Yet still it came, to welcome her it came, And not to hurt, yet fearefull is the name, The name more then the Lion, her dismayd, For in her lap the Lion would haue playd. Nor meant the beast to spill her guilelesse bloud, Yet doubtfull _Thisbe_ in a fearefull moode, Let fall her mantle, made of purest white, And tender heart, betooke her straight to flight, And neere the place where she should meet her loue, Shee slipt, but quickely slipt into a groue, And lo a friendly Caue did entertaine her, For feare the bloudy Lion should haue slaine her. 19 _Thisbe_ thus scap't, for thus she scap't his force, Although (God wot) it fell out farther worse: The Lion came yet meant no harme at all, And comming found the mantle she let fall, Which now he kist, he would haue kist her too, But that her nimble footmanship said no. He found the robe, which quickly he might find, For being light, it houered in the winde: VVith which the game-some Lion long did play, Till hunger cald him thence to seeke his prey: And hauing playd, for play was all his pleasure, He left the mantle, _Thisbes_ chiefest treasure. 20 Yet ere he left it, being in a mood, He tore it much, and stain'd it ore with bloud, Which done, with rage he hasted to his prey, For they in murther passe their time away. And now time-telling, _Pyramus_ at last, (For yet the houre of meeting was not past) Got forth (he would haue got away before) But fate and fortune sought to wrong him more: For euen that day, more fatall then the rest, He needs must giue attendance at a feast, Ere which was done (swift time was shrewdly wasted) But being done, the louely stripling hasted. 21 In hast he ran, but ran in vaine God wot, _Thisbe_ he sought, faire _Thisbe_ found he not, And yet at last her long loue robe he found All rent and torne vpon the bloody ground. At which suspicion told him she was dead, And onely that remained in her stead: Which made him weepe, like mothers, so wept he, That with their eyes their murthered children see; And gathering vp the limbes in peecemeale torne, Of their deare burthen murtherously forlorne: So _Pyramus_ sicke thoughted like a mother, For _Thisbes_ losse, more deare then any other. 22 Or who hath seene a mournefull Doe lament For her young Kid, in peecemeale torne and rent, And by the poore remainders sit and mourne, For loue of that which (out alas) is gone? Let him behold sad _Pyramus_, and say, Her losse, his loue, doth equall euery way. For as a man that late hath lost his wits, Breakes into fury and disaster fits, So _Pyramus_ in griefe without compare, Doth rend his flesh, and teare his golden haire, Making the trees to tremble at his mourning, And speechlesse beasts to sorrow with his groaning. 23