# 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