Her. God fpeed, fair Helena! whither away? Your eyes are load-ftars, and your tongue's fweet air (a) Your's would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me ftill. Her. I give him curfes, yet he gives me love. Her. Take comfort; he no more fhall fee my face; Lyf. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold; To morrow night, when Phebe doth behold [(a) Your's would catch, Oxf. Ed. catch.] H 3 Vulg. your words I'd Her Her filver visage in the wat'ry glass, Her. And in the wood, where often you and I But what of that? Demetrius thinks not fo: Things base and vile, holding no quantity, I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight: [Exit, Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snowt, and Starveling. Quin. IS all our company here? Bot. You were beft to call them generally man by man, according to the fcrip. Quin. Here is the fcrowl of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke and 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 go on to a point. Quin. Marry, our play is the most lamentable comedy, and most 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 yourselves. Quin. Anfwer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver. 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. 2 GROW on to a point,] read Go on &c. H 4 Bot. Bot. That will ask fome tears in the true performing of it; if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; will move ftorms; I will condole in fome measure. To the reft; yet, my chief humour is for a tyrant; 3I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a Cap in: To make all split" the raging rocks, and fhiver❝ing fhocks fhall break the locks of prifon-gates"and Phibbus' carr fhall fhine from far, and make "and mar the foolish fates." This was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling. Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mendeṛ. Flu. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. You must take Thisby on you. Flu. What is Thisby, a wand'ring 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 fhall play it in a masque; and you may speak as fmall, as you will. Bot. An 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, you, Thisby. Bot. Well, proceed. Quin. Robin Starveling, the taylor. 3 I could play Ercles part rarely, or a part to tear a CAT in.] We should read, A part to tear a CAP in. for as a ranting whore was called a tear sheet, [2d part of Hen. IV.] fo a ranting bully was called a tear-cap. For this reafon it is, the Poet makes bully Bottom, as he is called afterwards, wifh for a part to tear a cap in. And in the ancient plays, the bombaft and the rant held the place of the fublime and pathetic: And indeed conflituted the very effence of their tragical Farces. Thus Bale in his Acts of English votaries, part 2d, fays grennyng like Termagauntes in a play. Star. Star. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother. Tom Snowt, the tinker. Snow. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's fa ther; Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part: 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, let him roar again, let him roar again. Quin. If you fhould 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 fon. Bot. I grant you, friends, if 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 you an 'twere any nightingale. Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet-fac'd man; a proper man, as one fhall fee in a fummer's day; a moft lovely gentleman-like man: therefore you must needs play Pyramus. What beard were Bot. Well, I will undertake it. I beft to play it in? Quin. Why, what you will. Bot. I will difcharge it in either your straw-colour'd beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French crown-colour'd beard; your perfect yellow. |