And there beweltered in his blood her lover she espied Lie sprawling with his dying limbs; at which she started back, And looked 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 shrieked out, she tare her golden hairs, And taking him between her arms did wash his wounds with tears; She meint[5] her weeping with his blood, and kissing all his face (Which now became as 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[6] 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[7] 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[8] With colour tending to a black. And that which after fire Remained, rested in one tomb as Thisbe did desire. * * * * * ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW; HIS MAD PRANKS AND MERRY JESTS