And when he had bewept and kissed the garment which he knew,
  Receive thou my blood too (quoth he), and therewithal he drew
  His sword, the which among his guts he thrust, and by and by
  Did draw it from the bleeding wound, beginning for to die,
  And cast himself upon his back.  The blood did spin on high
  As when a conduit pipe is cracked, the water bursting out
  Doth shoot itself a great way off, and pierce the air about. 
  The leaves that were upon the tree besprinkled with his blood
  Were dyed black.  The root also, bestained as it stood
  A deep dark purple colour, straight upon the berries cast,
  Anon scarce ridded of her fear with which she was aghast,
  For doubt of disappointing him comes Thisbe forth in haste,
  And for her lover looks about, rejoicing for to tell
  How hardly she had ’scaped that night the danger that befell. 
  And as she knew right well the place and fashion of the tree
  (As which she saw so late before) even so when she did see
  The colour of the berries turned, she was uncertain whether
  It were the tree at which they both agreed to meet together. 
  While in this doubtful stound[4] she stood, she cast her eye aside,
  And there beweltered in his blood her lover she espied
  Lie sprawling with his dying limbs; at which she started back,
  And looked pale as any box; a shuddering through her strack,
  Even like the sea which suddenly with whissing noise doth move,
  When with a little blast of wind it is but touched above. 
  But when approaching nearer him she knew it was her love,
  She beat her breast, she shrieked out, she tare her golden hairs,
  And taking him between her arms did wash his wounds with tears;
  She meint[5] her weeping with his blood, and kissing all his face
  (Which now became as cold as ice) she cried in woeful case: 
  Alas! what chance, my Pyramus hath parted thee and me? 
  Make answer, O my Pyramus:  it is thy Thisbe, even she
  Whom thou dost love most heartily that speaketh unto thee: 
  Give ear and raise thy heavy head.  He, hearing Thisbe’s name,
  Lift up his dying eyes, and, having seen her, closed the same. 
  But when she knew her mantle there, and saw his scabbard lie
  Without the sword:  Unhappy man, thy love had made thee die;
  Thy love (she said) hath made thee slay thyself.  This hand of mine
  Is strong enough to do the like.  My love no less than thine
  Shall give me force to work my wound.  I will pursue thee dead,
  And, wretched woman as I am, it shall of me be said,
  That like as of thy death I was the only cause and blame,
  So am I thy companion eke and partner in the same. 
  For death which only could, alas! asunder part us twain,
  Shall never so dissever us but we will meet again. 
  And you the parents of us both, most wretched folk alive,
  Let this request that I shall make in