The duke was here, and bid us follow him?
Her. Yea; and my father.
Hel. And Hippolyta.

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. Dem. Why then, we are awake: let's follow him;

And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt.

As they go out, BOTTOм awakes. Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer:-my text is, Most fair Pyramus.Hey, ho!-Peter Quince! Flute, the bellowsmender! Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God's my life! stolen hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream,-past the wit of man to say what dream it was: Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was-there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had,-But man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen; man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke: Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit. SCENE II-Athens.-A Room in QUINCE'S

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

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is transported.

Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred; It goes not forward, doth it?

Quin. It is not possible: you have not a man ia all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he.

Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handycraft man in Athens.

Quin. Yea, and the best person too: and he is a very paramour, for a sweet voice. Flu. You must say, paragon: a paramour is, God bless us, a thing of nought.

Enter SNUG.

Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married: if our sport had gone

forward, we had all been made men.

Flu. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus bath he lost sixpence a-day during his life; he could not have 'scaped sixpence a-day: an the duke had not given him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged; he would have deserved it: sixpence a-day, in Pyramus, or nothing.

Enter BOTTOM.

apparel together; good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look o'er his part; for, the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen; and let not him, that plays the lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I do not doubt, but to hear them say, it is a sweet comedy. No more words: away; go, away. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.—The sume.—An Apartment in the Palace of THESEUS.

Enter

Hip.

The.

THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE,
Lords, and Attendants.

Tis strange, my Theseus, that these
lovers speak of.

More strange than true. I never may
believe

These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
Lovers, and madmen, have such seething
brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact:*
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ;
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth
to heaven;

And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy no-
A local habitation, and a name. [thing
Such tricks hath strong imagination;
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or, in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear?

Hip. But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigur'd so together,
More witnesseth than fancy's images,
And grows to something of great constancy;
But, howsoever, strange, and admirable.
Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, wnd
HELENA.

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love mirth.Accompany your hearts!

Lys. More than to us
[bed!
Wait on your royal walks, your board, your
The. Come now; what masks, what dances

To wear away this long age of three hours,
shall we have,
Between our after-supper, and bed time ?
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philostrate.

Philost. Here, mighty Theseus.
The. Say, what abridgment; have you fo
this evening?
Iguile.
What mask? what music? How shall we be
The lazy time, if not with some delight?
Philost. There is a brief, how many sports
are ripe;

* Are made of mere kma mnation,

↑ l'astime.

+ Stability

Short accovat

Make choice of which your highness will see first. [Giving a paper.

The. [Reads.] The battle with the Centaurs, to

be sung

By an Athenian eunuch to the harp. We'll none of that: that have I told my love, In glory of my kinsman Hercules.

The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,

Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. That is an old device; and it was play'd When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

The thrice three Muses mourning for the death Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary. That is some satire, keen, and critical, Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.

A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus,
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief?
That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?
Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten
words long;

Which is as brief as I have known a play;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long;
Which makes it tedious: for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.

The. What are they, that do play it?
Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in
Athens here,

Which never laboured in their minds till now;
And now have toil'd their unbreath'd* memories
With this same play, against your nuptial.
The. And we will hear it.
Philost. No, my noble lord,

It is not for you: I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Unless you can find sport in their intents,
Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel
To do you service.

The. I will hear that play;
For never any thing can be amiss,
When simpleness and duty tender it.

[pain,

Go, bring them in;-and take your places,

ladies.

Prol. If we offend, it is with our good will, That you should think, we come not to offend, But with good will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Consider then, we come but in despite,

We do not come as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight, [you,

The actors are at hand; and, by their show,
We are not here. That you should here repent
You shall know all, that you are like to know.

The. This fellow doth not stand upon points, Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt, he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: It is not enough to speak, but to speak true.

Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue, like a child on a recorder;* a sound, but not in government.

The. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is

next?

such thing.

The. The kinder we, nothing. Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake: And what poor duty cannot do,

to give them thanks for

Noble respect takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears,
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty

I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity,
In least, speak most, to my capacity.

Enter PHILOSTRATE.

failost. So please your grace the prologue is addrest.t

• Unexercised.

stain:

Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, "And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain: "Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, [breast;

"He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody "And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade,

"His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, "Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain, "At large discourse, while here they do remain."

[Exeunt PROLOGUE, THISBE, LION, and MOONSHINE.

The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. Dem. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do.

Wall. "In this same interlude, it doth befall, "That I, one Snout by name, present a wall: "And such a wall, as I would have you think, "That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, "Through which the lovers, Pyramus and "Did whisper often very secretly. [Thieby, "This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone doth show,

sical instrument.

Enter PYRAMUS.

hue so black!

well for this!

Enter THISBE.

[ACT V. men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion.

Enter LION and MOONSHINE.

Lion. "You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear

"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,

"May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,

Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am "When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. For if I should as lion come in strife "A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam: "Into this place, 'twere pity on my life." The. A very gentle beast and of a good conscience.

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

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. carry his discretion; and the fox carries the The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord: for his valour cannot

goose.

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. listen to the moon. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us

Moon." This lantern doth the horned moon present:"

Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.

The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present;

iny moans,

er's grace;

kill."

Pyr. "Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true." This. "As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this

66

vile wall." This. "I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all."

Pyr. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?"

This. "Tide life, tide death, I come without delay."

Wall." Thus have I, wall, my part discharg

ed so;

"And, being done, thus wall away doth go." [Exeunt WALL, PYRAMUS, and THISBE. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.

Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. The. The best in this kind are but shadows: and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.

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

The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent

Myself the man i'the moon do seem to be." is it else the man i'the moon? The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be put into the lantern: How

for,

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: you see, it is already in snuff.* Hip. I am weary of this moon: Would, he would change!

tion, that he is in the wane: but yet, in courThe. It appears, by his small light of discretesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. Lys. Proceed, moon.

that the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, this dog, my dog. moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and

tern; for they are in the moon. But, silence. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lanhere comes Thisbe.

For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering

streams,

"I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight. "But stay;-O spite!

"But mark;-Poor knight, "What dreadful dole is here?

"Eyes, do you see?
"How can it be?

"O dainty duck! O dear!

"Thy mantle good,

"What, stain'd with blood? "Approach, ye furies fell!

O fates! come, come; "Cut thread and thrum;* "Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!" The. This passion, and the death of a dear fiend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. "O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions

frame?

Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, for such a Pyramus: I hope, she will be brief.

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better.

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.

Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.-
Asleep, my love?

This. 66

"What, dead, my dove?

"O Pyramus, arise,

"Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
"Dead, dead? A tomb

<Must cover thy sweet eyes.
"These lily brows,
"This cherry nose,

"These yellow cowslip cheeks,
"Are gone, are gone:
"Lovers, make moan!

"His eyes were green as leeks.
"O sisters three,
"Come, come, to me,

"With hands as pale as milk;
"Lay them in gore,

• Coarse yarn. + Destroy. + Countenance.

Come, trusty sword;

"Come, blade, my breast imbrue: "And farewell, friends;

"Thus Thisby ends:

"Adieu, adieu, adieu."

[Dies.

The. Moonshine, and lion are left to bury the dead.

Dem. Ay, and wall too.

Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two of our company?

The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn, As much as we this night have overwatch'd. This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd The heavy gait* of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.

A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels, and new jollity.

SCENE II.-Enter PUCK. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

[Exeunt,

And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.t
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,

That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecat's team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent, with broom, before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train.
Obe. Through this house give glimmering
By the dead and drowsy fire:

Every elf, and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier;

And this ditty, after me,

Sing and dance it trippingly.

[light

Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote; To each word a warbling note,

Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

SONG, and DANCE.