For now our observation is perform'd: Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep: I wonder of their being here together. The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe The rite of May; and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity.But, speak, Egeus; is not this the day That Hermia should give answer of her choice? Ege. It is, my lord. The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia, and Helena, wake and start up. The. Good-morrow, friends. St. Valentine is past; Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel to Theseus. The. I pray you all, stand up. I know, you are two rival enemies: How comes this gentle concord in the world, That hatred is so far from jealousy, To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity? Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, Half 'sleep, half waking: But as yet, I swear, I cannot truly say how I came here: But, as I think, (for truly would I speak,And now I do bethink me, so it is ;) I came with Hermia hither; our intent Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be Without the peril of the Athenian law.' Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough; Thereby to have defeated you and me: (1) Forepart. (31 The flews are the large chaps of a hound. 'Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met: [Exeunt The. Hyp. Ege, and train. Dem. These things seem small, and undistinguishable, Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. Hel. Her. Yea: and my father. 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. [Exe. As they go out, Bottom awakes. Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer;-my next is, Most fair Pyramus.-Hey, ho!-Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! 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 call 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. all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he. Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft 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 hath 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. Bot. Where are these lads? where are these hearts? Quin. Bottom!-O most courageous day! O most happy hour! Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for, if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out. Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you, is, that the duke hath dined: Get your 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 lions claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlic, 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, [Exeunt. away. ACT V. SCENE I-The same. An apartment in the The. More strange than true. I never may believe One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; And, as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation, and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination; (1) Are made of mere imagination. (2) Stability. (3) Pastime. (4) Short account. 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;2 But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love, Accompany your hearts! Lys. More than to us Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed. The. Come now; what masks, what dances shall we have, To wear away this long age of three hours, What mask? what music? How shall we beguile Philost. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe; 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. The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 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: here, Which never labour'd in their minds till now; No, my noble lord, (5) Unexercised. Unless you can find sport in their intents, Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing. Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake: Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. I read as much, as from the rattling tongue Enter Philostrate. Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest.1 The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. Enter Prologue. 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, We are not here. That you should here repent you, The actors are at hand; and, by their show, 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. This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 'Presenteth moonshine: for, if you will know, 'By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn "To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to won. This grisly beast, which by name lion hight,3 The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, Did scare away, or rather did affright; And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall; 'Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain: Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain: 'Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 'He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; '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 Prol. 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 Thisby, 'Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.' The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord. The. Pyramus draws near the wall; silence' Enter Pyramus. Pyr. O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black! "O night, which ever art, when day is not! O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, 'I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot!And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, "That stand'st between her father's ground and mine; Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, 'Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for [Wall holds up his fingers. Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue,O 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? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion, as in dumb show. Prol. 'Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show; 'But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. This man is Pyramus, if you would know; "This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 'Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder: And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are content eyne. this! 'But what see I? No Thisby do I see. wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss 'Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving me, is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you:-Yonder she comes. Enter Thisbe. This. 'O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, For parting my fair Pyramus and me: 'My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones; Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.' Pyr. 'I see a voice; now will I to the chink, To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 'Thisby!' This. 'My love! thou art my love, I think.' (3) Called. Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's Lys. Proceed, moon. grace; And like Limander am I trusty still.' This. And I like Helen, till the fates me kill.' 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 discharged 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 men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. Enter Lion and Moonshine. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord: for his valour cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose. The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. 6 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; Myself the man i' th' moon do seem to be.' The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be put into the lantern: How is it else the man i' the moon? Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: for, you see, it is already in snuff.1 Hip. I am aweary of this moon: Would, he would change! The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane: but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe. Dem. Well roared, lion. The. Well run, Thisbe. Hip. Well shone, moon.-Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. The. Well moused, lion. [The lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit. Dem. And so comes Pyramus. Lys. And then the moon vanishes. Pyr. Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams; 'I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright: 'But mark:-Poor knight, "O dainty duck! O dear! Thy mantle good, O fates! come, come; 'Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!'' The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, 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? Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear: 'Which is-no, no-which was the fairest dame, 'That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer.4 'Come, tears, confound; Ay, that left pap, 'My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light! [Dies.-Exit Moonshine. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing. The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and prove an ass. Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? The. She will find him by star-light.-Here she comes; and her passion ends the play. 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, The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.- In nightly revels, and new jollity. SCENE II-Enter Puck. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, [Exeunt. Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Now it is the time of night, Shall upon their children be.- And each several chamber bless, Make no stay; Puck. [Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and Train. Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. |