Verses 36-40 from “Pyramus and Thisbe” by Dunstan Gale

36
To one that’s weary drowsie sleepe will creepe,
Weary was Thisbe, Thisbe fell asleepe,
And in her sleepe she dreamt she did lament,
Thinking her heart from forth her brest was rent,
By her owne censure damn’d to cruell death,
And in her sight be rest of vitall breath.
When she awak’t, as long she had not slept,
She wept amaine, 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 seeke her late lost lover.

37
Suspicious eyes, quick messengers of wo,
Brought home sad newes ere Thisbe farre could go:
For lo, upon the margent of the wood,
They spy’d her love, lye weltring in his bloud,
Having her late lost mantle at his side,
Stained with bloud, his hart bloud was not dry’d.
Wisty she lookt, and as she lookt did cry,
See, see, my hart, which I did iudge to dye:
Poore hart (quoth she) and then she kist his brest,
Wert thou inclosd in mine, there shouldst thou rest:
I causd thee die poor heart, yet rue thy dying,
And saw thy death, as I asleepe was lying.

38
Thou art my hart, more deare then is mine owne,
And thee sad death in my false sleepe was showne.
And then she pluckt away the murtherous blade,
And curst the hands by whom it first was made,
And yet she kist his hand that held the same,
And double kist the wound from whence it came.
Himselfe was author of his death she knew,
For yet the wound was fresh, and bleeding new,
And some bloud yet the ill-made wound did keepe,
Which when she saw, she freshly gan to weepe,
And wash the wound with fresh tears down distilling,
And view’d the same (God wot) with eyes unwilling.

39
She would have spoke, but griefe stopt up her breath,
For me (quoth she) my Loue is done to death,
And shall I live, sighes stopt her hind most word,
When speechlesse up she tooke the bloudy sword,
And then she cast a looke upon her Love,
Then to the blade her eye she did remove,
And sobbing cride, since love hath murthred thee,
He shall not chuse but likewise murther me:
That men may say, and then she sigh’d againe,
I him, he me, love him and me hath slaine.
Then with resolve, love her resolve did further:
With that same blade, her selfe, her selfe did murther.

40
Then with a sigh, she fell upon the blade,
And from the bleeding wound the sword had made,
Her fearefull bloud ran trickling to the ground,
And sought about, till Pyramus it found:
And having found him, circled in his corse,
As who should say, Ile gard thee by my force.
And when it found his bloud, as forth it came,
Then would it stay, and touch, and kisse the same,
As who should say, my mistresse love to thee,
Though dead in her, doth still remaine in me.
And for a signe of mutuall love in either,
Their ill shed bloud congealed both together.

From: Gale, Dunstan, Pyramus and Thisbe, 2003, Text Creation Partnership: Ann Arbor, Michigan and Oxford.
(http://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A01407.0001.001/1:3?rgn=div1;view=fulltext)

Date: 1597

By: Dunstan Gale (fl. 1596)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: