Thisbe

Ye woeful sires, whose causeless hate hath bred
Grief to yourselves, death to my love and me.
Let us not be disjoined when we are dead,
Though we alive conjoined could never be.
Though cruel stars denied us two one bed,
Yet in one tomb us two entombed see.
Like as the dart was one, and one the knife.
That did begin our love and end our life.