THISBE. O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, For parting my fair Pyramus and me. My cherry lips have often kiss’d thy stones, Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee. PYRAMUS. I see a voice; now will I to the chink, To spy an I can hear my Thisbe’s face. Thisbe? THISBE. My love thou art, my love I think. PYRAMUS. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover’s grace; And like Limander am I trusty still. THISBE. And I like Helen, till the fates me kill. PYRAMUS. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. THISBE. As S…