The Metamorphoses
by Ovid
The party-wall, common to the two houses, was cleft by a small chink, which it had got formerly, when it was built. This defect, remarked by no one for so many ages, you lovers (what does not love perceive?) first found one, and you made it a passage for your voices, and the accents of love used to pass through it in safety, with the gentlest murmur. Oftentimes, after they had taken their stations, Thisbe on one side, and Pyramus on the other, and the breath of their mouths had been mutually caught by turns, they used to say, ‘Envious wall, why dost thou stand in the way of lovers? what great matter were it, for thee to suffer us to be joined with our entire bodies? Or if that is too much, that, at least, thou shouldst open, for the exchange of kisses. Nor are we ungrateful; we confess that we are indebted to thee, that a passage has been given for our words to our loving ears.’ Having said this much, in vain, on their respective sides, about night they said,…
farewell, and each gave a kiss to the wall, a kiss that could not reach the object beloved. Then, when the morning-star had driven away the night, they went different ways, and withdrew from the hated spot.
But love is ingenious, and finds out a way. There was a tree, with its spreading branches, near the tomb of Ninus, which bore snowy-white berries on its dark leaves. As soon as they discovered this, they agreed to meet there at night, and they agreed on a signal—the white berries of the tree.
The appointed night arrived, and Thisbe, trembling with fear and love, reached the tree first. She sat down beneath its shade, and lo! a lioness, just after quenching her thirst at a neighbouring spring, approached, with her jaws reeking with the blood of cattle. When Thisbe caught sight of the wild beast, she fled to a dark cave, leaving her veil behind her.
The lioness, after she had quenched her thirst, came to the same tree, and saw the veil lying on the ground. She seized it in her bloody mouth, and tore it with her strong paws.
Pyramus, having been detained longer than he intended by his father, at length arrived at the place of meeting. He perceived the footsteps of the lioness in the sand, and found the veil all rent and bloody.
"O wretched girl," he cried, "I have been the cause of thy death, and thou hast fallen a victim to my tardiness. I swear by the shades of my beloved Thisbe, that the lions shall not triumph over me. If thou art lying low, murdered by wild beasts, I will join thee soon. But let us die, both together, and let our bones be covered with the same tomb."
While he was speaking, he laid hold of the veil, and pressed his lips upon it, as though he were bestowing kisses on the dear Thisbe; and he cast himself upon the sword. The blood spurted high in the air, and soaked the roots of the tree. The berry, which was white, became red.
Thisbe returned, after having been frightened by the lioness, to find that Pyramus had already fallen on his sword. She saw his lifeless body, and she shuddered. She lifted his body, and embraced it, showering kisses upon his lifeless lips.
"O Pyramus," she cried, "what has done this cruel deed? Remember me, and with me remember the fruit of our love. The most unfortunate love of two could not be equal to ours.”