For now our observation is perform'd:
And since we have the vayward' of the day,
My love shall hear the music of my hounds.-
Uncouple in the western valley; go:
Despatch, I say, and find the forester.-
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top,
And mark the musical confusion
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.

Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once,
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear
With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear
Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves,
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan
kind,

So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn,
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly:
Judge, when you hear.-But, soft; what nymphs
are these?

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep:
And this, Lysander: this Demetrius is;
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena:

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;
I beg the law, the law, upon his head.-
They would have stol'n away, they would, Deme-
trius,

Thereby to have defeated you and me:
You, of your wife; and me of my consent;
Of my consent that she should be your wife.
Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
Of this their purpose hither, to this wood;
And I in fury hither follow'd them;
Fair Helena in fancy following me.
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power
(But by some power it is,) my love to Hermia,
(2) Sound.

(1) Forepart.

(31 The flews are the large chaps of a hound.

[Exeunt The. Hyp. Ege, and train. Dem. These things seem small, and undistinguishable,

Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.
Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye,
When every thing seems double.

Hel.
So methinks:
And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own.
Dem.
It seems to me
That yet we sleep, we dream.-Do not you think,
The duke was here, and bid us follow him?
Hel.
And Hippolyta.

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
Palace of Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta,
Philostrate, Lords, and Attendants.
Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers
speak of.

The. 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 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,
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 abridgments have you for this
evening?

What mask? what music? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some delight?

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.
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:
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 labour'd 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;

(5) Unexercised.

Unless you can find sport in their intents,
Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain,
To do you service.
The.
I will hear that play;
For never any thing can be amiss,
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in ;-and take your places, ladies.
[Exit Philostrate.
Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And duty in his service perishing.
The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such
thing.

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:
And what poor duty cannot do,

Noble respect takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purpos'd
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.

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.

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.

grace;

And like Limander am I trusty still.'

This. And I like Helen, till the fates me 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 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 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.
Enter Pyramus.

Pyr. Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;

'I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright:
For, by thy gracious, golden glittering streams,
I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
'But stay;-0 spite!

'But mark:-Poor knight,
'What dreadful dole is here!
'Eyes, do you see?

"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;2

'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;
'Out, sword, and wound
"The pap of Pyramus:

Ay, that left pap,
"Where heart doth hop:
'Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
'Now am I dead,
'Now am I fled;

'My soul is in the sky:

Tongue, lose thy light!
Moon, take thy flight!
'Now, die, die, die, die, die.

[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,
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,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.2
Now the wasted brands do glow,

[Exeunt.

Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in wo,
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 Hecate's team,

Shall upon their children be.-
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait ;4

And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace with sweet peace
E'er shall it in safety rest,
And the owner of it blest.
Trip away;

Make no stay;
Meet me all by break of day.

Puck.

[Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and Train.
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this (and all is mended,)
That you have but slumber'd here,
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends, ere long:
Else the Puck a liar call.

So, good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.

[Exit.