A gorgious Gallery, of gallant Inuentions Garnished and decked with diuers dayntie deuises, right delicate and delightfull, to recreate eche modest minde withall. First framed and fashioned in sundrie formes, by diuers worthy workemen of late dayes: and now, ioyned together and builded up: By T. P. [i.e. Thomas Procter] |
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The lamentacion of Piramus, for the losse
of his Loue Thisbie. |
 | A gorgious Gallery, of gallant Inuentions |  |
The lamentacion of Piramus, for the losse of his Loue Thisbie.
This is the day wherin my irksome life,And I of lyuely breath, the last shall spend:
Nor death I dread, for fled is feare, care, strife,
Daunger and all, wheron they did depend:
Thisbie is dead, and Pirame at his ende,
For neuer shall reporte hereafter say:
That Pyrame lyu'de, his Lady tane away.
O soueraigne God, what straung outragious woe,
Presents (alas) this corsiue to my hart:
Ah sauage beaste, how durst thy spight vndoe,
Or seeke (woes mee) so perfect loue to part:
O Thisbie mine, that was, and only art,
My liues defence, and I the cause alone:
Of thy decay, and mine eternall mone.
Come Lyon thou, whose rage here only shew,
Aduaunce with speede, and doo mee eke deuoure:
For ruthlesse fact, so shalt thou pitty shew,
And mee (too) heere, within thy brest restore:
Where wee shall rest, togeather euermore.
Ah, since thy corps, thou graues within thy wombe,
Denye mee not sweet beast, the selfesame tombe.
(Alas my ioy) thou parted art from mee,
By far more cruell meane, then woonted fine:
Or common law, of nature doth decree,
And that encreaseth, for woe, this greefe of mine:
Of that beautie only, which was deuine,
And soueraigne most, of all that liued here:
No litle signe, may found be any where,
If the dead corps (alas, did yet remayne:
O great cruelty, O rage of fortune spight,
More greeuous far, then any tongue may fayne:
To reue her life, and in my more despight,
Mee to defraude of that my last delight:
To kisse full ofte, and as I should bewayle.
But since from mee thou hast the meane outchast,
Of this poore ioy, thy might I heere defie:
For maugre thee, and all the power thou hast,
In Plutœs raigne togeather will wee bee:
And you my loue, since you are dead for mee,
Good reason is, that I for you agayne:
Receiue no lesse but euen the selfsame payne.
Ah Mulberie, thou witnes of our woe,
Right vnder thee assigned was, the place
Of all our ioy, but thou our common foo,
Consented hast, vnto her death alas:
Of beauty all, that had alone the grace,
And therfore as the cheefe of others all,
Let men the Tree of deadly woe thee call.
Graunt our great God, for honor of thy name,
A guerdon of the woe, wee shall here haue:
For I nill liue, shee dead that rulde the same,
Pronounce (O Pluto) from thy hollow Caue:
Where stayes thy raigne, and let this tree receiue,
Such sentence iust, as may a witnesse bee,
Of dollour most, to all that shall it see.
| A gorgious Gallery, of gallant Inuentions | |