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 conveyed 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[1] 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 used signs: the closelier they suppressed The fire of love, the fiercer still it raged 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[2] to let Our sayings to our friendly ears thus freely come and go. Thus having where they stood in vain complained of their woe, When night drew near they bade adieu, and each gave kisses sweet Unto the parget[3] 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 watched 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.