To whisper; at the which let no man wonder. "This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 'Presenteth moon-shine: for, if you will know, "By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn 'To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 'This grisly beast, which by name lion hight, "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, Moon-shine, Wall, and lovers twain, 'At large discourse, while here they do remain. [Exeunt Prol. This. 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'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! Pyr. O grim look'd night! O night with hue so '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 which 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. My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones; This. 'My love! thou art my love, I think.' This. And I like Helen, till the fates me kill.' 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 wil ful 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. 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 fell, nor else no lion's dam: For if I should as lion come in strife 'Into this place, 'twere pity of my 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 pre sent: Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. within the circumference. The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible 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' th' moon? Dem. He dares not come there for the candle; for, you see, it is already in snuff. Hip. I am a weary of this moon: Would, he would lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thornbush, 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. 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. 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; 'But stay ;-O spite! 'O dainty duck! O dear! "Thy mantle good, 'What, stain'd with blood? 'O fates! come, come; 'Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!' This. Asleep, my love? 'O Pyramus, arise, 'Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 'Dead, dead? A tomb 'Must cover thy sweet eyes. "These lily brows, This cherry nose, "These yellow cowslip cheeks, 'Are gone, are gone: 'Lovers, make moan! 'His eyes were green as leeks. 'O 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 The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. *Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear: 'Come, tears, confound; 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. Ex. Moonsh. 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. But he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine trag. edy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. 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, SCENE II-Enter Puck. [Exeunt. Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, That the graves, all gaping wide, In the church-way paths to glide: By the triple Hecat's team, Enter Oberon and Titania, with their train. O!. Through this 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 the song by rote: To each word a warbling note, Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will we sing, and bless this place. SONG, AND DANCE. Ob. Now, until the break of day, Shall upon their children be.- Every fairy take his gait: And each several chamber bless, And the owner of it blest. Make no stay; [Exe. Ober. Tita. and train. Puck. If we shadows have offended, Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long: Else the Puck a liar call. Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream; SCENE 1-Venice. A Street. Enter Antonio, Sal-Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks; IN arino, and Salanio. Antonio. sooth, I know not why I am so sad; It wearies me; you say, it wearies you; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; Salan. My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But I should think of shallows and of flats; And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs, To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethink rue straight of dangerous rocks? And, in a word, but even now worth this, Is sad to think upon his merchandize. Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. Salan. Why then you are in love. Ant. Fie, fie! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad, Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. man, Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you, Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? || Hath left me gaged: To you, Antonio, Say, when? You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exe. Salarino and Salanio. Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you: but, at dinner time, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiane; A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one. With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; Than my Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice For saying nothing; who, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost dainn those ears, Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner time: Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commend able In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is this same Bass. "Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, I owe the most, in money, and in love; Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; My purse, my person, my extremest means, Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth, Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but time, Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, O my Antonio, had I but the means I have a mind presages me such thrift, Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea; Nor have I money, nor commodity To raise a present sum: therefore go forth, [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. Enter Portia and Nerissa. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world. Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: And, yet, for aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing: It is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but compe tency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. |