The Sources and Analogues of 'A Midsummer-Night's Dream'/The Legend of Pyramus and Thisbe

The Legend of Pyramus and Thisbe
From Arthur Golding's translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses (1575), Book IV, ff. 52-3.


 * Within the town (of whose huge walls so monstrous high and thick,
 * The fame is given Semiramis for making them of brick)
 * Dwelt hard together two young folk, in houses joined so near,
 * That under all one roof well nigh both twain conveyéd were.
 * The name of him was Pyramus, and Thisbe call'd was she,
 * So fair a man in all the East was none alive as he.
 * Nor ne'er a woman, maid, nor wife in beauty like to her.
 * This neighbourhood bred acquaintance first, this neighbourhood first did stir
 * The secret sparks: this neighbourhood first an entrance in did show
 * For love, to come to that to which it afterward did grow.
 * And if that right had taken place they had been man and wife,
 * But still their parents went about to let which (for their life)
 * They could not let. For both their hearts with equal flame did burn.
 * No man was privy to their thoughts. And for to serve their turn,
 * Instead of talk they uséd signs: the closelier they suppressed
 * The fire of love, the fiercer still it ragéd in their breast.
 * The wall that parted house from house had riven therein a cranny,
 * Which shrunk at making of the wall: this fault not marked of any
 * Of many hundred years before (what doth not love espy?)
 * These lovers first of all found out, and made a way whereby
 * To talk together secretly, and through the same did go
 * Their loving whisp'rings very light and safely to and fro.
 * Now as at one side Pyramus, and Thisbe on the tother
 * Stood often drawing one of them the pleasant breath from other:
 * O spiteful wall (said they) why dost thou part us lovers thus?
 * What matter were it if that thou permitted both of us
 * In arms each other to embrace? or if thou think that this
 * Were over-much, yet mightest thou at least make room to kiss.
 * And yet thou shalt not find us churls: we think ourselves in debt
 * For the same piece of courtesy, in vouching safe to let
 * Our sayings to our friendly ears thus freely come and go.
 * Thus having where they stood in vain complainéd of their woe,
 * When night drew near they bade adieu, and each gave kisses sweet
 * Unto the parget on their side the which did never meet.
 * Next morning with her cheerful light had driven the stars aside,
 * And Phoebus with his burning beams the dewy grass had dried,
 * These lovers at their wonted place by fore-appointment met,
 * Where after much complaint and moan they covenanted to get
 * Away from such as watchéd them, and in the evening late
 * To steal out of their fathers' house and eke the city gate.
 * And to th' intent that in the fields they strayed not up and down,
 * They did agree at Ninus' tomb to meet without the town,
 * And tarry underneath a tree that by the same did grow;
 * Which was a fair high mulberry with fruit as white as snow,
 * Hard by a cool and trickling spring. This bargain pleased them both,
 * And so daylight (which to their thought away but slowly go'th)
 * Did in the Ocean fall to rest, and night from thence doth rise.
 * As soon as darkness once was come, straight Thisbe did devise
 * A shift to wind her out of doors, that none that were within
 * Perceivéd her; and muffling her with clothes about her chin,
 * That no man might discern her face, to Ninus' tomb she came
 * Unto the tree, and set her down there underneath the same.
 * Love made her bold. But see the chance, there comes besmeared with blood
 * About the chaps, a lioness all foaming from the wood,
 * From slaughter lately made of kine to staunch her bloody thirst
 * With water of the foresaid spring. Whom Thisbe, spying first
 * Afar by moonlight, thereupon with fearful steps gan fly
 * And in a dark and irksome cave did hide herself thereby.
 * And as she fled away for haste she let her mantle fall,
 * The which for fear she left behind not looking back at all.
 * Now when the cruel lioness her thirst had staunchéd well,
 * In going to the wood she found the slender weed that fell
 * From Thisbe, which with bloody teeth in pieces she did tear.
 * The night was somewhat further spent ere Pyramus came there.
 * Who seeing in this subtle sand the print of lion's paw,
 * Waxed pale for fear. But when that he the bloody mantle saw
 * All rent and torn; one night (he said) shall lovers two confound,
 * Of which long life deservèd she of all that live on ground.
 * My soul deserves of this mischance the peril for to bear.
 * I, wretch, have been the death of thee, which to this place of fear
 * Did cause thee in the night to come, and came not here before.
 * My wicked limbs and wretched guts with cruel teeth therefore
 * Devour ye, O ye lions all that in this rock do dwell.
 * But cowards use to wish for death. The slender weed that fell
 * From Thisbe up he takes, and straight doth bear it to the tree,
 * Which was appointed erst the place of meeting for to be.
 * And when he had bewept and kissed the garment which he knew,
 * Receive thou my blood too (quoth he), and therewithal he drew
 * His sword, the which among his guts he thrust, and by and by
 * Did draw it from the bleeding wound, beginning for to die,
 * And cast himself upon his back. The blood did spin on high
 * As when a conduit pipe is cracked, the water bursting out
 * Doth shoot itself a great way off, and pierce the air about.
 * The leaves that were upon the tree besprinkled with his blood
 * Were dyéd black. The root also, bestained as it stood
 * A deep dark purple colour, straight upon the berries cast,
 * Anon scarce ridded of her fear with which she was aghast,
 * For doubt of disappointing him comes Thisbe forth in haste,
 * And for her lover looks about, rejoicing for to tell
 * How hardly she had 'scaped that night the danger that befell.
 * And as she knew right well the place and fashion of the tree
 * (As which she saw so late before) even so when she did see
 * The colour of the berries turned, she was uncertain whether
 * It were the tree at which they both agreed to meet together.
 * While in this doubtful stound she stood, she cast her eye aside,
 * And there beweltered in his blood her lover she espied
 * Lie sprawling with his dying limbs; at which she started back,
 * And lookéd pale as any box; a shuddering through her strack,
 * Even like the sea which suddenly with whissing noise doth move,
 * When with a little blast of wind it is but touched above.
 * But when approaching nearer him she knew it was her love,
 * She beat her breast, she shriekéd out, she tare her golden hairs,
 * And taking him between her arms did wash his wounds with tears;
 * She meint her weeping with his blood, and kissing all his face
 * (Which now became aa cold as ice) she cried in woeful case:
 * Alas! what chance, my Pyramus hath parted thee and me?
 * Make answer, O my Pyramus: it is thy Thisbe, even she
 * Whom thou dost love most heartily that speaketh unto thee:
 * Give ear and raise thy heavy head. He, hearing Thisbe's name,
 * Lift up his dying eyes, and, having seen her, closed the same.
 * But when she knew her mantle there, and saw his scabbard lie
 * Without the sword: Unhappy man, thy love had made thee die;
 * Thy love (she said) hath made thee slay thyself. This hand of mine
 * Is strong enough to do the like. My love no less than thine
 * Shall give me force to work my wound. I will pursue thee dead,
 * And, wretched woman as I am, it shall of me be said,
 * That like as of thy death I was the only cause and blame,
 * So am I thy companion eke and partner in the same.
 * For death which only could, alas! asunder part us twain,
 * Shall never so dissever us but we will meet again.
 * And you the parents of us both, most wretched folk alive,
 * Let this request that I shall make in both our names belyve
 * Entreat you to permit that we, whom chaste and steadfast love,
 * And whom even death hath joined in one, may, as it doth behove,
 * In one grave be together laid. And thou unhappy tree,
 * Which shroudest now the corse of one, and shalt anon through me
 * Shroud two, of this same slaughter hold the sicker signs for ay
 * Black be the colour of thy fruit and mourning-like alway,
 * Such as the murder of us twain may evermore bewray.
 * This said, she took the sword, yet warm with slaughter of her love,
 * And setting it beneath her breast did to the heart it shove.
 * Her prayer with the gods and with their parents took effect,
 * For when the fruit is throughly ripe, the berry is bespect
 * With colour tending to a black. And that which after fire
 * Remainéd, rested in one tomb as Thisbe did desire