But what see I? No Thisby do I see.
O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss!
Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me!
THE.
The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.
PYR.
No, in truth, sir, he should not. “Deceiving me,” is Thisby’s cue; she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.
(Re-enter Thisbe.)
THIS.
O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,