« PredošláPokračovať »
A Time that Lovers Flights doth ftill conceal,
Her. And in the Wood, where often you and I
Lyf. I will, my Hermia. Helena adieu, As you on him, Demetrius doats on you. [Exit Lyfander. Hel. How happy fome, o'er othersome can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as fhe. But what of that; Demetrius thinks not fo: He will not know, what all but he doth know. And as he errs, doting on Hermia's Eyes, So I, admiring of his Qualities: Things bafe and vile, holding no quantity, Love can tranfpofe to Form and Dignity; Love looks not with the Eyes, but with the Mind, And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind : Nor hath Love's Mind of any Judgment tafte; Wings and no Eyes, Figure unheedy haft. And therefore is Love faid to be a Child, Because in Choice he often is beguil'd. As waggish Boys themselves in Game forfwear, So the Boy Love is perjur'd every where. For e'er Demetrius lookt on Hermia's Eyne, He hail'd down Oaths that he was only mine. And when this Hail fome Heat from Hermia felt, So he diffolv'd, and Showers of Oaths did melt. I will go tell him of fair Hermia's Flight: Then to the Wood will he to Morrow Night Purfue her; and for this Intelligence If I have Thanks, it is a dear Expence. But herein mean I to enrich my Pain, To have his Sight thither, and back again.
Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snowt, and Straveling. Quin. Is all our Company here?
Bot. You were beft to call them generally, Man by Man, according to the Scrip.
Quin. Here is the Scrowl of every Man's Name, which is thought fit through all Athens, to play in our Enterlude before the Duke and the Dutchefs, on his Wedding-day at Night.
Bot. Firft, good Peter Quince, fay what the Play treats on; then read the Names of the Actors; and fo grow on to a Point.
Quin. Marry, our Play is the moft lamentable Comedy, and moft cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisby.
Bot. A very good piece of Work I affure you, and a merry. Now good Peter Quince, call forth your Actors by the Scrowl. Mafters fpread your felves.
Quin. Anfwer as I call you. Nick Bottom the Wea
Bot. Ready: Name what part I am for, and proceed. Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are fet down for Pyramus. Bot. What is Pyramus, a Lover, or a Tyrant? Quin. A Lover that kills himself most gallantly for Love.
Bot. That will ask fome Tears in the true performing of it; if I do it, let the Audience look to their Eyes; I will condole in fome measure. To the reft yet, my chief Hu mour is for a Tyrant; I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a Cat in, to make all split to raging Rocks, and fhivering Shocks fhall break the Locks of Prifon-Gates, and Phib bus's Carr fhall fhine from far, and make and mar the Foolifh Fates. This was lofty. Now name the reft of the PlayThis is Ercles Vein, a Tyrant's Vein; a Lover is more condoling.
Quin. Francis Flute the Bellows-mender.
Flu. Here Peter Quince.
Quin. You must take Thisby on you.
Flu. What is Thisby, a wandring Knight?
Quin. It is the Lady that Pyramus must love. Flu. Nay faith, let not me play a Woman, I have a Beard coming.
Quin. That's all one, you shall play it in a Mask, and you may fpeak as fmall as you will.
Bot. And I may hide my Face, let me play Thisby too; I'll speak in a monftrous little Voice, Thifne, Thifne, ah Pyramus my Lover dear, thy Thisby dear, and Lady dear.
Quin. No, no, you must play Pyramus, - and Flute your Thisby.
Bot. Well, proceed.
Quin. Robin Starveling the Taylor.
Star. Here Peter Quince.
Quin. Robin Straveling, you must play Thisby's Mother.
Tom Snowt, the Tinker.
Snowt. Here Peter Quince.
Quin. You Pyramus's Father; my felf, Thisby's Father ; Snug, the Joiner, you the Lion's part; and I hope there is a Play fitted.
Snug. Have you the Lion's Part written? Pray you if it be give it me, for I am flow of Study.
Quin. You may do it Extempore, for it is nothing but Roaring.
Bot. Let me play the Lion too, I will roar, that I will do any Man's Heart good to hear me. I will roar, that I will make the Duke fay, Bet him roar again, let him roar again.
Quin. If you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Dutchefs and the Ladies, that they would fhriek, and that were enough to hang us all.
All. That would hang us every Mother's Son.
Bot. I grant you Friend, if that you fhould fright the Ladies out of their Wits, they would have no more Difcretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my Voice fo, that I will roar you as gently as any fucking Dove; I will roar and 'twere any Nightingal.
Quin. You can play no Part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a fweet-fac'd Man, a proper Man as one fhall fee in a Summer's Day; a moft lovely Gentleman-like-man, therefore you must needs play Pyramus.
Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What Beard were I be to play it in?
Quin. Why, what you will.
Bot. I will discharge it in either your Straw-colour Beard, your Orange-tawny Beard, your Purple-in-grain Beard, or your French-crown-colour'd, Beard, your perfect yellow.
Quin. Some of your French-Crowns have no Hair at all, and then you will play bare-fac'd. But Mafters here are your Parts, and I am to entreat you, requeft you, and defire you, to con them by to Morrow Night; and meet me in the Palace-Wood, a Mile without the Town, by Moonlight, there we will Rehearfe; for if we meet in the City, we shall be dog'd with Company, and our Devices known. In the mean time I will draw a Bill of Properties, such as our Play wants. I pray you fail not.
Bot. We will meet, and there we may rehearfe more ob-
Enter a Fairy at one Door, and Puck or Robin-goodfellow at another.
Puck-H Fai. Over Hill, over Dale, through Bufh, through
now whither wander you?
Over Park, over Pale, through Flood, through Fire, (Briar,
In those Freckles live their Savours:
I must go feek fome Dew-Drops here,
Take heed the Queen come not within his Sight,
Fai. Either I mistake your Shape and Making quite,
Puck. Thou fpeak'st aright;
I am that merry Wanderer of the Night:
A merrier Hour was never wafted there.