Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never halloo'd to, nor cheer'd with horn,
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly:

Judge, when you hear. But,soft! what nymphs arethese?
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 shouts within. DEMETRIUS, Lysander,
HERMIA, and HELENA, wake and start up.
The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past;
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?
Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel.
The.
I pray you all, stand up.
I know, you two are 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, Demetrius,
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,
Melted as the snow, seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gawd,
Which in my childhood I did dote upon;
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye,
Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia:
But, like in sickness, did I loath this food;
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now do I wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.

The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met.
Of this discourse we more will hear anon.-
Egeus, I will overbear your will,
For in the temple, by and by with us,
These couples shall eternally be knit.

And, for the morning now is something worn,
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside.
Away, with us, to Athens: three and three,
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.—

Come, Hippolyta.

[Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train. Dem. These things seem small, and undistinguishable, Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.

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. Bot. [Waking.] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer:-my next 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 the play, before the duke: peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at Thisby's death. [Exit. SCENE II.-Athens. A Room in QUINCE'S House. Enter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING. 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 in 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 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 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.

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

The. More strange than true: I never may believe These antic 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,
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.

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and HELENA. Joy, gentle friends; joy, and fresh days of love, Accompany your hearts!

Lys.
More than to us
Wait in 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.

"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 wondrous seething snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?
Philost. A play this 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 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.

The.

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 pain, To do you service. 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 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.

Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest. The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. Enter the 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 his 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 impair'd, but all disordered. Who is next?

Enter the PRESENTER, PYRAMUS, and THISBE, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion, as in dumb show.

Pres. "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 To whisper, at the which let no man wonder. 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 woo. This grisly beast, which lion hight by name, 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 gentle 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 PRES., 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 befal,
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, hole, or chink,
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
Did whisper often very secretly.

This lime, 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 eyne.
[Wall holds up his fingers.
Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!
But what see I? No Thisby do I see.

O 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,
Το spy an I can hear my Thisby's face.
Thisby!"

This. "My love! thou art my love, I think."
Pyr. "Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's 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 straight-
way?"

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 wall 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 e'er 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 man 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, When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am A lion's fell, nor else no lion's dam: For, if I should as lion come in strife Into this place, 'twere pity on your 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. 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. Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present;" Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. The. He is not crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.

Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present; Myself the man i'the 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.

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.

Lys. Proceed, moon.

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 all these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe. Enter THISBE.

This. "This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?" Lion. "Oh-." [The Lion roars.-THISBE runs off. Dem. Well roared, lion.

Pyr. "Sweetmoon, 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 take of truest Thisby sight.

But stay;-O spite! [Seeing THISBE's mantle.
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 on 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. 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!

[Dies.

Now die, die, die, die, die." 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 yet prove an ass.

Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?

The. She will find him by starlight.-Here she comes, and her passion ends the play. Enter THISBE.

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; he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us. Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.

This. "Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?

O Pyramus! arise:

Speak, speak! Quite dumb?
Dead, dead? A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
This lily lip,

This cherry tip,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone.
Lovers, make moan:
His eyes were green as leeks.
Ó! sisters three,
Come, come to me,
With hands as pale as milk;
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore

With shears his thread of silk.

Tongue, not a word:-
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.

[A dance.

Moon, take thy flight! [Exit Moonshine.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt

Enter Puck, with a broom on his shoulder. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon;

Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching 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 Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic; not a mouse
Shall disturb this ballow'd house:
I am sent with broom before,

To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with all their train. Obe. Through the house give glimmering light, 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.

Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote,
To each word a warbling note:
Hand in hand with fairy grace
Will we sing, and bless this place.

THE SONG.

Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;

And the issue there create
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be;

And the blots of nature's hand

Shall not in their issue stand:
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,

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

And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace with sweet peace;
Ever shall it safely rest,

And the owner of it blest.
Trip away; make no stay;
Meet me all by break of day.

[Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and train. Puck. 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'm 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: