University of Virginia Library

At Babiloyne whylom fil it thus,
The whyche toun the queen Semyramus
Let dychen al aboute and walles make
Ful hye, of hard tiles wel ybake:
There were dwellyng in this noble toun
Two lordes, whiche that were of gret renoun,
And woneden so nygh, upon a grene,
That there nas but a ston-wal hem betweene,
As ofte in grete tounes is the wone.
And soth to seyne, that o man hadde a sone,
Of al that lond oon of the lustyeste.
That other hadde a doughter, the fayreste
That estward in the world was tho dwellynge.
The name of everych gan to other sprynge
By women that were neighebores aboute.
For in that contre yit, withouten doute,
Maydenes been ykept, for jelosye,
Ful streyte, lest they diden som folye.
This yonge man was called Piramus,
Tysbe hight the maide, Naso seyth thus;
And thus by report was hire name yshove
That, as they wex in age, wex here love.
And certeyn, as by resoun of hire age,
There myghte have ben bytwixe hem maryage,
But that here fadres nolde it nat assente;
And bothe in love ylyke sore they brente,
That non of alle hyre frendes myght it lette,
But pryvyly som tyme yit they mette
By sleyghte, and spoken som of here desyr;
As wry the glede and hotter is the fyr,
Forbede a love, and it is ten so wod.

This wal, which that bitwixe hem bothe stod,
Was clove a-two, ryght from the top adoun,
Of olde tyme of his fundacioun;
But yit this clyfte was so narw and lyte
It nas nat sene, deere ynogh a myte.
But what is that that love can nat espye?
Ye loveres two, if that I shal nat lye,
Ye founden first this litel narwe clifte;
And with a soun as softe as any shryfte,
They lete here wordes thourgh the clifte pace,
And tolden, whil that they stode in the place,
Al here compleynt of love and al here wo,
At every tyme whan they durste so.
Upon that o syde of the wal stod he,
And on that other side stod Thesbe,
The swote soun of other to receyve.
And thus here wardeyns wolde they deceyve,
And every day this wal they wolde threte,
And wisshe to God that it were doun ybete.
Thus wolde they seyn: "Alas, thow wikkede wal!
Thorgh thyn envye thow us lettest al.
Why nylt thow cleve or fallen al a-two?
Or at the leste, but thou woldist so,
Yit woldest thow but ones lat us mete,
Or ones that we myghte kyssen swete,
Thanne were we covered of oure cares colde.
But, natheles, yit be we to thee holde,
In as muche as thow sufferest for to gon
Oure wordes thourgh thy lym and ek thy ston.
Yit oughte we with the been wel apayd."
And whan these ydele wordes weren sayd,
The colde wal they wolden kysse of ston,
And take here leve and forth they wolden gon.
And this was gladly in the eve-tyde,
Or wonder erly, lest men it espyde.
And longe tyme they wroughte in this manere,
Tyl on a day, whan Phebus gan to cleere —
Aurora with the stremes of hire hete
Hadde dreyed up the dew of herbes wete —
Unto this clyft, as it was wont to be,
Com Piramus, and after com Thysbe,
And plyghten trouthe fully in here fey
That ilke same nyght to stele awey,
And to begile here wardeyns everichon,
And forth out of the cite for to goon;
And, for the feldes ben so brode and wide,
For to mete in o place at o tyde,
They sette mark here metynge sholde be
There kyng Nynus was grave under a tre —
For olde payens that idoles heryed
Useden tho in feldes to ben beryed —
And faste by this grave was a welle.
And shortly of this tale for to telle,
This covenaunt was affermed wonder faste;
And longe hem thoughte that the sonne laste,
That it nere gon under the se adoun.

This Tisbe hath so gret affeccioun
And so gret lykinge Piramus to se,
That whan she say hire tyme myghte be,
At nyght she stal awey ful pryvyly,
With hire face ywympled subtyly;
For alle hire frendes — for to save hire trouthe —
She hath forsake; allas, and that is routhe
That evere woman wolde ben so trewe
To truste man, but she the bet hym knewe.
And to the tre she goth a ful good pas,
For love made hire so hardy in this cas,
And by the welle adoun she gan hyre dresse.
Allas! Than cometh a wilde lyonesse
Out of the wode, withoute more arest,
With blody mouth, of strangelynge of a best,
To drynken of the welle there as she sat.
And whan that Tisbe hadde espyed that,
She rist hire up, with a ful drery herte,
And in a cave with dredful fot she sterte,
For by the mone she say it wel withalle.
And as she ran hire wympel let she falle
And tok non hed, so sore she was awhaped,
And ek so glad that she was escaped;
And thus she sit and darketh wonder stylle.
Whan that this lyonesse hath dronke hire fille,
Aboute the welle gan she for to wynde,
And ryght anon the wympel gan she fynde,
And with hire blody mouth it al torente.
Whan this was don, no lengere she ne stente,
But to the wode hire weye thanne hath she nome.

And at the laste this Piramus is come;
But al to longe, allas, at hom was he!
The mone shon, and he myghte wel yse,
And in his wey, as that he com ful faste.
His eyen to the ground adoun he caste,
And in the sond, as he byheld adoun,
He sey the steppes brode of a lyoun,
And in his herte he sodeynly agros,
And pale he wex; therwith his heer aros,
And ner he com, and fond the wimpel torn.
"Allas," quod he, "the day that I was born!
This o nyght wol us lovers bothe sle!
How shulde I axe mercy of Tisbe,
Whan I am he that have yow slayn, allas!
My biddyng hath yow slayn, as in this cas.
Allas, to bidde a woman gon by nyghte
In place there as peril falle myghte!
And I so slow! Allas, I ne hadde be
Here in this place a furlong wey or ye!
Now what lyoun that be in this forest,
My body mote he renten, or what best
That wilde is, gnawe mote he now myn herte!"
And with that word he to the wympel sterte,
And kiste it ofte, and wep on it ful sore,
And seyde, "Wympel, allas! There is no more
But thow shalt feele as wel the blod of me
As thow hast felt the bledyng of Thisbe!"
And with that word he smot hym to the herte.
The blod out of the wounde as brode sterte
As water whan the condit broken is.

Now Tisbe, which that wiste nat of this,
But sittynge in hire drede, she thoughte thus:
"If it so falle that my Piramus
Be comen hider, and may me not yfynde,
He may me holde fals and ek unkynde."
And out she cometh and after hym gan espien,
Bothe with hire herte and with hire yen,
And thoughte, "I wol hym tellen of my drede,
Bothe of the lyonesse and al my deede."
And at the laste hire love thanne hath she founde,
Betynge with his heles on the grounde,
Al blody, and therwithal a-bak she sterte,
And lik the wawes quappe gan hire herte,
And pale as box she was, and in a throwe
Avisede hire, and gan hym wel to knowe,
That it was Piramus, hire herte deere.
Who coude wryte which a dedly cheere
Hath Thisbe now, and how hire heer she rente,
And how she gan hireselve to turmente,
And how she lyth and swouneth on the grounde,
And how she wep of teres ful his wounde;
How medeleth she his blod with hire compleynte;
How with his blod hireselve gan she peynte;
How clyppeth she the deede cors, allas!
How doth this woful Tisbe in this cas!
How kysseth she his frosty mouth so cold!
"Who hath don this, and who hath been so bold
To sle my leef? O spek, my Piramus!
I am thy Tisbe, that the calleth thus."
And therwithal she lifteth up his hed.

This woful man, that was nat fully ded,
Whan that he herde the name of Tisbe cryen,
On hire he caste his hevy, dedly yen,
And doun agayn, and yeldeth up the gost.
Tysbe ryst up withouten noyse or bost,
And saw hire wympel and his empty shethe,
And ek his swerd that hym hath don to dethe.
Thanne spak she thus: "My woful hand," quod she,
"Is strong ynogh in swich a werk to me;
For love shal yeve me strengthe and hardynesse
To make my wounde large ynogh, I gesse.
I wol thee folwe ded, and I wol be
Felawe and cause ek of thy deth," quod she.
"And thogh that nothing, save the deth only,
Mighte thee fro me departe trewely,
Thow shalt no more departe now fro me
Than fro the deth, for I wol go with thee.
And now, ye wrechede jelos fadres oure,
We that whilom were children youre,
We preyen yow, withouten more envye,
That in o grave yfere we moten lye,
Sith love hath brought us to this pitous ende.
And ryghtwis God to every lovere sende,
That loveth trewely, more prosperite
Than evere yit had Piramus and Tisbe!
And lat no gentil woman hyre assure
To putten hire in swich an aventure.
But God forbede but a woman can
Ben as trewe in lovynge as a man!
And for my part, I shal anon it kythe."
And with that word his swerd she tok as swythe,
That warm was of hire loves blod, and hot,
And to the herte she hireselven smot.
And thus are Tisbe and Piramus ygo.
Of trewe men I fynde but fewe mo
In alle my bokes, save this Piramus,
And therfore have I spoken of hym thus.
For it is deynte to us men to fynde
A man that can in love been trewe and kynde.
Here may ye se, what lovere so he be,
A woman dar and can as wel as he.