Theseus, duke of Athens. Lysander, in love with Hermia. Demetrius, Philostrate, master of the revels to Theseus. Quince, the carpenter. Snug, the joiner. Bottom, the weaver. Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus. Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander Helena, in love with Demetrius. Oberon, king of the fairies. Titania, queen of the fairies. Puck, or Robin Good-fellow, a fairy. Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, Characters in the interlude, performed by the Clowns. Lion, Other fairies attending their king and queen. Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. Scene, Athens, and a wood not far from it. SCENE I-Athens. A room in the palace of Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta Philos trate, and attendants. Theseus. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Long withering out a young man's revenue. Four nights will quickly dream away the time; Go, Philostrate, The. Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; Turn melancholy forth to funerals, The pale companion is not for our pomp.— [Exit Philostrate Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, And won thy love, doing thee injuries; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph,' and with revelling. Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke The. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the new with thee? Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complain I beg the ancient privilege of Athens; The. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair maid: To you your father should be as a god; One that compos'd your beautics; yea, and one To whom you are but as a form in wax, By hin imprinted, and within his power The. But, In himself he is : this kind, wanting your father's voice, The other must be held the worthier. Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts: The. Either to die the death, or to abjure Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, For ayel to be in shady cloister mew'd, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke The. Take time to pause. and, by the next new moon (The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, (1) Ever. |