Pyramus and Thisbe.  
LONDON, Printed for Roger jackson, and are to be sold at his shop near Fleet Conduit, 1617.   

TO THE WORSHIPFUL his very friend, D. B. H. DUNSTAN GALE, wisheth all happiness.  
THe worthiness (good Captain) of your demerits, with the benefit of your friendly courtesies, incites me to make proffer unto you of this my unpolished Pamphlet, humbly entreating you to vouchsafe it acceptance, in that amongst many whom I have known, I could find none more meet for the patronizing it then yourself. Which if it please you, I hope it will be the better welcome to others for your sake: and if unconstant fortune do but once more enable me for better, then shall you find a grateful mind ready to requite you with a double guerdeon for your former kindness. Thus craving pardon for this my rash attempt, I humbly take my leave this 25. of November, 1596.  
Your Worships ever devoted, Dunstan Gale.   

PYRAMUS AND THISBE.  

1  
Near to the place where Nilus' channels run,  
There stood a town▪ by love long since undone:  
For by a chance that happened in the same,  
The town's forgot, & with the town the name.  
Within which town (for then it was a town)  
Dwelled two commanders of no small renown,  
Daughter to one, was Thisbe smooth as glass:  
Fairer than Thisbe never woman was.  
Son to the other, Pyramus the bright:  
Young Thisbe's play-feare, Thisbe his delight:  
Both firm in love, as constant and were any,  
Both crossed in love, as proud Love crosseth many.   

2  
For in the pride of summers parching heat,  
When children play and dally in the street,  
Young Thisbe severed from the common sort,  
As gentle nurture loathes each rustic sport,  
Went to an arbour, arbours than were green,  
Where all alone, for fear she should be seen,  
She gathered violets and the Damask rose,  
And made sweet nosegays, from the which she chose,  
One of the sweetest. Sweet were all the rest,  
But that which pleased her wanton eye the best.  
And this (quoth she) shall be my true loves favour:  
Her tender nonage did of true love favour.   

3  
No sooner spoke, but at her speech she blushed:  
For on the sudden Pyramus in rushed,  
Having but newly cropped the spreading pine,  
And other branches that were green and fine,  
Of which to pass his idle time away,  
The boy made wreaths and garlands that were gay,  
And spying Thisbe, Thisbe made him start,  
And he her blush, so tender was her heart:  
She blushed, because another was so near,  
He started, for to find another there;  
Yet looking long, at last they knew each other,  
For why, they loved like sister and like brother.   

4  
When they left looking, for they looked awhile,  
First Pyramus, last Thisbe 'gan to smile,  
I was afraid, thus Thisbe strait began:  
Faint (he replied) a maid and fear a man?  
I feared (quoth she) but now my fear is past.  
Then welcome me (quoth Pyramus) at last.  
Welcome (quoth she) and then she kissed his lips,  
And he from her, sweet Nectar drops out sips:  
She pats his lips, he pals her milk white skin.  
Thus children sport, and thus true love begins:  
But they as children, not as lovers gained,  
For love (alas) twixt them was never named.   

5  
Oft would he take her by the lily hand,  
Cirkling her middle, strait as any wand,  
And cast her down, but let her lie alone,  
For other pastime Pyramus knew none.  
Then up she starts and takes him by the neck,  
And for that fall gives Pyramus a check:  
Yet at the length she chanced to cast him down,  
Though on the green she never gained a gown,  
But rose again, and hid her in the grass,  
That he might tract the place where Thisbe was,  
And finding her (as children use) embrace her,  
For being children nothing could disgrace her.   

6  
But mark the issue, of their sportive play,  
As this sweet couple in the cool shade lay,  
Fair Venus posting whom to Paphos I'll,  
Spied their sports, nor could she choose but smile,  
Wherefore she strait unyoked her silver team,  
And walked on foot along the Crystal stream,  
And envying that these lovers were so bold,  
With jealous eyes she did them both behold.  
And as she looked, casting her eye awry,  
It was her chance (unhappy chance) to spy,  
Where squint-eyed Cupid sat upon his quiver,  
Viewing his none-eyd body in the river.   

7  
Him strait she called, being called he made no stay,  
But to his mother took the nearest way.  
Yet ere he came, she marked the other two,  
Playing as oft tofore th'er wont to do:  
And then she swore, young Pyramus was fair,  
Thisbe but brown, as common women are:  
Anon she wished young Pyramus was near,  
That she might bind love in his golden hair,  
And love him too, but that she called to mind,  
That young Adonis proved so unkind.  
But Cupid came, his coming caused her hate them,  
And in a heat, proud Venus 'gan to rate them.   

8  
Seest thou my son (quoth she) and then she frowned,  
Those brattish elves, that dally on the ground?  
They scorn my kingdom, and neglect my mind,  
Contemn me as inconstant as the wind.  
Then shoot (quoth she) and strike them so in love,  
As nought but death, their love-dart may remove.  
At this he looked, the boy was loath to shoot,  
Yet struck them both so near the hearts sweet root,  
As that he made them both at once to cry  
(Quoth he) I love, for love (quoth she) I die.  
Of this both Venus, and her blind boy boasted,  
And thence to Paphos' Isle in triumph posted.   

9  
Now was the time, when shepherds told their sheep,  
And weary ploughmen ease themselves with sleep,  
When love-prickt Thisbe no where could be found,  
Nor Pyramus, though servants sought them round.  
But news came strait, that Pyramus was seen,  
Sporting with Thisbe lately in the even:  
Like news to both their Parents soon was brought;  
Which news (alas) the lovers downfals wrought.  
For though they loved, as you have heard of yore,  
Their angry parents hate was ten times more,  
And hearing that their children were together,  
Both were afraid lest each had murdered other.   

10  
When they came home, as long they stayed not forth,  
Their storming parents frowned upon them both,  
And charged them never so to meet again,  
Which charge to them, God knows was endless pain:  
For years came on, and true love took such strength,  
That they were well-nigh slain for love at length:  
For though their parents houses joined in one,  
Yet they poor peats, were joined to live alone.  
So great and deadly was the daring hate,  
Which kept their moody parents at debate,  
And yet their hearts as houses joined together,  
Though hard constraint, their bodies did dissever.   

11  
At length they found, as searching lovers find,  
A shift (though hard) which somewhat eased their mind:  
For lo a time-worne crevice in the wall,  
Through this the lovers did each other call,  
And often talk, but softly did they talk,  
Lest busy spy-faults should find out their walk:  
For it was placed in such a secret room,  
As thither did their parents seldom come.  
Through this they kissed, but with their breath they kissed,  
For why the hindering wall was them betwixt,  
Sometimes poor souls, they talked till they were windless  
And all their talk was of their friend's unkindness.   

12  
When they had long time used this late found shift,  
Fearing lest some should undermine their drift,  
They did agree, but through the wall agreed,  
That both should hast unto the grove with speed,  
And in that arbour where they first did meet,  
With semblant love each should the other greet.  
The match concluded, and the time set down,  
Thisbe prepared to get her forth the town,  
For well she wot, her love would keep his hour,  
And be the first should come unto the bower:  
For Pyramus had sworn there for to meet her,  
And like to Venus' champion there to greet her.   

13  
Thisbe and he, for both did sit on briars,  
Till they enjoyed the height of their desires:  
Sought out all means they could to keep their vow,  
And steal away, and yet they knew not how.  
Thisbe at last (yet of the two the first)  
Got out, she went to cool loves burning thirst,  
Yet ere she went (yet as she went) she hide,  
She had a care to deck her up in pride,  
Respecting more his love to whom she went,  
Then parents fear, though knowing to be shent,  
And tricked herself so like a willing lover,  
As purblind Cupid took her for his mother.   

14  
Her upper garment was a rob of lawn,  
On which bright Venus' silver doves were drawn:  
The like wore Venus, Venus' rob was white,  
And so was Thisbe's, not so fair to sight,  
Nor yet so fine, yet was it full as good,  
Because it was not stained with true loves blood.  
About her waste, she wore a scarf of blue,  
In which by cunning needlework she drew  
Love-wounded Venus in the bushy grove,  
Where she inheated, Adonis scorned her love.  
This scarf she wore, (Venus wore such another)  
And that made Cupid take her for his mother.   

15  
Nymph-like attired (for so she was attired)  
She went to purchase what true love desired,  
And as she trod upon the tender grass,  
The grass did kiss her feet as she did pass:  
And when her feet against a flower did strike,  
The bending flowers did stoop to do the like:  
And when her feet did from the ground arise,  
The ground she trod on, kissed her heel likewise.  
Tread where she would, fair Thisbe could not miss,  
For every grass would rob her of a kiss.  
And more the boughs would bend, for joy to meet her  
And chanting birds, with madrigals would greet her.   

16  
Thus goes this maidlike Nymph, or Nymph-like maid,  
Unto the place afore appointed laid,  
And as she passed the groves and fountains clear,  
Where Nymphs used hunting, for Nymphs hunted there,  
They swore she was Diana, or more bright.  
For through the levy boughs they took delight,  
To view her dainty footing as she tripped:  
And once they smiled, for once fair Thisbe slipped,  
Yet though she slipped, she had so swift a pace,  
As that her slipping wrought her no disgrace:  
For of the Nymphs (whose coy eyes did attend her)  
Of all was none, of all that could amend her.   

17  
When she had past Diana's curious train,  
The crooked way did bending turn again,  
Upon the left hand by a forest side,  
Where (out alas) a woe chance did betide:  
For love-adoring Thisbe was so fair,  
That brutish beasts at her delighted are:  
And from the rest as many beasts did room,  
A lamb devouring Lion forth did come,  
And having lately torn a silly Lamb,  
The full gorged Lion sported as it came,  
To him a sport, his sport made Thisbe hie her,  
For why, she durst not let the beast come nigh her.   

18  
Yet still it came, to welcome her it came,  
And not to hurt, yet fearful is the name,  
The name more than the Lion, her dismayed,  
For in her lap the Lion would have played.  
Nor meant the beast to spill her guiltless blood,  
Yet doubtful Thisbe in a fearful mood,  
Let fall her mantle, made of purest white,  
And tender heart, be took her strait to flight,  
And near the place where she should meet her love,  
She slipped, but quickly slipped into a grove,  
And lo a friendly Cave did entertain her,  
For fear the bloody Lion should have slain her   

19  
Thisbe thus 'scaped, for thus she scap't his force,  
Although (God wot) it fell out farther worse:  
The Lion came yet meant no harm at all,  
And coming found the mantle she let fall,  
Which now he kissed, he would have kissed her too,  
But that her nimble footmanship said no.  
He found the rob, which quickly he might find,  
For being light, it hovered in the wind:  
With which the game-some Lion long did play,  
Till hunger called him thence to seek his prey:  
And having played, for play was all his pleasure,  
He left the mantle, Thisbe's chiefest treasure.   

20  
Yet ere he left it, being in a mood,  
He tore it much, and stained it over with blood,  
Which done, with rage he hasted to his prey,  
For they in murder pass their time away.  
And now time-telling, Pyramus at last,  
(For yet the hour of meeting was not passed)  
Got forth (he would have got away before)  
But fate and fortune sought to wrong him more:  
For even that day, more fatal than the rest,  
He needs must give attendance at a feast,  
E'er which was done (swift time was shrewdly wasted)  
But being done, the lovely stripling hasted.   

21  
In haste he ran, but ran in vain God wot,  
Thisbe he sought, fair Thisbe found he not,  
And yet at last her long love rob he found  
All rend and torn upon the bloody ground.  
At which suspicion told him she was dead,  
And only that remained in her stead:  
Which made him weep, like mothers, so wept he,  
That with their eyes their murdered children see;  
And gathering up the limbs in piecemeal torn,  
Of their dear burden murtherously forlorn:  
So Pyramus sick thoughted like a mother,  
For Thisbe's loss, more dear than any other.   

22  
Or who hath seen a mournful Do lament  
For her young Kid, in piecemeal torn and rend,  
And by the poor remainders sit and mourn,  
For love of that which (out alas) is gone?  
Let him behold sad Pyramus, and say,  
Her loss, his love, doth equal every way.  
For as a man that late hath lost his wits,  
Breaks into fury and disaster fits,  
So Pyramus in grief without compare,  
Doth rend his flesh, and tear his golden hair,  
Making the trees to tremble at his mourning,  
And speechless beasts to sorrow with his groaning.   

23  
Alas (quoth he) and then he tore his flesh,  
Gone is the sun that did my Zone refresh,  
Gone is the life, by which I wretch did live,  
Gone is my heaven, which hopeful bliss did give,  
To give me heat, herself lies naked and cold,  
To give me life, to death herself she sold,  
To give me joy, she bale alas did gain,  
My heat, life, joy, procured her death, bale, pain:  
Had I been here, my love had not been dead,  
At least the beasts had torn me in her stead,  
Or would they yet tear me for company,  
Their love to me would slack their tyranny.   

24  
And then he cast his eyes upon the ground,  
And here and there where bloody grass he found;  
Sweet blood (quoth he) and then he kissed the blood,  
And yet that kiss God wot did little good,  
Couldst thou being poured into my half slain breast,  
Revive again, or purchase Thisbe's rest,  
This hand should tear a passage through the same,  
And yet that blood from Thisbe never came.  
And then he gathered up the bloody grass,  
And looking grieved, and grieving cried alas,  
Where shall I hide this blood of my dear lover,  
That neither man nor beast may it discover?   

25  
Then in the mantle he the grass up tie,  
And laid it close unto his naked side:  
Lie there (quoth he) dear to me as my heart,  
Of which thy mistress had the greater part.  
Tut she is dead, and then he vowed and swore,  
He would not live to murder love no more:  
Which spoke, he drew his Rapier from his side,  
Of which the love-slaine youth would then have died,  
But that he thought, that penance too too small,  
To pacify fair Thisbe's Ghost withal:  
Wherefore he raged, and ragingly exclaimed,  
That he true love, and true love him had maimed.   

26  
And then his Rapier up again he took,  
Then on the mantle cast a grievous look,  
For me (quoth he) fair Thisbe lost this blood,  
She dead, my life would do me little good,  
And well he thought he could endure the smart  
Of death, and yet he could not harm his heart:  
For why his hand being guiltless of the deed,  
Denied to make his harmless heart to bleed,  
And like a trembling executioner,  
Constrained to slay a guiltless prisoner,  
His hand retired still, further back and further,  
As loathing to enact so vile a murder.   

27  
But Pyramus like to a raging judge,  
Seeing his executioner flinch, and grudge  
To do the duty he enjoined him do,  
Replied, dispatch, or I'll cut thee off too:  
At which the trembling hand took up the blade,  
But when the second proffer it had made,  
It threw it down, and boldly thus replied,  
He was not cause that lovely Thisbe died,  
Nor would I slay thee, knew I she were dead:  
Then be the blood upon thy guilty head.  
Of these last words young Pyramus dispenses,  
And called a synodie of all his severed senses.   

28  
His conscience told him, he deserved not death,  
For he depraved not Thisbe of her breath:  
But than suspicion thought, he caused her die,  
But conscience swore, suspicion told a lie.  
At this suspicion prompted love in th'ear,  
And bade him show his verdict, and come near,  
Which soon he did, and sat among the rest,  
As one whom Pyramus esteemed best:  
For when proud Love gave in his faulty plea,  
He asked if he were guilty, Love said yea,  
And with the youth, fond youth by love entangled,  
Agreed his guiltless body should be mangled.   

29  
Resolved to die he sought the pointed blade,  
Which erst his hand had cast into the shade,  
And see, proud Chance, fell Murders chiefest friend,  
Had pitched the blade right upwards on the end,  
Which being loath from murder to depart,  
Stood on the hilt, pointblank against his heart:  
At which he smiled, and checked his fearful hand,  
That stubbornly resisted his command.  
And though (quoth he) thou scorned to do my will,  
What lets me now my mind for to fulfil?  
Both Fate and Fortune to my death are willing,  
And be thou witness of my minds fulfilling.   

30  
With that he cast himself upon the sword,  
And with the fall his tender breast through gored:  
The angry blood, for so his blood was shed,  
Gushed out, to find the author of the deed,  
But when it none but Pyramus had found,  
Key cold with fear it stood upon the ground,  
And all the blood, I mean that thus was spilled,  
Ran down the blade, and circled in the hilt,  
And presently congealed about the same,  
And would have called it by some murderous name,  
Could it have spoke, near sought it any further,  
But did arrest the Rapier of the murder.   

31  
And as the child that seeth his father slain,  
Will run (alas) although he run in vain,  
And hug about the shedder of his blood,  
Although God wot, his hugging do small good,  
Even so his blood, the offspring of his heart,  
Ran out amain, to take his father's part,  
And hung upon the rapier and the hilt,  
As who should say, the sword his blood had spilled:  
Nor would depart, but cleave about the same,  
So dear it loved the place from whence it came:  
For sure it was poor Pyramus was murdered,  
Nor by pursuit, could his poor blood be furthred.   

32  
When this was done, as thus the deed was done,  
Begun, alas, and ended too too soon,  
Fair Thisbe strucken pale with cold despair,  
Came forth the Cave into the wholesome air:  
And as she came, the boughs would give her way,  
Thinking her Venus in her best array.  
But she (alas) full of suspicious fear,  
Lest that the late feared Lion should be there,  
Came quaking forth, and then start back again,  
Fearing the beast, and yet she feared in vain.  
She feared the Lion, Lions than were feeding,  
And in this fear, her nose gushed out a bleeding.   

33  
Her sudden bleeding argued some mischance,  
Which cast her doubtful senses in a trance,  
But of the Lion troubled Thisbe thought,  
And then of him, whom fearfully she sought:  
Yet forth she went, replete with jealous fear,  
Still fearing, of the Lion was her fear:  
And if a bird but flew from forth a bush,  
She straightways thought, she heard the Lion rush.  
Her nose left bleeding, that amazed her more  
Than all the troublous fear she felt before:  
For sudden bleeding argues ill ensuing,  
But sudden leaving, is fell fears renewing.   

34  
By this she came into the open wood,  
Where Pyramus had lost his dearest blood,  
And round about she rolls her sun-bright eyes  
For Pyramus, whom no where she espies:  
Then forth she tripped, and nearly too she tripped,  
And over hedges oft this virgin skipped.  
Then did she cross the fields, and new mown grass,  
To find the place whereas this arbour was:  
For it was seated in a pleasant shade,  
And by the shepherds first this bower was made.  
Fair Thisbe made more haste into the bower,  
Because that now was just the meeting hour.   

35  
But coming thither, as she soon was there,  
She found him not, which did augment her fear:  
But strait she thought (as true love think, the best)  
He had been laid down in the shade to rest,  
Or of set purpose hidden in the reeds,  
To make her seek him in the sedgy weeds,  
For so of children they had done before,  
Which made her thoughts seem true so much the more:  
But having sought whereas she thought he was,  
She could not find her Pyramus (alas)  
Wherefore she back returned unto the arbour,  
And there reposed her after all her labour.   

36  
To one that's weary drowsy sleep will creep,  
Weary was Thisbe, Thisbe fell asleep,  
And in her sleep she dreamt she did lament,  
Thinking her heart from forth her breast was rend,  
By her own censure damned to cruel death,  
And in her sight be rest of vital breath.  
When she awaked, as long she had not slept,  
She wept amain, yet knew not why she wept:  
For as before her heart was whole and sound,  
And no defect about her could be found,  
She dreamt she hurt, no hurt could she discover,  
Wherefore she went to seek her late lost lover.   

37  
Suspicious eyes, quick messengers of woe,  
Brought home sad news ere Thisbe far could go:  
For lo, upon the margin of the wood,  
They spied her love, lie weltering in his blood,  
Having her late lost mantle at his side,  
Stained with blood, his heart blood was not dried.  
Wisty she looked, and as she looked did cry,  
See, see, my heart, which I did judge to die:  
Poor heart (quoth she) and then she kissed his breast,  
Wert thou enclosed in mine, there shouldst thou rest:  
I caused thee die poor heart, yet rue thy dying,  
And saw thy death, as I asleep was lying.   

38  
Thou art my heart, more dear than is mine own,  
And thee sad death in my false sleep was shown.  
And then she plucked away the murderous blade,  
And cursed the hands by whom it first was made,  
And yet she kissed his hand that held the same,  
And double kissed the wound from whence it came.  
Himself was author of his death she knew,  
For yet the wound was fresh, and bleeding new,  
And some blood yet the ill-made wound did keep,  
Which when she saw, she freshly 'gan to weep,  
And wash the wound with fresh tears down distilling,  
And viewed the same (God wot) with eyes unwilling.   

39  
She would have spoke, but grief stopped up her breath,  
For me (quoth she) my Love is done to death,  
And shall I live, sighs stopped her hind most word,  
When speechless up she took the bloody sword,  
And then she cast a look upon her Love,  
Then to the blade her eye she did remove,  
And sobbing cried, since love hath murdered thee,  
He shall not choose but likewise murder me:  
That men may say, and then she sighed again,  
I him, he me, love him and me hath slain.  
Then with resolve, love her resolve did further:  
With that same blade, herself, herself did murder.   

40  
Then with a sigh, she fell upon the blade,  
And from the bleeding wound the sword had made,  
Her fearful blood ran trickling to the ground,  
And sought about, till Pyramus it found:  
And having found him, circled in his corpse,  
As who should say, I'll guard thee by my force.  
And when it found his blood, as forth it came,  
Then would it stay, and touch, and kiss the same,  
As who should say, my mistress love to thee,  
Though dead in her, doth still remain in me.  
And for a sign of mutual love in either,  
Their ill shed blood congealed both together.   
FINIS.