A Midsummer Night's Dream

1Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour

2Draws on apace; four happy days bring in

3Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow

4This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,

5Like to a step-dame or a dowager

6Long withering out a young man revenue.

7Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;

8Four nights will quickly dream away the time;

9And then the moon, like to a silver bow

10New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night

11Of our solemnities.

12Go, Philostrate,

13Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;

14Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;

15Turn melancholy forth to funerals;

16The pale companion is not for our pomp.

17Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,

18And won thy love, doing thee injuries;

19But I will wed thee in another key,

20With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.

21Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!

22Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee?

23Full of vexation come I, with complaint

24Against my child, my daughter Hermia.

25Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,

26This man hath my consent to marry her.

27Stand forth, Lysander: and my gracious duke,

28This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child;

29Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,

30And interchanged love-tokens with my child:

31Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,

32With feigning voice verses of feigning love,

33And stolen the impression of her fantasy

34With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,

35Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers

36Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth:

37With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart,

38Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,

39To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,

40Be it so she; will not here before your grace

41Consent to marry with Demetrius,

42I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,

43As she is mine, I may dispose of her:

44Which shall be either to this gentleman

45Or to her death, according to our law

46Immediately provided in that case.

47What say you, Hermia? be advised fair maid:

48To you your father should be as a god;

49One that composed your beauties, yea, and one

50To whom you are but as a form in wax

51By him imprinted and within his power

52To leave the figure or disfigure it.

53Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

54So is Lysander.

55In himself he is;

56But in this kind, wanting your father's voice,

57The other must be held the worthier.

58I would my father look'd but with my eyes.

59Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

60I do entreat your grace to pardon me.

61I know not by what power I am made bold,

62Nor how it may concern my modesty,

63In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;

64But I beseech your grace that I may know

65The worst that may befall me in this case,

66If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

67Either to die the death or to abjure

68For ever the society of men.

69Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;

70Know of your youth, examine well your blood,

71Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,

72You can endure the livery of a nun,

73For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,

74To live a barren sister all your life,

75Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.

76Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,

77To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;

78But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,

79Than that which withering on the virgin thorn

80Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.

81So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,

82Ere I will my virgin patent up

83Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke

84My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

85Take time to pause; and, by the next new moon--

86The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,

87For everlasting bond of fellowship--

88Upon that day either prepare to die

89For disobedience to your father's will,

90Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would;

91Or on Diana's altar to protest

92For aye austerity and single life.

93Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield

94Thy crazed title to my certain right.

95You have her father's love, Demetrius;

96Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

97Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,

98And what is mine my love shall render him.

99And she is mine, and all my right of her

100I do estate unto Demetrius.

101I am, my lord, as well derived as he,

102As well possess'd; my love is more than his;

103My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd,

104If not with vantage, as Demetrius';

105And, which is more than all these boasts can be,

106I am beloved of beauteous Hermia:

107Why should not I then prosecute my right?

108Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,

109Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,

110And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,

111Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,

112Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

113I must confess that I have heard so much,

114And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;

115But, being over-full of self-affairs,

116My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;

117And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,

118I have some private schooling for you both.

119For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself

120To fit your fancies to your father's will;

121Or else the law of Athens yields you up--

122Which by no means we may extenuate--

123To death, or to a vow of single life.

124Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?

125Demetrius and Egeus, go along:

126I must employ you in some business

127Against our nuptial and confer with you

128Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

129With duty and desire we follow you.

130How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?

131How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

132Belike for want of rain, which I could well

133Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

134Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,

135Could ever hear by tale or history,

136The course of true love never did run smooth;

137But, either it was different in blood,--

138O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low.

139Or else misgraffed in respect of years,--

140O spite! too old to be engaged to young.

141Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,--

142O hell! to choose love by another's eyes.

143Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,

144War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,

145Making it momentany as a sound,

146Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;

147Brief as the lightning in the collied night,

148That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,

149And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'

150The jaws of darkness do devour it up:

151So quick bright things come to confusion.

152If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,

153It stands as an edict in destiny:

154Then let us teach our trial patience,

155Because it is a customary cross,

156As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,

157Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers.

158A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia.

159I have a widow aunt, a dowager

160Of great revenue, and she hath no child:

161From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;

162And she respects me as her only son.

163There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;

164And to that place the sharp Athenian law

165Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,

166Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;

167And in the wood, a league without the town,

168Where I did meet thee once with Helena,

169To do observance to a morn of May,

170There will I stay for thee.

171My good Lysander!

172I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow,

173By his best arrow with the golden head,

174By the simplicity of Venus' doves,

175By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,

176And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen,

177When the false Troyan under sail was seen,

178By all the vows that ever men have broke,

179In number more than ever women spoke,

180In that same place thou hast appointed me,

181To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

182Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

183God speed fair Helena! whither away?

184Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.

185Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!

186Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air

187More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,

188When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.

189Sickness is catching: O, were favour so,

190Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;

191My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,

192My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.

193Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,

194The rest I'd give to be to you translated.

195O, teach me how you look, and with what art

196You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

197I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

198O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

199I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

200O that my prayers could such affection move!

201The more I hate, the more he follows me.

202The more I love, the more he hateth me.

203His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

204None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!

205Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;

206Lysander and myself will fly this place.

207Before the time I did Lysander see,

208Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me:

209O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,

210That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!

211Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:

212To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold

213Her silver visage in the watery glass,

214Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,

215A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,

216Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal.

217And in the wood, where often you and I

218Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,

219Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,

220There my Lysander and myself shall meet;

221And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,

222To seek new friends and stranger companies.

223Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us;

224And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!

225Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight

226From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight.

227I will, my Hermia.

228Helena, adieu:

229As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

230How happy some o'er other some can be!

231Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.

232But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;

233He will not know what all but he do know:

234And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,

235So I, admiring of his qualities:

236Things base and vile, folding no quantity,

237Love can transpose to form and dignity:

238Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;

239And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind:

240Nor hath Love's mind of any judgement taste;

241Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:

242And therefore is Love said to be a child,

243Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.

244As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,

245So the boy Love is perjured every where:

246For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,

247He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine;

248And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,

249So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.

250I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:

251Then to the wood will he to-morrow night

252Pursue her; and for this intelligence

253If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:

254But herein mean I to enrich my pain,

255To have his sight thither and back again.

1Is all our company here?

2You were best to call them generally, man by man,

3according to the scrip.

4Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is

5thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our

6interlude before the duke and the duchess, on his

7wedding-day at night.

8First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats

9on, then read the names of the actors, and so grow

10to a point.

11Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and

12most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

13A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a

14merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your

15actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves.

16Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.

17Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.

18You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

19What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?

20A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.

21That will ask some tears in the true performing of

22it: if I do it, let the audience look to their

23eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some

24measure. To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a

25tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to

26tear a cat in, to make all split.

27The raging rocks

28And shivering shocks

29Shall break the locks

30Of prison gates;

31And Phibbus' car

32Shall shine from far

33And make and mar

34The foolish Fates.

35This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players.

36This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is

37more condoling.

38Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

39Here, Peter Quince.

40Flute, you must take Thisby on you.

41What is Thisby? a wandering knight?

42It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

43Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

44That's all one: you shall play it in a mask, and

45you may speak as small as you will.

46An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too, I'll

47speak in a monstrous little voice. 'Thisne,

48Thisne;' 'Ah, Pyramus, lover dear! thy Thisby dear,

49and lady dear!'

50No, no; you must play Pyramus: and, Flute, you Thisby.

51Well, proceed.

52Robin Starveling, the tailor.

53Here, Peter Quince.

54Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.

55Tom Snout, the tinker.

56Here, Peter Quince.

57You, Pyramus' father: myself, Thisby's father:

58Snug, the joiner; you, the lion's part: and, I

59hope, here is a play fitted.

60Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it

61be, give it me, for I am slow of study.

62You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

63Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will

64do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar,

65that I will make the duke say 'Let him roar again,

66let him roar again.'

67An you should do it too terribly, you would fright

68the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek;

69and that were enough to hang us all.

70That would hang us, every mother's son.

71I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the

72ladies out of their wits, they would have no more

73discretion but to hang us: but I will aggravate my

74voice so that I will roar you as gently as any

75sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any

76nightingale.

77You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a

78sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see in a

79summer's day; a most lovely gentleman-like man:

80therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

81Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best

82to play it in?

83Why, what you will.

84I will discharge it in either your straw-colour

85beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain

86beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your

87perfect yellow.

88Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and

89then you will play bare-faced. But, masters, here

90are your parts: and I am to entreat you, request

91you and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night;

92and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the

93town, by moonlight; there will we rehearse, for if

94we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with

95company, and our devices known. In the meantime I

96will draw a bill of properties, such as our play

97wants. I pray you, fail me not.

98We will meet; and there we may rehearse most

99obscenely and courageously. Take pains; be perfect: adieu.

100At the duke's oak we meet.

101Enough; hold or cut bow-strings.

1How now, spirit! whither wander you?

2Over hill, over dale,

3Thorough bush, thorough brier,

4Over park, over pale,

5Thorough flood, thorough fire,

6I do wander everywhere,

7Swifter than the moon's sphere;

8And I serve the fairy queen,

9To dew her orbs upon the green.

10The cowslips tall her pensioners be:

11In their gold coats spots you see;

12Those be rubies, fairy favours,

13In those freckles live their savours:

14I must go seek some dewdrops here

15And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

16Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:

17Our queen and all our elves come here anon.

18The king doth keep his revels here to-night:

19Take heed the queen come not within his sight;

20For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,

21Because that she as her attendant hath

22A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;

23She never had so sweet a changeling;

24And jealous Oberon would have the child

25Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;

26But she perforce withholds the loved boy,

27Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy:

28And now they never meet in grove or green,

29By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,

30But, they do square, that all their elves for fear

31Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.

32Either I mistake your shape and making quite,

33Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite

34Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you he

35That frights the maidens of the villagery;

36Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern

37And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;

38And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;

39Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?

40Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,

41You do their work, and they shall have good luck:

42Are not you he?

43Thou speak'st aright;

44I am that merry wanderer of the night.

45I jest to Oberon and make him smile

46When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,

47Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:

48And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,

49In very likeness of a roasted crab,

50And when she drinks, against her lips I bob

51And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.

52The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,

53Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;

54Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,

55And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough;

56And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,

57And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear

58A merrier hour was never wasted there.

59But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.

60And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!

61Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.

62What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence:

63I have forsworn his bed and company.

64Tarry, rash wanton: am not I thy lord?

65Then I must be thy lady: but I know

66When thou hast stolen away from fairy land,

67And in the shape of Corin sat all day,

68Playing on pipes of corn and versing love

69To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,

70Come from the farthest Steppe of India?

71But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,

72Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love,

73To Theseus must be wedded, and you come

74To give their bed joy and prosperity.

75How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,

76Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,

77Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?

78Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night

79From Perigenia, whom he ravished?

80And make him with fair AEgle break his faith,

81With Ariadne and Antiopa?

82These are the forgeries of jealousy:

83And never, since the middle summer's spring,

84Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead,

85By paved fountain or by rushy brook,

86Or in the beached margent of the sea,

87To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,

88But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.

89Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,

90As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea

91Contagious fogs; which falling in the land

92Have every pelting river made so proud

93That they have overborne their continents:

94The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain,

95The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn

96Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard;

97The fold stands empty in the drowned field,

98And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;

99The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud,

100And the quaint mazes in the wanton green

101For lack of tread are undistinguishable:

102The human mortals want their winter here;

103No night is now with hymn or carol blest:

104Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,

105Pale in her anger, washes all the air,

106That rheumatic diseases do abound:

107And thorough this distemperature we see

108The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts

109Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,

110And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown

111An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds

112Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,

113The childing autumn, angry winter, change

114Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,

115By their increase, now knows not which is which:

116And this same progeny of evils comes

117From our debate, from our dissension;

118We are their parents and original.

119Do you amend it then; it lies in you:

120Why should Titania cross her Oberon?

121I do but beg a little changeling boy,

122To be my henchman.

123Set your heart at rest:

124The fairy land buys not the child of me.

125His mother was a votaress of my order:

126And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,

127Full often hath she gossip'd by my side,

128And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands,

129Marking the embarked traders on the flood,

130When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive

131And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;

132Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait

133Following,--her womb then rich with my young squire,--

134Would imitate, and sail upon the land,

135To fetch me trifles, and return again,

136As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.

137But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;

138And for her sake do I rear up her boy,

139And for her sake I will not part with him.

140How long within this wood intend you stay?

141Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day.

142If you will patiently dance in our round

143And see our moonlight revels, go with us;

144If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.

145Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.

146Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!

147We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.

148Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove

149Till I torment thee for this injury.

150My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest

151Since once I sat upon a promontory,

152And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back

153Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath

154That the rude sea grew civil at her song

155And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,

156To hear the sea-maid's music.

157I remember.

158That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,

159Flying between the cold moon and the earth,

160Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took

161At a fair vestal throned by the west,

162And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,

163As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;

164But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft

165Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon,

166And the imperial votaress passed on,

167In maiden meditation, fancy-free.

168Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:

169It fell upon a little western flower,

170Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,

171And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

172Fetch me that flower; the herb I shew'd thee once:

173The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid

174Will make or man or woman madly dote

175Upon the next live creature that it sees.

176Fetch me this herb; and be thou here again

177Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

178I'll put a girdle round about the earth

179In forty minutes.

180Having once this juice,

181I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,

182And drop the liquor of it in her eyes.

183The next thing then she waking looks upon,

184Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,

185On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,

186She shall pursue it with the soul of love:

187And ere I take this charm from off her sight,

188As I can take it with another herb,

189I'll make her render up her page to me.

190But who comes here? I am invisible;

191And I will overhear their conference.

192I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.

193Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?

194The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.

195Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood;

196And here am I, and wode within this wood,

197Because I cannot meet my Hermia.

198Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.

199You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;

200But yet you draw not iron, for my heart

201Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw,

202And I shall have no power to follow you.

203Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?

204Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth

205Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?

206And even for that do I love you the more.

207I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,

208The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:

209Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,

210Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,

211Unworthy as I am, to follow you.

212What worser place can I beg in your love,--

213And yet a place of high respect with me,--

214Than to be used as you use your dog?

215Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;

216For I am sick when I do look on thee.

217And I am sick when I look not on you.

218You do impeach your modesty too much,

219To leave the city and commit yourself

220Into the hands of one that loves you not;

221To trust the opportunity of night

222And the ill counsel of a desert place

223With the rich worth of your virginity.

224Your virtue is my privilege: for that

225It is not night when I do see your face,

226Therefore I think I am not in the night;

227Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,

228For you in my respect are all the world:

229Then how can it be said I am alone,

230When all the world is here to look on me?

231I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,

232And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.

233The wildest hath not such a heart as you.

234Run when you will, the story shall be changed:

235Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;

236The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind

237Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed,

238When cowardice pursues and valour flies.

239I will not stay thy questions; let me go:

240Or, if thou follow me, do not believe

241But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.

242Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,

243You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!

244Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex:

245We cannot fight for love, as men may do;

246We should be wood and were not made to woo.

247I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,

248To die upon the hand I love so well.

249Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this grove,

250Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love.

251Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.

252Ay, there it is.

253I pray thee, give it me.

254I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

255Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

256Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

257With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:

258There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,

259Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;

260And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,

261Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in:

262And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,

263And make her full of hateful fantasies.

264Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove:

265A sweet Athenian lady is in love

266With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes;

267But do it when the next thing he espies

268May be the lady: thou shalt know the man

269By the Athenian garments he hath on.

270Effect it with some care, that he may prove

271More fond on her than she upon her love:

272And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.

273Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.

1Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;

2Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;

3Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,

4Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,

5To make my small elves coats, and some keep back

6The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders

7At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;

8Then to your offices and let me rest.

9You spotted snakes with double tongue,

10Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;

11Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,

12Come not near our fairy queen.

13Philomel, with melody

14Sing in our sweet lullaby;

15Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:

16Never harm,

17Nor spell nor charm,

18Come our lovely lady nigh;

19So, good night, with lullaby.

20Weaving spiders, come not here;

21Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!

22Beetles black, approach not near;

23Worm nor snail, do no offence.

24Philomel, with melody, & c.

25Hence, away! now all is well:

26One aloof stand sentinel.

27What thou seest when thou dost wake,

28Do it for thy true-love take,

29Love and languish for his sake:

30Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,

31Pard, or boar with bristled hair,

32In thy eye that shall appear

33When thou wakest, it is thy dear:

34Wake when some vile thing is near.

35Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood;

36And to speak troth, I have forgot our way:

37We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,

38And tarry for the comfort of the day.

39Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed;

40For I upon this bank will rest my head.

41One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;

42One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth.

43Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,

44Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.

45O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!

46Love takes the meaning in love's conference.

47I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit

48So that but one heart we can make of it;

49Two bosoms interchained with an oath;

50So then two bosoms and a single troth.

51Then by your side no bed-room me deny;

52For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.

53Lysander riddles very prettily:

54Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,

55If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied.

56But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy

57Lie further off; in human modesty,

58Such separation as may well be said

59Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,

60So far be distant; and, good night, sweet friend:

61Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end!

62Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I;

63And then end life when I end loyalty!

64Here is my bed: sleep give thee all his rest!

65With half that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd!

66Through the forest have I gone.

67But Athenian found I none,

68On whose eyes I might approve

69This flower's force in stirring love.

70Night and silence.--Who is here?

71Weeds of Athens he doth wear:

72This is he, my master said,

73Despised the Athenian maid;

74And here the maiden, sleeping sound,

75On the dank and dirty ground.

76Pretty soul! she durst not lie

77Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.

78Churl, upon thy eyes I throw

79All the power this charm doth owe.

80When thou wakest, let love forbid

81Sleep his seat on thy eyelid:

82So awake when I am gone;

83For I must now to Oberon.

84Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.

85I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.

86O, wilt thou darkling leave me? do not so.

87Stay, on thy peril: I alone will go.

88O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!

89The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.

90Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies;

91For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.

92How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears:

93If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers.

94No, no, I am as ugly as a bear;

95For beasts that meet me run away for fear:

96Therefore no marvel though Demetrius

97Do, as a monster fly my presence thus.

98What wicked and dissembling glass of mine

99Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne?

100But who is here? Lysander! on the ground!

101Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.

102Lysander if you live, good sir, awake.

103[Awaking] And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.

104Transparent Helena! Nature shows art,

105That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.

106Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word

107Is that vile name to perish on my sword!

108Do not say so, Lysander; say not so

109What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?

110Yet Hermia still loves you: then be content.

111Content with Hermia! No; I do repent

112The tedious minutes I with her have spent.

113Not Hermia but Helena I love:

114Who will not change a raven for a dove?

115The will of man is by his reason sway'd;

116And reason says you are the worthier maid.

117Things growing are not ripe until their season

118So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;

119And touching now the point of human skill,

120Reason becomes the marshal to my will

121And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook

122Love's stories written in love's richest book.

123Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?

124When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?

125Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,

126That I did never, no, nor never can,

127Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,

128But you must flout my insufficiency?

129Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,

130In such disdainful manner me to woo.

131But fare you well: perforce I must confess

132I thought you lord of more true gentleness.

133O, that a lady, of one man refused.

134Should of another therefore be abused!

135She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there:

136And never mayst thou come Lysander near!

137For as a surfeit of the sweetest things

138The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,

139Or as tie heresies that men do leave

140Are hated most of those they did deceive,

141So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,

142Of all be hated, but the most of me!

143And, all my powers, address your love and might

144To honour Helen and to be her knight!

145[Awaking] Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best

146To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!

147Ay me, for pity! what a dream was here!

148Lysander, look how I do quake with fear:

149Methought a serpent eat my heart away,

150And you sat smiling at his cruel pray.

151Lysander! what, removed? Lysander! lord!

152What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word?

153Alack, where are you speak, an if you hear;

154Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.

155No? then I well perceive you all not nigh

156Either death or you I'll find immediately.

1Are we all met?

2Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place

3for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our

4stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiring-house; and we

5will do it in action as we will do it before the duke.

6Peter Quince,--

7What sayest thou, bully Bottom?

8There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and

9Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus must

10draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies

11cannot abide. How answer you that?

12By'r lakin, a parlous fear.

13I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.

14Not a whit: I have a device to make all well.

15Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to

16say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that

17Pyramus is not killed indeed; and, for the more

18better assurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not

19Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: this will put them

20out of fear.

21Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be

22written in eight and six.

23No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.

24Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?

25I fear it, I promise you.

26Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves: to

27bring in--God shield us!--a lion among ladies, is a

28most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful

29wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to

30look to 't.

31Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.

32Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must

33be seen through the lion's neck: and he himself

34must speak through, saying thus, or to the same

35defect,--'Ladies,'--or 'Fair-ladies--I would wish

36You,'--or 'I would request you,'--or 'I would

37entreat you,--not to fear, not to tremble: my life

38for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it

39were pity of my life: no I am no such thing; I am a

40man as other men are;' and there indeed let him name

41his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.

42Well it shall be so. But there is two hard things;

43that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber; for,

44you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.

45Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?

46A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanac; find

47out moonshine, find out moonshine.

48Yes, it doth shine that night.

49Why, then may you leave a casement of the great

50chamber window, where we play, open, and the moon

51may shine in at the casement.

52Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns

53and a lanthorn, and say he comes to disfigure, or to

54present, the person of Moonshine. Then, there is

55another thing: we must have a wall in the great

56chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby says the story, did

57talk through the chink of a wall.

58You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?

59Some man or other must present Wall: and let him

60have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast

61about him, to signify wall; and let him hold his

62fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus

63and Thisby whisper.

64If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down,

65every mother's son, and rehearse your parts.

66Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your

67speech, enter into that brake: and so every one

68according to his cue.

69What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,

70So near the cradle of the fairy queen?

71What, a play toward! I'll be an auditor;

72An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause.

73Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth.

74Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet,--

75Odours, odours.

76--odours savours sweet:

77So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.

78But hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile,

79And by and by I will to thee appear.

80A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here.

81Must I speak now?

82Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he goes

83but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.

84Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,

85Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,

86Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew,

87As true as truest horse that yet would never tire,

88I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.

89'Ninus' tomb,' man: why, you must not speak that

90yet; that you answer to Pyramus: you speak all your

91part at once, cues and all Pyramus enter: your cue

92is past; it is, 'never tire.'

93O,--As true as truest horse, that yet would

94never tire.

95If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.

96O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted. Pray,

97masters! fly, masters! Help!

98I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round,

99Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier:

100Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound,

101A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;

102And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,

103Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.

104Why do they run away? this is a knavery of them to

105make me afeard.

106O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on thee?

107What do you see? you see an asshead of your own, do

108you?

109Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art

110translated.

111I see their knavery: this is to make an ass of me;

112to fright me, if they could. But I will not stir

113from this place, do what they can: I will walk up

114and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear

115I am not afraid.

116The ousel cock so black of hue,

117With orange-tawny bill,

118The throstle with his note so true,

119The wren with little quill,--

120[Awaking] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

121[Sings]

122The finch, the sparrow and the lark,

123The plain-song cuckoo gray,

124Whose note full many a man doth mark,

125And dares not answer nay;--

126for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish

127a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry

128'cuckoo' never so?

129I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:

130Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note;

131So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;

132And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me

133On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.

134Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason

135for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and

136love keep little company together now-a-days; the

137more the pity that some honest neighbours will not

138make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

139Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

140Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out

141of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.

142Out of this wood do not desire to go:

143Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.

144I am a spirit of no common rate;

145The summer still doth tend upon my state;

146And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;

147I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee,

148And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,

149And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;

150And I will purge thy mortal grossness so

151That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.

152Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

153Ready.

154And I.

155And I.

156And I.

157Where shall we go?

158Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;

159Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;

160Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,

161With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;

162The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,

163And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs

164And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,

165To have my love to bed and to arise;

166And pluck the wings from Painted butterflies

167To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:

168Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

169Hail, mortal!

170Hail!

171Hail!

172Hail!

173I cry your worship's mercy, heartily: I beseech your

174worship's name.

175Cobweb.

176I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master

177Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall make bold with

178you. Your name, honest gentleman?

179Peaseblossom.

180I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your

181mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good

182Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of more

183acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, sir?

184Mustardseed.

185Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well:

186that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath

187devoured many a gentleman of your house: I promise

188you your kindred had made my eyes water ere now. I

189desire your more acquaintance, good Master

190Mustardseed.

191Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.

192The moon methinks looks with a watery eye;

193And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,

194Lamenting some enforced chastity.

195Tie up my love's tongue bring him silently.

1I wonder if Titania be awaked;

2Then, what it was that next came in her eye,

3Which she must dote on in extremity.

4Here comes my messenger.

5How now, mad spirit!

6What night-rule now about this haunted grove?

7My mistress with a monster is in love.

8Near to her close and consecrated bower,

9While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,

10A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,

11That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,

12Were met together to rehearse a play

13Intended for great Theseus' nuptial-day.

14The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,

15Who Pyramus presented, in their sport

16Forsook his scene and enter'd in a brake

17When I did him at this advantage take,

18An ass's nole I fixed on his head:

19Anon his Thisbe must be answered,

20And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,

21As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,

22Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,

23Rising and cawing at the gun's report,

24Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky,

25So, at his sight, away his fellows fly;

26And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls;

27He murder cries and help from Athens calls.

28Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears

29thus strong,

30Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;

31For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;

32Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all

33things catch.

34I led them on in this distracted fear,

35And left sweet Pyramus translated there:

36When in that moment, so it came to pass,

37Titania waked and straightway loved an ass.

38This falls out better than I could devise.

39But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes

40With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?

41I took him sleeping,--that is finish'd too,--

42And the Athenian woman by his side:

43That, when he waked, of force she must be eyed.

44Stand close: this is the same Athenian.

45This is the woman, but not this the man.

46O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?

47Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

48Now I but chide; but I should use thee worse,

49For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse,

50If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,

51Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,

52And kill me too.

53The sun was not so true unto the day

54As he to me: would he have stolen away

55From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon

56This whole earth may be bored and that the moon

57May through the centre creep and so displease

58Her brother's noontide with Antipodes.

59It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him;

60So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.

61So should the murder'd look, and so should I,

62Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty:

63Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,

64As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.

65What's this to my Lysander? where is he?

66Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?

67I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.

68Out, dog! out, cur! thou drivest me past the bounds

69Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then?

70Henceforth be never number'd among men!

71O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake!

72Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake,

73And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch!

74Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?

75An adder did it; for with doubler tongue

76Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.

77You spend your passion on a misprised mood:

78I am not guilty of Lysander's blood;

79Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.

80I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.

81An if I could, what should I get therefore?

82A privilege never to see me more.

83And from thy hated presence part I so:

84See me no more, whether he be dead or no.

85There is no following her in this fierce vein:

86Here therefore for a while I will remain.

87So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow

88For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe:

89Which now in some slight measure it will pay,

90If for his tender here I make some stay.

91What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite

92And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight:

93Of thy misprision must perforce ensue

94Some true love turn'd and not a false turn'd true.

95Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man holding troth,

96A million fail, confounding oath on oath.

97About the wood go swifter than the wind,

98And Helena of Athens look thou find:

99All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer,

100With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear:

101By some illusion see thou bring her here:

102I'll charm his eyes against she do appear.

103I go, I go; look how I go,

104Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.

105Flower of this purple dye,

106Hit with Cupid's archery,

107Sink in apple of his eye.

108When his love he doth espy,

109Let her shine as gloriously

110As the Venus of the sky.

111When thou wakest, if she be by,

112Beg of her for remedy.

113Captain of our fairy band,

114Helena is here at hand;

115And the youth, mistook by me,

116Pleading for a lover's fee.

117Shall we their fond pageant see?

118Lord, what fools these mortals be!

119Stand aside: the noise they make

120Will cause Demetrius to awake.

121Then will two at once woo one;

122That must needs be sport alone;

123And those things do best please me

124That befal preposterously.

125Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?

126Scorn and derision never come in tears:

127Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,

128In their nativity all truth appears.

129How can these things in me seem scorn to you,

130Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?

131You do advance your cunning more and more.

132When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!

133These vows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er?

134Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:

135Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,

136Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.

137I had no judgment when to her I swore.

138Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.

139Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.

140[Awaking] O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!

141To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?

142Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show

143Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!

144That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow,

145Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow

146When thou hold'st up thy hand: O, let me kiss

147This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!

148O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent

149To set against me for your merriment:

150If you we re civil and knew courtesy,

151You would not do me thus much injury.

152Can you not hate me, as I know you do,

153But you must join in souls to mock me too?

154If you were men, as men you are in show,

155You would not use a gentle lady so;

156To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,

157When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.

158You both are rivals, and love Hermia;

159And now both rivals, to mock Helena:

160A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,

161To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes

162With your derision! none of noble sort

163Would so offend a virgin, and extort

164A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.

165You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so;

166For you love Hermia; this you know I know:

167And here, with all good will, with all my heart,

168In Hermia's love I yield you up my part;

169And yours of Helena to me bequeath,

170Whom I do love and will do till my death.

171Never did mockers waste more idle breath.

172Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none:

173If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone.

174My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd,

175And now to Helen is it home return'd,

176There to remain.

177Helen, it is not so.

178Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,

179Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.

180Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.

181Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,

182The ear more quick of apprehension makes;

183Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,

184It pays the hearing double recompense.

185Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;

186Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound

187But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?

188Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go?

189What love could press Lysander from my side?

190Lysander's love, that would not let him bide,

191Fair Helena, who more engilds the night

192Than all you fiery oes and eyes of light.

193Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know,

194The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so?

195You speak not as you think: it cannot be.

196Lo, she is one of this confederacy!

197Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three

198To fashion this false sport, in spite of me.

199Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid!

200Have you conspired, have you with these contrived

201To bait me with this foul derision?

202Is all the counsel that we two have shared,

203The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,

204When we have chid the hasty-footed time

205For parting us,--O, is it all forgot?

206All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence?

207We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,

208Have with our needles created both one flower,

209Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,

210Both warbling of one song, both in one key,

211As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds,

212Had been incorporate. So we grow together,

213Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,

214But yet an union in partition;

215Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;

216So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;

217Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,

218Due but to one and crowned with one crest.

219And will you rent our ancient love asunder,

220To join with men in scorning your poor friend?

221It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly:

222Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,

223Though I alone do feel the injury.

224I am amazed at your passionate words.

225I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me.

226Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,

227To follow me and praise my eyes and face?

228And made your other love, Demetrius,

229Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,

230To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,

231Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this

232To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander

233Deny your love, so rich within his soul,

234And tender me, forsooth, affection,

235But by your setting on, by your consent?

236What thought I be not so in grace as you,

237So hung upon with love, so fortunate,

238But miserable most, to love unloved?

239This you should pity rather than despise.

240I understand not what you mean by this.

241Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks,

242Make mouths upon me when I turn my back;

243Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up:

244This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.

245If you have any pity, grace, or manners,

246You would not make me such an argument.

247But fare ye well: 'tis partly my own fault;

248Which death or absence soon shall remedy.

249Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse:

250My love, my life my soul, fair Helena!

251O excellent!

252Sweet, do not scorn her so.

253If she cannot entreat, I can compel.

254Thou canst compel no more than she entreat:

255Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.

256Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do:

257I swear by that which I will lose for thee,

258To prove him false that says I love thee not.

259I say I love thee more than he can do.

260If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.

261Quick, come!

262Lysander, whereto tends all this?

263Away, you Ethiope!

264No, no; he'll [ ]

265Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow,

266But yet come not: you are a tame man, go!

267Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose,

268Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!

269Why are you grown so rude? what change is this?

270Sweet love,--

271Thy love! out, tawny Tartar, out!

272Out, loathed medicine! hated potion, hence!

273Do you not jest?

274Yes, sooth; and so do you.

275Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.

276I would I had your bond, for I perceive

277A weak bond holds you: I'll not trust your word.

278What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?

279Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so.

280What, can you do me greater harm than hate?

281Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love!

282Am not I Hermia? are not you Lysander?

283I am as fair now as I was erewhile.

284Since night you loved me; yet since night you left

285me:

286Why, then you left me--O, the gods forbid!--

287In earnest, shall I say?

288Ay, by my life;

289And never did desire to see thee more.

290Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;

291Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest

292That I do hate thee and love Helena.

293O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom!

294You thief of love! what, have you come by night

295And stolen my love's heart from him?

296Fine, i'faith!

297Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,

298No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear

299Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?

300Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet, you!

301Puppet? why so? ay, that way goes the game.

302Now I perceive that she hath made compare

303Between our statures; she hath urged her height;

304And with her personage, her tall personage,

305Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him.

306And are you grown so high in his esteem;

307Because I am so dwarfish and so low?

308How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak;

309How low am I? I am not yet so low

310But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.

311I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,

312Let her not hurt me: I was never curst;

313I have no gift at all in shrewishness;

314I am a right maid for my cowardice:

315Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,

316Because she is something lower than myself,

317That I can match her.

318Lower! hark, again.

319Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.

320I evermore did love you, Hermia,

321Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;

322Save that, in love unto Demetrius,

323I told him of your stealth unto this wood.

324He follow'd you; for love I follow'd him;

325But he hath chid me hence and threaten'd me

326To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:

327And now, so you will let me quiet go,

328To Athens will I bear my folly back

329And follow you no further: let me go:

330You see how simple and how fond I am.

331Why, get you gone: who is't that hinders you?

332A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.

333What, with Lysander?

334With Demetrius.

335Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.

336No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.

337O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd!

338She was a vixen when she went to school;

339And though she be but little, she is fierce.

340'Little' again! nothing but 'low' and 'little'!

341Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?

342Let me come to her.

343Get you gone, you dwarf;

344You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made;

345You bead, you acorn.

346You are too officious

347In her behalf that scorns your services.

348Let her alone: speak not of Helena;

349Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend

350Never so little show of love to her,

351Thou shalt aby it.

352Now she holds me not;

353Now follow, if thou darest, to try whose right,

354Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.

355Follow! nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole.

356You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you:

357Nay, go not back.

358I will not trust you, I,

359Nor longer stay in your curst company.

360Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray,

361My legs are longer though, to run away.

362I am amazed, and know not what to say.

363This is thy negligence: still thou mistakest,

364Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully.

365Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.

366Did not you tell me I should know the man

367By the Athenian garment be had on?

368And so far blameless proves my enterprise,

369That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes;

370And so far am I glad it so did sort

371As this their jangling I esteem a sport.

372Thou see'st these lovers seek a place to fight:

373Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;

374The starry welkin cover thou anon

375With drooping fog as black as Acheron,

376And lead these testy rivals so astray

377As one come not within another's way.

378Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,

379Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;

380And sometime rail thou like Demetrius;

381And from each other look thou lead them thus,

382Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep

383With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep:

384Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye;

385Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,

386To take from thence all error with his might,

387And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.

388When they next wake, all this derision

389Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision,

390And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,

391With league whose date till death shall never end.

392Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,

393I'll to my queen and beg her Indian boy;

394And then I will her charmed eye release

395From monster's view, and all things shall be peace.

396My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,

397For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,

398And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger;

399At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,

400Troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all,

401That in crossways and floods have burial,

402Already to their wormy beds are gone;

403For fear lest day should look their shames upon,

404They willfully themselves exile from light

405And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.

406But we are spirits of another sort:

407I with the morning's love have oft made sport,

408And, like a forester, the groves may tread,

409Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,

410Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,

411Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams.

412But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay:

413We may effect this business yet ere day.

414Up and down, up and down,

415I will lead them up and down:

416I am fear'd in field and town:

417Goblin, lead them up and down.

418Here comes one.

419Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou now.

420Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where art thou?

421I will be with thee straight.

422Follow me, then,

423To plainer ground.

424Lysander! speak again:

425Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?

426Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?

427Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,

428Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,

429And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou child;

430I'll whip thee with a rod: he is defiled

431That draws a sword on thee.

432Yea, art thou there?

433Follow my voice: we'll try no manhood here.

434He goes before me and still dares me on:

435When I come where he calls, then he is gone.

436The villain is much lighter-heel'd than I:

437I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly;

438That fallen am I in dark uneven way,

439And here will rest me.

440Come, thou gentle day!

441For if but once thou show me thy grey light,

442I'll find Demetrius and revenge this spite.

443Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why comest thou not?

444Abide me, if thou darest; for well I wot

445Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place,

446And darest not stand, nor look me in the face.

447Where art thou now?

448Come hither: I am here.

449Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy this dear,

450If ever I thy face by daylight see:

451Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me

452To measure out my length on this cold bed.

453By day's approach look to be visited.

454O weary night, O long and tedious night,

455Abate thy hour! Shine comforts from the east,

456That I may back to Athens by daylight,

457From these that my poor company detest:

458And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye,

459Steal me awhile from mine own company.

460Yet but three? Come one more;

461Two of both kinds make up four.

462Here she comes, curst and sad:

463Cupid is a knavish lad,

464Thus to make poor females mad.

465Never so weary, never so in woe,

466Bedabbled with the dew and torn with briers,

467I can no further crawl, no further go;

468My legs can keep no pace with my desires.

469Here will I rest me till the break of day.

470Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!

471On the ground

472Sleep sound:

473I'll apply

474To your eye,

475Gentle lover, remedy.

476When thou wakest,

477Thou takest

478True delight

479In the sight

480Of thy former lady's eye:

481And the country proverb known,

482That every man should take his own,

483In your waking shall be shown:

484Jack shall have Jill;

485Nought shall go ill;

486The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.

1Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,

2While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,

3And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,

4And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.

5Where's Peaseblossom?

6Ready.

7Scratch my head Peaseblossom. Where's Mounsieur Cobweb?

8Ready.

9Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your

10weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped

11humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good

12mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret

13yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; and,

14good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not;

15I would be loath to have you overflown with a

16honey-bag, signior. Where's Mounsieur Mustardseed?

17Ready.

18Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you,

19leave your courtesy, good mounsieur.

20What's your Will?

21Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb

22to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur; for

23methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face; and I

24am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me,

25I must scratch.

26What, wilt thou hear some music,

27my sweet love?

28I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let's have

29the tongs and the bones.

30Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.

31Truly, a peck of provender: I could munch your good

32dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle

33of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

34I have a venturous fairy that shall seek

35The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.

36I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas.

37But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me: I

38have an exposition of sleep come upon me.

39Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.

40Fairies, begone, and be all ways away.

41So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle

42Gently entwist; the female ivy so

43Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.

44O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!

45[Advancing] Welcome, good Robin.

46See'st thou this sweet sight?

47Her dotage now I do begin to pity:

48For, meeting her of late behind the wood,

49Seeking sweet favours from this hateful fool,

50I did upbraid her and fall out with her;

51For she his hairy temples then had rounded

52With a coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;

53And that same dew, which sometime on the buds

54Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls,

55Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes

56Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.

57When I had at my pleasure taunted her

58And she in mild terms begg'd my patience,

59I then did ask of her her changeling child;

60Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent

61To bear him to my bower in fairy land.

62And now I have the boy, I will undo

63This hateful imperfection of her eyes:

64And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp

65From off the head of this Athenian swain;

66That, he awaking when the other do,

67May all to Athens back again repair

68And think no more of this night's accidents

69But as the fierce vexation of a dream.

70But first I will release the fairy queen.

71Be as thou wast wont to be;

72See as thou wast wont to see:

73Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower

74Hath such force and blessed power.

75Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.

76My Oberon! what visions have I seen!

77Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.

78There lies your love.

79How came these things to pass?

80O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!

81Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head.

82Titania, music call; and strike more dead

83Than common sleep of all these five the sense.

84Music, ho! music, such as charmeth sleep!

85Now, when thou wakest, with thine

86own fool's eyes peep.

87Sound, music! Come, my queen, take hands with me,

88And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.

89Now thou and I are new in amity,

90And will to-morrow midnight solemnly

91Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly,

92And bless it to all fair prosperity:

93There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be

94Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.

95Fairy king, attend, and mark:

96I do hear the morning lark.

97Then, my queen, in silence sad,

98Trip we after the night's shade:

99We the globe can compass soon,

100Swifter than the wandering moon.

101Come, my lord, and in our flight

102Tell me how it came this night

103That I sleeping here was found

104With these mortals on the ground.

105Go, one of you, find out the forester;

106For now our observation is perform'd;

107And since we have the vaward of the day,

108My love shall hear the music of my hounds.

109Uncouple in the western valley; let them go:

110Dispatch, I say, and find the forester.

111We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top,

112And mark the musical confusion

113Of hounds and echo in conjunction.

114I was with Hercules and Cadmus once,

115When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear

116With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear

117Such gallant chiding: for, besides the groves,

118The skies, the fountains, every region near

119Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard

120So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

121My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,

122So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung

123With ears that sweep away the morning dew;

124Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls;

125Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,

126Each under each. A cry more tuneable

127Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn,

128In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly:

129Judge when you hear. But, soft! what nymphs are these?

130My lord, this is my daughter here asleep;

131And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is;

132This Helena, old Nedar's Helena:

133I wonder of their being here together.

134No doubt they rose up early to observe

135The rite of May, and hearing our intent,

136Came here in grace our solemnity.

137But speak, Egeus; is not this the day

138That Hermia should give answer of her choice?

139It is, my lord.

140Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.

141Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past:

142Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?

143Pardon, my lord.

144I pray you all, stand up.

145I know you two are rival enemies:

146How comes this gentle concord in the world,

147That hatred is so far from jealousy,

148To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?

149My lord, I shall reply amazedly,

150Half sleep, half waking: but as yet, I swear,

151I cannot truly say how I came here;

152But, as I think,--for truly would I speak,

153And now do I bethink me, so it is,--

154I came with Hermia hither: our intent

155Was to be gone from Athens, where we might,

156Without the peril of the Athenian law.

157Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough:

158I beg the law, the law, upon his head.

159They would have stolen away; they would, Demetrius,

160Thereby to have defeated you and me,

161You of your wife and me of my consent,

162Of my consent that she should be your wife.

163My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,

164Of this their purpose hither to this wood;

165And I in fury hither follow'd them,

166Fair Helena in fancy following me.

167But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,--

168But by some power it is,--my love to Hermia,

169Melted as the snow, seems to me now

170As the remembrance of an idle gaud

171Which in my childhood I did dote upon;

172And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,

173The object and the pleasure of mine eye,

174Is only Helena. To her, my lord,

175Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia:

176But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food;

177But, as in health, come to my natural taste,

178Now I do wish it, love it, long for it,

179And will for evermore be true to it.

180Fair lovers, you are fortunately met:

181Of this discourse we more will hear anon.

182Egeus, I will overbear your will;

183For in the temple by and by with us

184These couples shall eternally be knit:

185And, for the morning now is something worn,

186Our purposed hunting shall be set aside.

187Away with us to Athens; three and three,

188We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.

189Come, Hippolyta.

190These things seem small and undistinguishable,

191Methinks I see these things with parted eye,

192When every thing seems double.

193So methinks:

194And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,

195Mine own, and not mine own.

196Are you sure

197That we are awake? It seems to me

198That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think

199The duke was here, and bid us follow him?

200Yea; and my father.

201And Hippolyta.

202And he did bid us follow to the temple.

203Why, then, we are awake: let's follow him

204And by the way let us recount our dreams.

205[Awaking] When my cue comes, call me, and I will

206answer: my next is, 'Most fair Pyramus.' Heigh-ho!

207Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout,

208the tinker! Starveling! God's my life, stolen

209hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare

210vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to

211say what dream it was: man is but an ass, if he go

212about to expound this dream. Methought I was--there

213is no man can tell what. Methought I was,--and

214methought I had,--but man is but a patched fool, if

215he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye

216of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not

217seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue

218to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream

219was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of

220this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream,

221because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the

222latter end of a play, before the duke:

223peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall

224sing it at her death.

1Have you sent to Bottom's house? is he come home yet?

2He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is

3transported.

4If he come not, then the play is marred: it goes

5not forward, doth it?

6It is not possible: you have not a man in all

7Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he.

8No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft

9man in Athens.

10Yea and the best person too; and he is a very

11paramour for a sweet voice.

12You must say 'paragon:' a paramour is, God bless us,

13a thing of naught.

14Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and

15there is two or three lords and ladies more married:

16if our sport had gone forward, we had all been made

17men.

18O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a

19day during his life; he could not have 'scaped

20sixpence a day: an the duke had not given him

21sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged;

22he would have deserved it: sixpence a day in

23Pyramus, or nothing.

24Where are these lads? where are these hearts?

25Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!

26Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not

27what; for if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I

28will tell you every thing, right as it fell out.

29Let us hear, sweet Bottom.

30Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that

31the duke hath dined. Get your apparel together,

32good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your

33pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look

34o'er his part; for the short and the long is, our

35play is preferred. In any case, let Thisby have

36clean linen; and let not him that plays the lion

37pair his nails, for they shall hang out for the

38lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions

39nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I

40do not doubt but to hear them say, it is a sweet

41comedy. No more words: away! go, away!

1'Tis strange my Theseus, that these

2lovers speak of.

3More strange than true: I never may believe

4These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.

5Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

6Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend

7More than cool reason ever comprehends.

8The lunatic, the lover and the poet

9Are of imagination all compact:

10One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,

11That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,

12Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:

13The poet's eye, in fine frenzy rolling,

14Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

15And as imagination bodies forth

16The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen

17Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing

18A local habitation and a name.

19Such tricks hath strong imagination,

20That if it would but apprehend some joy,

21It comprehends some bringer of that joy;

22Or in the night, imagining some fear,

23How easy is a bush supposed a bear!

24But all the story of the night told over,

25And all their minds transfigured so together,

26More witnesseth than fancy's images

27And grows to something of great constancy;

28But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

29Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.

30Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love

31Accompany your hearts!

32More than to us

33Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!

34Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have,

35To wear away this long age of three hours

36Between our after-supper and bed-time?

37Where is our usual manager of mirth?

38What revels are in hand? Is there no play,

39To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?

40Call Philostrate.

41Here, mighty Theseus.

42Say, what abridgement have you for this evening?

43What masque? what music? How shall we beguile

44The lazy time, if not with some delight?

45There is a brief how many sports are ripe:

46Make choice of which your highness will see first.

47[Reads] 'The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung

48By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.'

49We'll none of that: that have I told my love,

50In glory of my kinsman Hercules.

51'The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,

52Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.'

53That is an old device; and it was play'd

54When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

55'The thrice three Muses mourning for the death

56Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.'

57That is some satire, keen and critical,

58Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.

59'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus

60And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.'

61Merry and tragical! tedious and brief!

62That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow.

63How shall we find the concord of this discord?

64A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,

65Which is as brief as I have known a play;

66But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,

67Which makes it tedious; for in all the play

68There is not one word apt, one player fitted:

69And tragical, my noble lord, it is;

70For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.

71Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess,

72Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears

73The passion of loud laughter never shed.

74What are they that do play it?

75Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,

76Which never labour'd in their minds till now,

77And now have toil'd their unbreathed memories

78With this same play, against your nuptial.

79And we will hear it.

80No, my noble lord;

81It is not for you: I have heard it over,

82And it is nothing, nothing in the world;

83Unless you can find sport in their intents,

84Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain,

85To do you service.

86I will hear that play;

87For never anything can be amiss,

88When simpleness and duty tender it.

89Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies.

90I love not to see wretchedness o'er charged

91And duty in his service perishing.

92Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.

93He says they can do nothing in this kind.

94The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.

95Our sport shall be to take what they mistake:

96And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect

97Takes it in might, not merit.

98Where I have come, great clerks have purposed

99To greet me with premeditated welcomes;

100Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,

101Make periods in the midst of sentences,

102Throttle their practised accent in their fears

103And in conclusion dumbly have broke off,

104Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,

105Out of this silence yet I pick'd a welcome;

106And in the modesty of fearful duty

107I read as much as from the rattling tongue

108Of saucy and audacious eloquence.

109Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity

110In least speak most, to my capacity.

111So please your grace, the Prologue is address'd.

112Let him approach.

113If we offend, it is with our good will.

114That you should think, we come not to offend,

115But with good will. To show our simple skill,

116That is the true beginning of our end.

117Consider then we come but in despite.

118We do not come as minding to contest you,

119Our true intent is. All for your delight

120We are not here. That you should here repent you,

121The actors are at hand and by their show

122You shall know all that you are like to know.

123This fellow doth not stand upon points.

124He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows

125not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not

126enough to speak, but to speak true.

127Indeed he hath played on his prologue like a child

128on a recorder; a sound, but not in government.

129His speech, was like a tangled chain; nothing

130impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?

131Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;

132But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.

133This man is Pyramus, if you would know;

134This beauteous lady Thisby is certain.

135This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present

136Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder;

137And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are content

138To whisper. At the which let no man wonder.

139This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,

140Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will know,

141By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn

142To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.

143This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name,

144The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,

145Did scare away, or rather did affright;

146And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall,

147Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.

148Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,

149And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain:

150Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade,

151He bravely broach'd is boiling bloody breast;

152And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade,

153His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,

154Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain

155At large discourse, while here they do remain.

156I wonder if the lion be to speak.

157No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do.

158In this same interlude it doth befall

159That I, one Snout by name, present a wall;

160And such a wall, as I would have you think,

161That had in it a crannied hole or chink,

162Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,

163Did whisper often very secretly.

164This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show

165That I am that same wall; the truth is so:

166And this the cranny is, right and sinister,

167Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.

168Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?

169It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard

170discourse, my lord.

171Pyramus draws near the wall: silence!

172O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black!

173O night, which ever art when day is not!

174O night, O night! alack, alack, alack,

175I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot!

176And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,

177That stand'st between her father's ground and mine!

178Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,

179Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne!

180Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!

181But what see I? No Thisby do I see.

182O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss!

183Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me!

184The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.

185No, in truth, sir, he should not. 'Deceiving me'

186is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now, and I am to

187spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will

188fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.

189O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,

190For parting my fair Pyramus and me!

191My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones,

192Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.

193I see a voice: now will I to the chink,

194To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. Thisby!

195My love thou art, my love I think.

196Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace;

197And, like Limander, am I trusty still.

198And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.

199Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.

200As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.

201O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall!

202I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.

203Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?

204'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay.

205Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;

206And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.

207Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.

208No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear

209without warning.

210This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.

211The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst

212are no worse, if imagination amend them.

213It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.

214If we imagine no worse of them than they of

215themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here

216come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion.

217You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear

218The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,

219May now perchance both quake and tremble here,

220When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.

221Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am

222A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam;

223For, if I should as lion come in strife

224Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.

225A very gentle beast, of a good conscience.

226The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.

227This lion is a very fox for his valour.

228True; and a goose for his discretion.

229Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his

230discretion; and the fox carries the goose.

231His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour;

232for the goose carries not the fox. It is well:

233leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon.

234This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;--

235He should have worn the horns on his head.

236He is no crescent, and his horns are

237invisible within the circumference.

238This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;

239Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be.

240This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man

241should be put into the lanthorn. How is it else the

242man i' the moon?

243He dares not come there for the candle; for, you

244see, it is already in snuff.

245I am aweary of this moon: would he would change!

246It appears, by his small light of discretion, that

247he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all

248reason, we must stay the time.

249Proceed, Moon.

250All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the

251lanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this

252thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog.

253Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for all

254these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.

255This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?

256[Roaring] Oh--

257Well roared, Lion.

258Well run, Thisbe.

259Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a

260good grace.

261Well moused, Lion.

262And so the lion vanished.

263And then came Pyramus.

264Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;

265I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;

266For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,

267I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.

268But stay, O spite!

269But mark, poor knight,

270What dreadful dole is here!

271Eyes, do you see?

272How can it be?

273O dainty duck! O dear!

274Thy mantle good,

275What, stain'd with blood!

276Approach, ye Furies fell!

277O Fates, come, come,

278Cut thread and thrum;

279Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

280This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would

281go near to make a man look sad.

282Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

283O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?

284Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear:

285Which is--no, no--which was the fairest dame

286That lived, that loved, that liked, that look'd

287with cheer.

288Come, tears, confound;

289Out, sword, and wound

290The pap of Pyramus;

291Ay, that left pap,

292Where heart doth hop:

293Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.

294Now am I dead,

295Now am I fled;

296My soul is in the sky:

297Tongue, lose thy light;

298Moon take thy flight:

299Now die, die, die, die, die.

300No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.

301Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.

302With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and

303prove an ass.

304How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes

305back and finds her lover?

306She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and

307her passion ends the play.

308Methinks she should not use a long one for such a

309Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.

310A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which

311Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God warrant us;

312she for a woman, God bless us.

313She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.

314And thus she means, videlicet:--

315Asleep, my love?

316What, dead, my dove?

317O Pyramus, arise!

318Speak, speak. Quite dumb?

319Dead, dead? A tomb

320Must cover thy sweet eyes.

321These My lips,

322This cherry nose,

323These yellow cowslip cheeks,

324Are gone, are gone:

325Lovers, make moan:

326His eyes were green as leeks.

327O Sisters Three,

328Come, come to me,

329With hands as pale as milk;

330Lay them in gore,

331Since you have shore

332With shears his thread of silk.

333Tongue, not a word:

334Come, trusty sword;

335Come, blade, my breast imbrue:

336And, farewell, friends;

337Thus Thisby ends:

338Adieu, adieu, adieu.

339Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.

340Ay, and Wall too.

341[Starting up] No assure you; the wall is down that

342parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the

343epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two

344of our company?

345No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no

346excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all

347dead, there needs none to be blamed. Marry, if he