But when she doth approche that tree, whose fruits trasformed were (70) Abasht she stands, & musing much, how black they should appere. Her Pyramus with sights profound, and broken voyce that plained,Shee hard: and him a kerchefe saw, how hee hit kist and strained: Shee neuer drew, but when the sword, and gaping wound she saw, The anguish great, shee had therof, her caus’d to ouerthrow (75) In deadly swoone, and to her selfe shee beeing come agayne, With pittious playnts, and deadly dole, her loue shee did complayne That doone, shee did her body leane, and on him softly lay, She kist his face, whose collour fresh, is spent and falne away: Then to the sword these woords she sayth: thou sword of bitter gall, (80) Thou hast bereaued mee my Loue, my comfort ioy and all. With that deare blood (woes me) of his thy cursed blade doth shine Wherfore thinke not thou canst be free, to shed the same of mine, In life no meane, though wee it sought, vs to assemble could, +Death shall, who hath already his, & mine shall straight vnfolde. (85) And you O Gods, this last request, for ruthe yet graunt it mee, That as one death wee should receiue, one Tombe our graue may |(bee, With that agayn she oft him kist, & then shee speaketh thus: O Louer mine, beholde thy loue (alas) my Pyramus. Yet ere I dye beholde mee once, that comfort not denye, (90) To her with thee that liu’d and lou’d, and eke with thee will dye. The Gentilman with this, and as the lastest throwes of death, Did pearce full fast at that same stroke, to end both life and breath The voice hee knows, & euen ther with, castes vp his heauy eyes, And sees his loue, hee striues to speake, but death at hand denyes. (95) Yet loue whose might, not then was quencht in spite of death gaue|( strength And causde from bottom of his hart, these words to pas at length (Alas my loue) and liue ye yet, did not your life define, By Lyones rage the foe therof, and caus’d that this of mine Is spent and past, or as I thinke, it is your soule so deare, (100) That seekes to ioy and honor both, my last aduenture heare. Euen with that woord, a profound sighe, from bottom of his hart, Out cast his corps and spirit of life, in sunder did depart: Then Thisbie efte, with shrike so shrill as dynned in the skye,Swaps down in swoone, shee eft reuiues, & hents the sword hereby.