of kings!

With my own volition it seems, it seems,

I have engendered my own final play;

Yet that little flower my angel held?

A purity allowed me not to hold;

Forthwith of Heaven aware, I go, I go.

 

            Exit Playwright back through the veil.