[Alarum. Enter Buffy, Joan/Wesley, Faith, Giles, Oz, Willow, Cordelia, Angel, Spike, tweed wearing watchers [at one door] and Adam, Glory, the Mayor as the shadow of a giant’s serpent’s head on the back wall, and assorted minions at another. They fight. Buffy pulls out Adam’s power core. Smoke. She throws it at the Mayor’s shadow. Smoke. The Mayor is slain. They fight. They fight. Glory breaks a nail. Her minions hand her Ben’s coat.]

Huh, Ben is Glory and Glory is Ben.

Dost thou imply some connection between Ben and Glory.

Yeah and Verily,
Ben is Glory, Glory is Ben.

So, there is some link to Glory by good Ben.

Uh, yeah.

God and your arems be praised, victorious friends!
The day is ours. The bloody dog is dead.

[Enter First as Buffy]

I shall retake this world that they have made,And turn it into a devil’s playground,
Where their wounds do weep a quenching stream.

Oh, To a nunnery, go,and quickly too. Farewell.
We careth not.

[Exit First]

Tis a strange world that has such things in it.

[Enter Dawn, dressed as herself]

Soft you now!
On Glory’s death, I cast aside the role of Don,
To once more Dawn be, in whose guise,
Be all my sins remember'd.

Anyway,
The battle’s fought and the world is won,
And we of the world stand in it.
Angel shall I chase after?
I your spaniel, the more you beat me, the more I fawn on you.
William shall we dance our ringlets to the whistling wind?

Are you be ready for that, are you well cooked?
And e’ en then, I am not so.

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short;
Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee;
O, my love, my love is young!
Age, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks I stay'st too long,
But I am afeared, for I have not the talent which
some people possess, of conversing easily with
those I have never seen before.
I cannot catch their tone of conversation,
or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.

My fingers, do not move over the lute in the masterly manner
Which I see so many do. They have not the same force or rapidity,
And do not produce the same expression.
But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault
Because I would not take the trouble of practicing.
It is not that I do not believe my fingers
As capable as any other man's of superior execution.

Men must endure
Their going hence even as their coming hither;
Ripeness is all.
I am full of youth and summer morn,
And must go forth to ripen on the vine.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this,
The intelligence that moves, devotion is,
And as the other Spheares, by being growne
Subject to forraigne motion, lose their owne,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey:
Pleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit
For their first mover, and are whirld by it.
Hence is't, that I am carryed towards the West
This day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East.
There I should see a Sunne, by rising set,
And by that setting summer day beget;
For that looks towards them; and thou look'st towards mee,
O Buffy, as thou stand'st upon the lee;
I turne my backe to thee, but to receive
Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave.
O thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee,
Burne off my rusts, and my deformity,
Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace,
That thou may'st know mee, and I'll turne my face.
Oye, that didn’t make much sense, did it’?
I meantheth, that halfway through the journey of our lives
I came to myself in a dark wood and found that the
True way was lost and the monster that meanaced was myself.
I know that I am a monster, but in thine eyes
I see myself for a man with miles to go before I sleep.
So, what then now.

The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.What? Tis a good thing.

Would that Darla had lived to see her children so turned
She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

[Enter Darla and Lindsey]

Another Darla!

When I lived I was your other partner
And when you killed, you were my other darling boy.

The former Darla, Darla that is dead!

Nothing certainer. That Darla died souless, but I do truly live,
Brought back to life by the Wolf,
The Ram and the Hart, Lawyers
And surely as I live, I am no more a vampire

[Hands Angel a scroll and yellow cliff notes]

“The vampire with a soul, once he fulfills his destiny, will become mortal. However, he has to survive the coming darkness, the apocalyptic battles, a few plagues, and several fiends that will be unleashed."

[Enter Drucilla]

Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

All the world's a stage,And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,

An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses,
Thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.

Ah, love, Still mad as the sea and wind, when both contend
Which is the mightier: in her lawless fit,
Behind the arras hearing something stir,
Whips out her mask, cries, 'A rat, a rat!'
And, in this brainish apprehension, kills
The unseen good old man.

Twinkle twinkle little bat,
How I wonder where you’re at,
Like a tea tray in the sky,
He stuck in my teeth, by & by.

Yeah, good times,
I mean bad times.
I mean beauty effulgent.

[Exeunt Angel, Spike, Darla, Drucilla and Lindsey]

Good, I thought they’d never leave.
My blessing season this in thee!

Good gentles, I invite your all
To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest
For this one night; which, part of it, we'll waste
With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it
Go quick away; the story of our lives.
By my so potent art, this rough life
I here abjure, and, I'll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I'll drown my book.

Drown not your books, break not your staff,
For there are Watcher’s questions yet, and evil still afoot
Lay on Good Giles and explain,
Twins I understand, but if there is but one
Slayer in all the world, how then three?

And who is to be Watcher to all?

[Removes breast plate]

I am dumb!

If nothing lets to make us happy both
But this my feminine usurp'd attire,
Do not embrace me till each circumstance
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
That I am Wesley: which to confirm,
I'll bring you to a captain in this town,
Where lie my watcher’s tweeds; by whose gentle help
I was preserved to serve this noble town.

So comes it, Giles, you have been mistook:
But nature to her bias drew in that.
You would have been contracted to a Watcher;
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived,
You are Watcher both to a maid and maid.

Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times
Thou never shouldst love woman like to me.
I could have driven automatic,
But stick suits me right as well.
Give me thy hand and let me see thee in thy watcher’s tweeds.

Behold him that gave aim to all thy oaths,
And entertain'd 'em deeply in his heart.
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!
O Watcher, let this habit make thee blush!
Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me
Such an immodest raiment, not my own,
If shame live, in a disguise:
It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,
Men to change their shapes than other men their minds.

Than men their minds! 'tis true.
O heaven! were man
But adaptable, he were perfect. That one error
Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins:
Then both us as Watcher to Slayer let us go.

But, there’s still two Slayers,
How is this possible?

I died. Twice.In fact, you were there.
But that was another me,
Another life, and another you.

That rosenberg and guildenstern are dead
Is meaningless, what then of my lady Tara.

She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!
Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold:
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

But good Jenny, your dead body I did see and weep.

I was only mostly dead, but to blave,
true love, and a vengeance demon, brought me to return.

Start not; Tara’s actions shall be holy as
You hear my spell is lawful: do not shun her
Until you see her die again; for then
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand:
When she was young you woo'd her; now in age
Is she become the suitor?

O, she's warm!If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.

Tara hangs about Willow’s neck:
If she pertain to life let her speak too.

Ay, and make't manifest where she has lived,
Or how stolen from the dead.

That she is living, she never died
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale: but it appears she lives,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.

O, peace, Willow!
Thou shouldst a wife take by my consent,
As I by thine a wife: this is a match,
And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine;
We were dissever'd: hastily lead away
To San Francisco for our wedding vows

Good lady, may I offer you escort upon the way.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Road trip!

[Exeunt all, but Buffy]

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Slayer,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Joss a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And ME shall restore amends.