Of all the beauties of the East,
Fair Thisbe was the star,
And Nature gave her—last not least—
A very cross mamma.
Next door there lived a “nice young man,”
One Pyramus by name;
And laughing Cupid soon began
To kindle up the flame.
Then came soft words and softer sighs,
And “hearts for ever true,”
And radiant eyes, like summer skies,
And little billets-doux.
Next Thisbe ’d ask to go and walk,
Upon some sly pretence,
And then they’d meet alone, and talk
Across the garden-fence.
At last her mother caught her out—
And scarlet grew her forehead.
“My stars! miss, what are you about?
Good gracious me, how horrid!”
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.”