Pyramus and Thisbe: Or, Loves Master-piece.
Behold the downfall of two Lovers Dear,
And to their Memorys, let fall a Tear,
A sad mistake their Ruine did procure,
When as they thought their FriendshiP should endure;
Oh Cruel Fate! That Cut them off in Prime,
And for Enjoyment, would afford no time.
To the Tune of, Digbys Farewel.
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WHen all hearts did yeild unto Cupid as King,
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And dying for Mistresses was no strang thing,
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When Maids without coyness did candidly deal,
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And men lovd with constancy, faith, and true Zeal:
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There livd a fair pare of true Lovers in Greece
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Who have still bin accounted as Lovs master-piece.
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The Youth was calld Pyramus, Thisbe the Maid:
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Their Love was immortal, and never decayd.
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But alass! their affections were crost by sad Fate:
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To wit, by the fewd and immortal debate
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That had bin fomented for many years space,
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Between both their Families, & their whole Race.
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Which made the fair Cuple, tho scorcht with loves fire,
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Still smother their Flames & conceal their desire:
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They sighd still in private, and wept all alone;
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And dard not discover a Tear or a Groan.
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They sighd all the Night, & they gazd all the Day:
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Thus weeping and gazing, and sighing away
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Their langushing Lives, which they spent all in Tears,
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In sighs, & in groans, & in amorous fears.
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And when the whole world was compos[]d in a sleep,
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Their grief kept them waking to sigh & to weep.
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Thus wandring all night, to the stars they complain,
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Of hardship, of fate, of their torments, and pain.
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But when they no longer those pains coud endure
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Their Love did begin for to seek out some Cure.
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And so they appointed one Night for to meet
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In some neighbouring Vally, and there for to greet:
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And thence fly away to some far distant Cave,
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To love at their leasure: contented to have
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The joyes of each other, and there let loves flame
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Burn quietly out without danger of blame.
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And so when that Phebus had run out his Race,
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Fair Thisbe came first into the meeting place.
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Impatient she stood and expected her Dear;
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She thought that each moment he staid, was a year.
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Then under a Mulbery-tree down she lies,
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But scarce was lay down when she presently spies
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A grim and fierce Lyon besmea[r]d all with Blood,
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Came wandring down from the neighbou[r]ing wood.
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Away run the Nimph to a Cave in a Fright.
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She flys, & her Mantle is lost in the flight:
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Which the bloody Lyon takes up in his Pawes
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He tears it, & then with the Raggs wipes his jaws.
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Soon after pooor Pyramus came for to find,
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His long wisht for Thisbe: but fate prov[]d unkind.
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For when divine joys he did hope for to have
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He found but a winding sheet, death, & cold Grave.
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For when that he saw his loves Mantle all tore
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Bedewd all with blood, & besmeard all with Goar:
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And then saw the Lyon trot over the plain,
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He falsly concluded his Thisby was slain.
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O who can express the vast torment and smart,
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The pangs and the anguish & grief of his heart?
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He made the Woods ring with his pitiful moanes
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The Rocks & the Mountains did Eccho his Groans.
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Alass: (said Pyramus) could she then find
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No help from the Gods! are they so unkind?
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Or else have they stole her away from our sight,
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And so Rob[]d the Earth to make Heaven more bright?
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O tell me kind Sta[r]s! come and tell me but where
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My Thisbe is gon, and Ile follow my dear.
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Two death-wounds already I bear in my breast.
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Once wounded by Love & by grief now opprest.
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Ile weep out my life, & Ile sigh out my Soul:
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Ile groan for my Love till my Carcass grows cold.
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Her Mantle Ile take for my sad Winding-sheet,
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In that mournful posture my Thisbe Ile meet.
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But a languishing death comes with too much delay:
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Great grief is impatient of so long a stay.
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Ile make greater hast to my Love: at which word
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The Youth stabd himself to the hea[r]t with his Sword.
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By this time fair Thisbe was come from he[r] Cave,
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So pale that she ris like a Ghost from its Grave.
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For when she her Pyramus dying did see,
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She lookd much more like to a Carcass than he.
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Youd have thought that the Nymph woud before him have dy[]d
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She fel on his body then mournfully c[r]yd
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O why my dear Pyramus why so unkind;
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Why run you away and leave Thisbe behind?
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At Thisbies sweet Name the Youth lifts up his eyes:
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He looks, & he sighs, & then shuts them & dyes:
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He gazd till he dyd then content with the sight.
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Away to Elizium his Soul took its flight.
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And Thisbies did after it presently flye:
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She struggled, & strove, and made hast for to dye.
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And such hast she made in oretaking her dear
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She ne[]re stayd to complain nor sca[r]ce drop a Tear.
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Her tender, and gentle heart soon burst with grief!
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And Death stole away her fa[i]r Soul like a Thief.
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Then down her cold body she lay by her Love.
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Both pittyd by all the kind Gods of the G[r]ove.
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The amorous Turtles and Nightingalls sung
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Their Obs[e]quies: & [i]n [s]ad Notes their Knell rung.
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And each loving beast of the Wood left his Cave,
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And came forso: to make the dead Lovers a Grave.
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