She locked her up--our hero, too, Was lectured by his father: “Do that again, sir! just you do! And won’t I whop you--rather!”
He begged and prayed: the governor Still gave that answer gruff-- “Lord; what’s the good of lovin’ her? A boy like you, sir! stuff!
“Come, get along! what’s all this fuss? Let’s have no more, sir, pray!” With broken heart poor Pyramus Turn’d in despair away.
He moped all day, and talked to none, Through dim and lone woods wending; Men cried, “If this be lover’s fun, Our hearts are worth defending!”
When day was done, the night again Brought visions of his fairy: Alas! how vain the tender pain, “_In statu pupillari_.”
He cried, “Oh this is hard, indeed-- I mayn’t caress my love, nor With blameless word win blameless meed-- O cruel, cruel guv’nor!”
I said, you know, some time ago, Their houses stood contiguous; Not _dos-à-dos_, but in a row-- I hate to be ambiguous.
Well, little Love, who’s up to snuff, In pitying mood, one day, Proposed a plan; and sure enough They tried, and found it pay.
He whispered in the ear of each, “=Seek out some little hole in Your wall, through which your lover’s speech May echo most consoling=.”
They searched above, they searched below, To find affection’s keyhole; Till--just when all appear’d “no go,” They found a little wee hole.
A rotten brick had come in two-- They saw the cranny--nay, more. They saw their love by peeping through, Ah! “_Quid non sentit amor?_”
They poked the useless brick away By digging out the mortar; And there they passed the livelong day In whispers and “soft sawder.”
Then, Thisbe ’d cry, “Oh dear, oh dear, My eyes are full of dust, love; You must come round and kiss me here, Indeed, indeed, you must, love.”
And then, poor Pyramus would say, “God bless me, how can this be? I’ve kissed a dirty lump of clay, And not my pretty Thisbe!
“Bad wall, bad wall! thy chink is small, Thy big stones almost hide her: Why leave the little hole at all Unless a little wider?
“O will you meet me quite alone To-morrow night, my dear, Beyond brass-gated Babylon Where walls can’t interfere.
“Let’s meet by nine, at Ninus’ tomb, Under the mulberry-tree, The moon that lights the sunless gloom Shall light my love to me.”
’Tis night--the moon has flung her beam Far down the glowing wave, Where rolls Euphrates’ silent stream Fast by the monarch’s grave:--