d,
Where _Pyramus_ had lost his dearest bloud,
And round about she rolles her sun bright eyes
For _Pyramus_, whom no where she espies;
Then forth she tript, and nearly too she tript,
And ouer hedges oft this virgin skipt.
Then did she crosse the fields, and new mown grasse,
To find the place whereas this arbour was:
For it was seated in a pleasant shade,
And by the shepheards first this bowre was made.
Faire _Thisbe_ made more haste into the bower,
Because that now was iust the meeting hower.

35

But comming thither, as she soone was there,
She found him not, which did augment her feare:
But straight she thought (as true loue thinks the best)
He had beene laid downe in the shade to rest,
Or of set purpose hidden in the reeds,
To make her seeke him in the sedgie weeds,
For so of children they had done before,
Which made her thoughts seeme true so much the more:
But hauing sought whereas she thought he was,
Shee could not finde her _Pyramus_ (alas)
Wherefore she back return'd vnto the arbor,
And there reposd her after all her labor.

36

To one that's weary drowsie sleepe will creepe,
Weary was _Thisbe_, _Thisbe_ fell asleepe,
And in her sleepe she dreamt she did lament,
Thinking her heart from forth her brest was rent,
By her owne censure damn'd to cruell death,
And in her sight bereft of vitall breath.
When she awak't, as long she had not slept,
She wept amaine, yet knew not why she wept:
For as before her heart was whole and sound,
And no defect about her could be found,
She dreamt she hurt, no hurt could she discouer,
Wherefore she went to seeke her late lost louer.

37

Suspicious eyes, quick messengers of wo,
Brought home sad newes ere _Thisbe_ farre could go:
For lo, vpon the margent of the wood,
They spy'd her loue, lye weltring in his bloud,
Hauing her late lost mantle at his side,
Stained with bloud, his hart bloud was not dry'd.
VVisty she lookt, and as she lookt did cry,
See, see, my hart, which I did iudge to dye:
Poore hart (quoth she) and then she kist his brest,
VVert thou inclosd in mine, there shouldst thou rest:
I causd thee die poore heart, yet rue thy dying,
And saw thy death, as I asleepe was lying.

38

Thou art my hart, more deare then is mine owne,
And thee sad death in my false sleepe was