A Midsummer Night's Dream

Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING

  QUINCE. Is all our company here?
  BOTTOM. You were best to call them generally, man by man,
according
    to the scrip.
  QUINCE. Here is the scroll of every man's name which is thought
    fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the
Duke
    and the Duchess on his wedding-day at night.
  BOTTOM. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on;
then
    read the names of the actors; and so grow to a point.
  QUINCE. Marry, our play is 'The most Lamentable Comedy and most
    Cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisby.'
  BOTTOM. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry.
Now,
    good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll.
Masters,
    spread yourselves.
  QUINCE. Answer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.
  BOTTOM. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.
  QUINCE. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.
  BOTTOM. What is Pyramus? A lover, or a tyrant?
  QUINCE. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.
  BOTTOM. That will ask some tears in the true performing of it.
If I
    do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move
storms; I
    will condole in some measure. To the rest- yet my chief
humour is
    for a tyrant. I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a
cat
    in, to make all split.

                 'The raging rocks
                 And shivering shocks
                 Shall break the locks
                   Of prison gates;

                 And Phibbus' car
                 Shall shine from far,
                 And make and mar
                   The foolish Fates.'

    This was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is
    Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein: a lover is more condoling.
  QUINCE. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
  FLUTE. Here, Peter Quince.
  QUINCE. Flute, you must take Thisby on you.
  FLUTE. What is Thisby? A wand'ring knight?
  QUINCE. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
  FLUTE. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I have a beard
coming.
  QUINCE. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you
may
    speak as small as you will.
  BOTTOM. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too.
    I'll speak in a monstrous little voice: 'Thisne, Thisne!'
    [Then speaking small] 'Ah Pyramus, my lover dear! Thy
    Thisby dear, and lady dear!'
  QUINCE. No, no, you must play Pyramus; and, Flute, you Thisby.
  BOTTOM. Well, proceed.
  QUINCE. Robin Starveling, the tailor.
  STARVELING. Here, Peter Quince.
  QUINCE. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.
    Tom Snout, the tinker.
  SNOUT. Here, Peter Quince.
  QUINCE. You, Pyramus' father; myself, Thisby's father; Snug,
the
    joiner, you, the lion's part. And, I hope, here is a play
fitted.
  SNUG. Have you the lion's part written? Pray you, if it be,
give it
    me, for I am slow of study.
  QUINCE. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
  BOTTOM. Let me play the lion too. I will roar that I will do
any
    man's heart good to hear me; I will roar that I will make the
    Duke say 'Let him roar again, let him roar again.'
  QUINCE. An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the
    Duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek; and that were
    enough to hang us all.
  ALL. That would hang us, every mother's son.
  BOTTOM. I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies
out
    of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang
us;
    but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as
gently
    as any sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any
nightingale.
  QUINCE. You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a
    sweet-fac'd man; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's
    day; a most lovely gentleman-like man; therefore you must
needs
    play Pyramus.
  BOTTOM. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to
play
    it in?
  QUINCE. Why, what you will.
  BOTTOM. I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard,
your
    orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your
    French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.
  QUINCE. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and
then
    you will play bare-fac'd. But, masters, here are your parts;
and
    I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con them
by
    to-morrow night; and meet me in the palace wood, a mile
without
    the town, by moonlight; there will we rehearse; for if we
meet in
    the city, we shall be dogg'd with company, and our devices
known.
    In the meantime I will draw a bill of properties, such as our
    play wants. I pray you, fail me not.
  BOTTOM. We will meet; and there we may rehearse most obscenely
and
    courageously. Take pains; be perfect; adieu.
  QUINCE. At the Duke's oak we meet.
  BOTTOM. Enough; hold, or cut bow-strings. Exeunt

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY
WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

Enter a FAIRY at One door, and PUCK at another

  PUCK. How now, spirit! whither wander you?
  FAIRY. Over hill, over dale,
                Thorough bush, through brier,
              Over park, over pale,
                Thorough flood, through fire,
              I do wander every where,
              Swifter than the moon's sphere;
              And I serve the Fairy Queen,
              To dew her orbs upon the green.
              The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
              In their gold coats spots you see;
              Those be rubies, fairy favours,
              In those freckles live their savours.

    I must go seek some dewdrops here,
    And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
    Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone.
    Our Queen and all her elves come here anon.
  PUCK. The King doth keep his revels here to-night;
    Take heed the Queen come not within his sight;
    For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
    Because that she as her attendant hath
    A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king.
    She never had so sweet a changeling;
    And jealous Oberon would have the child
    Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;
    But she perforce withholds the loved boy,
    Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy.
    And now they never meet in grove or green,
    By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,
    But they do square, that all their elves for fear
    Creep into acorn cups and hide them there.
  FAIRY. Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
    Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
    Call'd Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he
    That frights the maidens of the villagery,
    Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,
    And bootless make the breathless housewife churn,
    And sometime make the drink to bear no barm,
    Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
    Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,
    You do their work, and they shall have good luck.
    Are not you he?
  PUCK. Thou speakest aright:
    I am that merry wanderer of the night.
    I jest to Oberon, and make him smile
    When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
    Neighing in likeness of a filly foal;
    And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl
    In very likeness of a roasted crab,
    And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
    And on her withered dewlap pour the ale.
    The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
    Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
    Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,
    And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough;
    And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,
    And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear
    A merrier hour was never wasted there.
    But room, fairy, here comes Oberon.
  FAIRY. And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!

       Enter OBERON at one door, with his TRAIN, and TITANIA,
                        at another, with hers

  OBERON. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.
  TITANIA. What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence;
    I have forsworn his bed and company.
  OBERON. Tarry, rash wanton; am not I thy lord?
  TITANIA. Then I must be thy lady; but I know
    When thou hast stolen away from fairy land,
    And in the shape of Corin sat all day,
    Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love
    To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,
    Come from the farthest steep of India,
    But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
    Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love,
    To Theseus must be wedded, and you come
    To give their bed joy and prosperity?
  OBERON. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,
    Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,
    Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?
    Didst not thou lead him through the glimmering night
    From Perigouna, whom he ravished?
    And make him with fair Aegles break his faith,
    With Ariadne and Antiopa?
  TITANIA. These are the forgeries of jealousy;
    And never, since the middle summer's spring,
    Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
    By paved fountain, or by rushy brook,
    Or in the beached margent of the sea,
    To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
    But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
    Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
    As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
    Contagious fogs; which, falling in the land,
    Hath every pelting river made so proud
    That they have overborne their continents.
    The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain,
    The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn
    Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard;
    The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
    And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;
    The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud,
    And the quaint mazes in the wanton green,
    For lack of tread, are undistinguishable.
    The human mortals want their winter here;
    No night is now with hymn or carol blest;
    Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
    Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
    That rheumatic diseases do abound.
    And through this distemperature we see
    The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
    Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose;
    And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown
    An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
    Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer,
    The childing autumn, angry winter, change
    Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world,
    By their increase, now knows not which is which.
    And this same progeny of evils comes
    From our debate, from our dissension;
    We are their parents and original.
  OBERON. Do you amend it, then; it lies in you.
    Why should Titania cross her Oberon?
    I do but beg a little changeling boy
    To be my henchman.
  TITANIA. Set your heart at rest;
    The fairy land buys not the child of me.
    His mother was a vot'ress of my order;
    And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,
    Full often hath she gossip'd by my side;
    And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands,
    Marking th' embarked traders on the flood;
    When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive,
    And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;
    Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait
    Following- her womb then rich with my young squire-
    Would imitate, and sail upon the land,
    To fetch me trifles, and return again,
    As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
    But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;
    And for her sake do I rear up her boy;
    And for her sake I will not part with him.
  OBERON. How long within this wood intend you stay?
  TITANIA. Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day.
    If you will patiently dance in our round,
    And see our moonlight revels, go with us;
    If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.
  OBERON. Give me that boy and I will go with thee.
  TITANIA. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away.
    We shall chide downright if I longer stay.
                                     Exit TITANIA with her train
  OBERON. Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this grove
    Till I torment thee for this injury.
    My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb'rest
    Since once I sat upon a promontory,
    And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back
    Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
    That the rude sea grew civil at her song,
    And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
    To hear the sea-maid's music.
  PUCK. I remember.
  OBERON. That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,
    Flying between the cold moon and the earth
    Cupid, all arm'd; a certain aim he took
    At a fair vestal, throned by the west,
    And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
    As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;
    But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
    Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon;
    And the imperial vot'ress passed on,
    In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
    Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell.
    It fell upon a little western flower,
    Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,
    And maidens call it Love-in-idleness.
    Fetch me that flow'r, the herb I showed thee once.
    The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid
    Will make or man or woman madly dote
    Upon the next live creature that it sees.
    Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again
    Ere the leviathan can swim a league.
  PUCK. I'll put a girdle round about the earth
    In forty minutes. Exit PUCK
  OBERON. Having once this juice,
    I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,
    And drop the liquor of it in her eyes;
    The next thing then she waking looks upon,
    Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
    On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,
    She shall pursue it with the soul of love.
    And ere I take this charm from off her sight,
    As I can take it with another herb,
    I'll make her render up her page to me.
    But who comes here? I am invisible;
    And I will overhear their conference.

Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA following him

  DEMETRIUS. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
    Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?
    The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.
    Thou told'st me they were stol'n unto this wood,
    And here am I, and wood within this wood,
    Because I cannot meet my Hermia.
    Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.
  HELENA. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;
    But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
    Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw,
    And I shall have no power to follow you.
  DEMETRIUS. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair?
    Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth
    Tell you I do not nor I cannot love you?
  HELENA. And even for that do I love you the more.
    I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
    The more you beat me, I will fawn on you.
    Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
    Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
    Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
    What worser place can I beg in your love,
    And yet a place of high respect with me,
    Than to be used as you use your dog?
  DEMETRIUS. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;
    For I am sick when I do look on thee.
  HELENA. And I am sick when I look not on you.
  DEMETRIUS. You do impeach your modesty too much
    To leave the city and commit yourself
    Into the hands of one that loves you not;
    To trust the opportunity of night,
    And the ill counsel of a desert place,
    With the rich worth of your virginity.
  HELENA. Your virtue is my privilege for that:
    It is not night when I do see your face,
    Therefore I think I am not in the night;
    Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,
    For you, in my respect, are all the world.
    Then how can it be said I am alone
    When all the world is here to look on me?
  DEMETRIUS. I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,
    And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
  HELENA. The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
    Run when you will; the story shall be chang'd:
    Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;
    The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind
    Makes speed to catch the tiger- bootless speed,
    When cowardice pursues and valour flies.
  DEMETRIUS. I will not stay thy questions; let me go;
    Or, if thou follow me, do not believe
    But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.
  HELENA. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,
    You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!
    Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex.
    We cannot fight for love as men may do;
    We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo.
                                                  Exit DEMETRIUS
    I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell,
    To die upon the hand I love so well. Exit HELENA
  OBERON. Fare thee well, nymph; ere he do leave this grove,
    Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.

Re-enter PUCK

    Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.
  PUCK. Ay, there it is.
  OBERON. I pray thee give it me.
    I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
    Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
    Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
    With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine;
    There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
    Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;
    And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
    Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in;
    And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,
    And make her full of hateful fantasies.
    Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove:
    A sweet Athenian lady is in love
    With a disdainful youth; anoint his eyes;
    But do it when the next thing he espies
    May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man
    By the Athenian garments he hath on.
    Effect it with some care, that he may prove
    More fond on her than she upon her love.
    And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.
  PUCK. Fear not, my lord; your servant shall do so. Exeunt

Enter TITANIA, with her train

  TITANIA. Come now, a roundel and a fairy song;
    Then, for the third part of a minute, hence:
    Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;
    Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,
    To make my small elves coats; and some keep back
    The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders
    At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;
    Then to your offices, and let me rest.

The FAIRIES Sing

  FIRST FAIRY. You spotted snakes with double tongue,
               Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
               Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,
               Come not near our fairy Queen.
  CHORUS. Philomel with melody
               Sing in our sweet lullaby.
               Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.
               Never harm
               Nor spell nor charm
               Come our lovely lady nigh.
               So good night, with lullaby.
  SECOND FAIRY. Weaving spiders, come not here;
                 Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence.
                 Beetles black, approach not near;
                 Worm nor snail do no offence.
  CHORUS. Philomel with melody, etc. [TITANIA sleeps]
  FIRST FAIRY. Hence away; now all is well.
               One aloof stand sentinel. Exeunt FAIRIES

Enter OBERON and squeezes the flower on TITANIA'S eyelids

  OBERON. What thou seest when thou dost wake,
    Do it for thy true-love take;
    Love and languish for his sake.
    Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,
    Pard, or boar with bristled hair,
    In thy eye that shall appear
    When thou wak'st, it is thy dear.
    Wake when some vile thing is near. Exit

Enter LYSANDER and HERMIA

  LYSANDER. Fair love, you faint with wand'ring in the wood;
    And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way;
    We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,
    And tarry for the comfort of the day.
  HERMIA. Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed,
    For I upon this bank will rest my head.
  LYSANDER. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;
    One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.
  HERMIA. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,
    Lie further off yet; do not lie so near.
  LYSANDER. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!
    Love takes the meaning in love's conference.
    I mean that my heart unto yours is knit,
    So that but one heart we can make of it;
    Two bosoms interchained with an oath,
    So then two bosoms and a single troth.
    Then by your side no bed-room me deny,
    For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.
  HERMIA. Lysander riddles very prettily.
    Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,
    If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied!
    But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
    Lie further off, in human modesty;
    Such separation as may well be said
    Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,
    So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend.
    Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end!
  LYSANDER. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer say I;
    And then end life when I end loyalty!
    Here is my bed; sleep give thee all his rest!
  HERMIA. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd!
                                                    [They sleep]

Enter PUCK

  PUCK. Through the forest have I gone,
             But Athenian found I none
             On whose eyes I might approve
             This flower's force in stirring love.
             Night and silence- Who is here?
             Weeds of Athens he doth wear:
             This is he, my master said,
             Despised the Athenian maid;
             And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
             On the dank and dirty ground.
             Pretty soul! she durst not lie
             Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.
             Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
             All the power this charm doth owe:
             When thou wak'st let love forbid
             Sleep his seat on thy eyelid.
             So awake when I am gone;
             For I must now to Oberon. Exit

Enter DEMETRIUS and HELENA, running

  HELENA. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.
  DEMETRIUS. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.
  HELENA. O, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so.
  DEMETRIUS. Stay on thy peril; I alone will go. Exit
  HELENA. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!
    The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
    Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies,
    For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
    How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears;
    If so, my eyes are oft'ner wash'd than hers.
    No, no, I am as ugly as a bear,
    For beasts that meet me run away for fear;
    Therefore no marvel though Demetrius
    Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus.
    What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
    Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne?
    But who is here? Lysander! on the ground!
    Dead, or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.
    Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.
  LYSANDER. [Waking] And run through fire I will for thy sweet
sake.
    Transparent Helena! Nature shows art,
    That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
    Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word
    Is that vile name to perish on my sword!
  HELENA. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so.
    What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?
    Yet Hermia still loves you; then be content.
  LYSANDER. Content with Hermia! No: I do repent
    The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
    Not Hermia but Helena I love:
    Who will not change a raven for a dove?
    The will of man is by his reason sway'd,
    And reason says you are the worthier maid.
    Things growing are not ripe until their season;
    So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;
    And touching now the point of human skill,
    Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
    And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook
    Love's stories, written in Love's richest book.
  HELENA. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?
    When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
    Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,
    That I did never, no, nor never can,
    Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,
    But you must flout my insufficiency?
    Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,
    In such disdainful manner me to woo.
    But fare you well; perforce I must confess
    I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
    O, that a lady of one man refus'd
    Should of another therefore be abus'd! Exit
  LYSANDER. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there;
    And never mayst thou come Lysander near!
    For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
    The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
    Or as the heresies that men do leave
    Are hated most of those they did deceive,
    So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
    Of all be hated, but the most of me!
    And, all my powers, address your love and might
    To honour Helen, and to be her knight! Exit
  HERMIA. [Starting] Help me, Lysander, help me; do thy best
    To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast.
    Ay me, for pity! What a dream was here!
    Lysander, look how I do quake with fear.
    Methought a serpent eat my heart away,
    And you sat smiling at his cruel prey.
    Lysander! What, remov'd? Lysander! lord!
    What, out of hearing gone? No sound, no word?
    Alack, where are you? Speak, an if you hear;
    Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.
    No? Then I well perceive you are not nigh.
    Either death or you I'll find immediately. Exit

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY
WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING

  BOTTOM. Are we all met?
  QUINCE. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place for
our
    rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn
    brake our tiring-house; and we will do it in action, as we
will
    do it before the Duke.
  BOTTOM. Peter Quince!
  QUINCE. What sayest thou, bully Bottom?
  BOTTOM. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby
that
    will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill
    himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?
  SNOUT. By'r lakin, a parlous fear.
  STARVELING. I believe we must leave the killing out, when all
is
    done.
  BOTTOM. Not a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me
a
    prologue; and let the prologue seem to say we will do no harm
    with our swords, and that Pyramus is not kill'd indeed; and
for
    the more better assurance, tell them that I Pyramus am not
    Pyramus but Bottom the weaver. This will put them out of
fear.
  QUINCE. Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be
written
    in eight and six.
  BOTTOM. No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and
eight.
  SNOUT. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?
  STARVELING. I fear it, I promise you.
  BOTTOM. Masters, you ought to consider with yourself to bring
in-
    God shield us!- a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing;
for
    there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living;
and
    we ought to look to't.
  SNOUT. Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
  BOTTOM. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be
seen
    through the lion's neck; and he himself must speak through,
    saying thus, or to the same effect: 'Ladies,' or 'Fair
ladies, I
    would wish you' or 'I would request you' or 'I would entreat
you
    not to fear, not to tremble. My life for yours! If you think
I
    come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life. No, I am no
such
    thing; I am a man as other men are.' And there, indeed, let
him
    name his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.
  QUINCE. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things-
that
    is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber; for, you know,
Pyramus
    and Thisby meet by moonlight.
  SNOUT. Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?
  BOTTOM. A calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanack; find out
    moonshine, find out moonshine.
  QUINCE. Yes, it doth shine that night.
  BOTTOM. Why, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber
    window, where we play, open; and the moon may shine in at the
    casement.
  QUINCE. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and
a
    lantern, and say he comes to disfigure or to present the
person
    of Moonshine. Then there is another thing: we must have a
wall in
    the great chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story,
did
    talk through the chink of a wall.
  SNOUT. You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?
  BOTTOM. Some man or other must present Wall; and let him have
some
    plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast about him, to
signify
    wall; and let him hold his fingers thus, and through that
cranny
    shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper.
  QUINCE. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every
    mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin;
when
    you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake; and so
every
    one according to his cue.

Enter PUCK behind

  PUCK. What hempen homespuns have we swagg'ring here,
    So near the cradle of the Fairy Queen?
    What, a play toward! I'll be an auditor;
    An actor too perhaps, if I see cause.
  QUINCE. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth.
  BOTTOM. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet-
  QUINCE. 'Odious'- odorous!
  BOTTOM. -odours savours sweet;
    So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.
    But hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile,
    And by and by I will to thee appear. Exit
  PUCK. A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here! Exit
  FLUTE. Must I speak now?
  QUINCE. Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he goes
but to
    see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.
  FLUTE. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
    Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
    Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,
    As true as truest horse, that would never tire,
    I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.
  QUINCE. 'Ninus' tomb,' man! Why, you must not speak that yet;
that
    you answer to Pyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues,
and
    all. Pyramus enter: your cue is past; it is 'never tire.'
  FLUTE. O- As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire.

Re-enter PUCK, and BOTTOM with an ass's head

  BOTTOM. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.
  QUINCE. O monstrous! O strange! We are haunted. Pray, masters!
fly,
    masters! Help!
                                  Exeunt all but BOTTOM and PUCK
  PUCK. I'll follow you; I'll lead you about a round,
    Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier;
    Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound,
    A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;
    And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,
    Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.
Exit
  BOTTOM. Why do they run away? This is a knavery of them to make
me
    afeard.

Re-enter SNOUT

  SNOUT. O Bottom, thou art chang'd! What do I see on thee?
  BOTTOM. What do you see? You see an ass-head of your own, do
you?
                                                      Exit SNOUT

Re-enter QUINCE

  QUINCE. Bless thee, Bottom, bless thee! Thou art translated.
 Exit
  BOTTOM. I see their knavery: this is to make an ass of me; to
    fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this
place, do
    what they can; I will walk up and down here, and will sing,
that
    they shall hear I am not afraid. [Sings]

          The ousel cock, so black of hue,
            With orange-tawny bill,
          The throstle with his note so true,
            The wren with little quill.

  TITANIA. What angel wakes me from my flow'ry bed?
  BOTTOM. [Sings]
          The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
            The plain-song cuckoo grey,
          Whose note full many a man doth mark,
            And dares not answer nay-
    for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird?
    Who would give a bird the lie, though he cry 'cuckoo' never
so?
  TITANIA. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
    Mine ear is much enamoured of thy note;
    So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
    And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me,
    On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.
  BOTTOM. Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for
that.
    And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little
company
    together now-a-days. The more the pity that some honest
    neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon
    occasion.
  TITANIA. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
  BOTTOM. Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of
this
    wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.
  TITANIA. Out of this wood do not desire to go;
    Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no.
    I am a spirit of no common rate;
    The summer still doth tend upon my state;
    And I do love thee; therefore, go with me.
    I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee;
    And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
    And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;
    And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
    That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
    Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

Enter PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, and MUSTARDSEED

  PEASEBLOSSOM. Ready.
  COBWEB. And I.
  MOTH. And I.
  MUSTARDSEED. And I.
  ALL. Where shall we go?
  TITANIA. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
    Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;
    Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
    With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
    The honey bags steal from the humble-bees,
    And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs,
    And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,
    To have my love to bed and to arise;
    And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
    To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
    Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
  PEASEBLOSSOM. Hail, mortal!
  COBWEB. Hail!
  MOTH. Hail!
  MUSTARDSEED. Hail!
  BOTTOM. I cry your worships mercy, heartily; I beseech your
    worship's name.
  COBWEB. Cobweb.
  BOTTOM. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master
    Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. Your
    name, honest gentleman?
  PEASEBLOSSOM. Peaseblossom.
  BOTTOM. I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother,
and
    to Master Peascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I
shall
    desire you of more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech
you,
    sir?
  MUSTARDSEED. Mustardseed.
  BOTTOM. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well.
That
    same cowardly giant-like ox-beef hath devour'd many a
gentleman
    of your house. I promise you your kindred hath made my eyes
water
    ere now. I desire you of more acquaintance, good Master
    Mustardseed.
  TITANIA. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
    The moon, methinks, looks with a wat'ry eye;
    And when she weeps, weeps every little flower;
    Lamenting some enforced chastity.
    Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. Exeunt

Enter OBERON

  OBERON. I wonder if Titania be awak'd;
    Then, what it was that next came in her eye,
    Which she must dote on in extremity.

Enter PUCK

    Here comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit!
    What night-rule now about this haunted grove?
  PUCK. My mistress with a monster is in love.
    Near to her close and consecrated bower,
    While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
    A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,
    That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,
    Were met together to rehearse a play
    Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day.
    The shallowest thickskin of that barren sort,
    Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
    Forsook his scene and ent'red in a brake;
    When I did him at this advantage take,
    An ass's nole I fixed on his head.
    Anon his Thisby must be answered,
    And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,
    As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
    Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
    Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
    Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky,
    So at his sight away his fellows fly;
    And at our stamp here, o'er and o'er one falls;
    He murder cries, and help from Athens calls.
    Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong,
    Made senseless things begin to do them wrong,
    For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;
    Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch.
    I led them on in this distracted fear,
    And left sweet Pyramus translated there;
    When in that moment, so it came to pass,
    Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass.
  OBERON. This falls out better than I could devise.
    But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes
    With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?
  PUCK. I took him sleeping- that is finish'd too-
    And the Athenian woman by his side;
    That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd.

Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA

  OBERON. Stand close; this is the same Athenian.
  PUCK. This is the woman, but not this the man.
  DEMETRIUS. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
    Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
  HERMIA. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse,
    For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
    If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
    Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
    And kill me too.
    The sun was not so true unto the day
    As he to me. Would he have stolen away
    From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon
    This whole earth may be bor'd, and that the moon
    May through the centre creep and so displease
    Her brother's noontide with th' Antipodes.
    It cannot be but thou hast murd'red him;
    So should a murderer look- so dead, so grim.
  DEMETRIUS. So should the murdered look; and so should I,
    Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty;
    Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,
    As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.
  HERMIA. What's this to my Lysander? Where is he?
    Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?
  DEMETRIUS. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.
  HERMIA. Out, dog! out, cur! Thou driv'st me past the bounds
    Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then?
    Henceforth be never numb'red among men!
    O, once tell true; tell true, even for my sake!
    Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake,
    And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch!
    Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?
    An adder did it; for with doubler tongue
    Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.
  DEMETRIUS. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood:
    I am not guilty of Lysander's blood;
    Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.
  HERMIA. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.
  DEMETRIUS. An if I could, what should I get therefore?
  HERMIA. A privilege never to see me more.
    And from thy hated presence part I so;
    See me no more whether he be dead or no. Exit
  DEMETRIUS. There is no following her in this fierce vein;
    Here, therefore, for a while I will remain.
    So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow
    For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;
    Which now in some slight measure it will pay,
    If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down]
  OBERON. What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite,
    And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight.
    Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
    Some true love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true.
  PUCK. Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man holding troth,
    A million fail, confounding oath on oath.
  OBERON. About the wood go swifter than the wind,
    And Helena of Athens look thou find;
    All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer,
    With sighs of love that costs the fresh blood dear.
    By some illusion see thou bring her here;
    I'll charm his eyes against she do appear.
  PUCK. I go, I go; look how I go,
    Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. Exit
  OBERON. Flower of this purple dye,
                Hit with Cupid's archery,
                Sink in apple of his eye.
                When his love he doth espy,
                Let her shine as gloriously
                As the Venus of the sky.
                When thou wak'st, if she be by,
                Beg of her for remedy.

Re-enter PUCK

  PUCK. Captain of our fairy band,
                Helena is here at hand,
                And the youth mistook by me
                Pleading for a lover's fee;
                Shall we their fond pageant see?
                Lord, what fools these mortals be!
  OBERON. Stand aside. The noise they make
                Will cause Demetrius to awake.
  PUCK. Then will two at once woo one.
                That must needs be sport alone;
                And those things do best please me
                That befall prepost'rously.

Enter LYSANDER and HELENA

  LYSANDER. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
    Scorn and derision never come in tears.
    Look when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
    In their nativity all truth appears.
    How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
    Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
  HELENA. You do advance your cunning more and more.
    When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!
    These vows are Hermia's. Will you give her o'er?
    Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:
    Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,
    Will even weigh; and both as light as tales.
  LYSANDER. I had no judgment when to her I swore.
  HELENA. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.
  LYSANDER. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.
  DEMETRIUS. [Awaking] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
    To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
    Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
    Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
    That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow,
    Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
    When thou hold'st up thy hand. O, let me kiss
    This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!
  HELENA. O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent
    To set against me for your merriment.
    If you were civil and knew courtesy,
    You would not do me thus much injury.
    Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
    But you must join in souls to mock me too?
    If you were men, as men you are in show,
    You would not use a gentle lady so:
    To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
    When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.
    You both are rivals, and love Hermia;
    And now both rivals, to mock Helena.
    A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,
    To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes
    With your derision! None of noble sort
    Would so offend a virgin, and extort
    A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.
  LYSANDER. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so;
    For you love Hermia. This you know I know;
    And here, with all good will, with all my heart,
    In Hermia's love I yield you up my part;
    And yours of Helena to me bequeath,
    Whom I do love and will do till my death.
  HELENA. Never did mockers waste more idle breath.
  DEMETRIUS. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none.
    If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone.
    My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd,
    And now to Helen is it home return'd,
    There to remain.
  LYSANDER. Helen, it is not so.
  DEMETRIUS. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,
    Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.
    Look where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.

Enter HERMIA

  HERMIA. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
    The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
    Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
    It pays the hearing double recompense.
    Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
    Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.
    But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?
  LYSANDER. Why should he stay whom love doth press to go?
  HERMIA. What love could press Lysander from my side?
  LYSANDER. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide-
    Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
    Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.
    Why seek'st thou me? Could not this make thee know
    The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?
  HERMIA. You speak not as you think; it cannot be.
  HELENA. Lo, she is one of this confederacy!
    Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three
    To fashion this false sport in spite of me.
    Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid!
    Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd,
    To bait me with this foul derision?
    Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd,
    The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
    When we have chid the hasty-footed time
    For parting us- O, is all forgot?
    All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence?
    We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
    Have with our needles created both one flower,
    Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
    Both warbling of one song, both in one key;
    As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,
    Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
    Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
    But yet an union in partition,
    Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
    So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
    Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
    Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.
    And will you rent our ancient love asunder,
    To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
    It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly;
    Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
    Though I alone do feel the injury.
  HERMIA. I am amazed at your passionate words;
    I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me.
  HELENA. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
    To follow me and praise my eyes and face?
    And made your other love, Demetrius,
    Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,
    To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare,
    Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
    To her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander
    Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
    And tender me, forsooth, affection,
    But by your setting on, by your consent?
    What though I be not so in grace as you,
    So hung upon with love, so fortunate,
    But miserable most, to love unlov'd?
    This you should pity rather than despise.
  HERMIA. I understand not what you mean by this.
  HELENA. Ay, do- persever, counterfeit sad looks,
    Make mouths upon me when I turn my back,
    Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up;
    This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
    If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
    You would not make me such an argument.
    But fare ye well; 'tis partly my own fault,
    Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.
  LYSANDER. Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;
    My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!
  HELENA. O excellent!
  HERMIA. Sweet, do not scorn her so.
  DEMETRIUS. If she cannot entreat, I can compel.
  LYSANDER. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat;
    Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers
    Helen, I love thee, by my life I do;
    I swear by that which I will lose for thee
    To prove him false that says I love thee not.
  DEMETRIUS. I say I love thee more than he can do.
  LYSANDER. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.
  DEMETRIUS. Quick, come.
  HERMIA. Lysander, whereto tends all this?
  LYSANDER. Away, you Ethiope!
  DEMETRIUS. No, no, he will
    Seem to break loose- take on as you would follow,
    But yet come not. You are a tame man; go!
  LYSANDER. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr; vile thing, let loose,
    Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent.
  HERMIA. Why are you grown so rude? What change is this,
    Sweet love?
  LYSANDER. Thy love! Out, tawny Tartar, out!
    Out, loathed med'cine! O hated potion, hence!
  HERMIA. Do you not jest?
  HELENA. Yes, sooth; and so do you.
  LYSANDER. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.
  DEMETRIUS. I would I had your bond; for I perceive
    A weak bond holds you; I'll not trust your word.
  LYSANDER. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
    Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so.
  HERMIA. What! Can you do me greater harm than hate?
    Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love?
    Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?
    I am as fair now as I was erewhile.
    Since night you lov'd me; yet since night you left me.
    Why then, you left me- O, the gods forbid!-
    In earnest, shall I say?
  LYSANDER. Ay, by my life!
    And never did desire to see thee more.
    Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;
    Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest
    That I do hate thee and love Helena.
  HERMIA. O me! you juggler! you cankerblossom!
    You thief of love! What! Have you come by night,
    And stol'n my love's heart from him?
  HELENA. Fine, i' faith!
    Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
    No touch of bashfulness? What! Will you tear
    Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
    Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet you!
  HERMIA. 'Puppet!' why so? Ay, that way goes the game.
    Now I perceive that she hath made compare
    Between our statures; she hath urg'd her height;
    And with her personage, her tall personage,
    Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him.
    And are you grown so high in his esteem
    Because I am so dwarfish and so low?
    How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak.
    How low am I? I am not yet so low
    But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.
  HELENA. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
    Let her not hurt me. I was never curst;
    I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
    I am a right maid for my cowardice;
    Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,
    Because she is something lower than myself,
    That I can match her.
  HERMIA. 'Lower' hark, again.
  HELENA. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.
    I evermore did love you, Hermia,
    Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;
    Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
    I told him of your stealth unto this wood.
    He followed you; for love I followed him;
    But he hath chid me hence, and threat'ned me
    To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too;
    And now, so you will let me quiet go,
    To Athens will I bear my folly back,
    And follow you no further. Let me go.
    You see how simple and how fond I am.
  HERMIA. Why, get you gone! Who is't that hinders you?
  HELENA. A foolish heart that I leave here behind.
  HERMIA. What! with Lysander?
  HELENA. With Demetrius.
  LYSANDER. Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.
  DEMETRIUS. No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.
  HELENA. O, when she is angry, she is keen and shrewd;
    She was a vixen when she went to school;
    And, though she be but little, she is fierce.
  HERMIA. 'Little' again! Nothing but 'low' and 'little'!
    Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
    Let me come to her.
  LYSANDER. Get you gone, you dwarf;
    You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made;
    You bead, you acorn.
  DEMETRIUS. You are too officious
    In her behalf that scorns your services.
    Let her alone; speak not of Helena;
    Take not her part; for if thou dost intend
    Never so little show of love to her,
    Thou shalt aby it.
  LYSANDER. Now she holds me not.
    Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right,
    Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.
  DEMETRIUS. Follow! Nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jowl.
                                   Exeunt LYSANDER and DEMETRIUS
  HERMIA. You, mistress, all this coil is long of you.
    Nay, go not back.
  HELENA. I will not trust you, I;
    Nor longer stay in your curst company.
    Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray;
    My legs are longer though, to run away. Exit
  HERMIA. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. Exit
  OBERON. This is thy negligence. Still thou mistak'st,
    Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully.
  PUCK. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
    Did not you tell me I should know the man
    By the Athenian garments he had on?
    And so far blameless proves my enterprise
    That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes;
    And so far am I glad it so did sort,
    As this their jangling I esteem a sport.
  OBERON. Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight.
    Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;
    The starry welkin cover thou anon
    With drooping fog as black as Acheron,
    And lead these testy rivals so astray
    As one come not within another's way.
    Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,
    Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
    And sometime rail thou like Demetrius;
    And from each other look thou lead them thus,
    Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
    With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep.
    Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye;
    Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
    To take from thence all error with his might
    And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.
    When they next wake, all this derision
    Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision;
    And back to Athens shall the lovers wend
    With league whose date till death shall never end.
    Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
    I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;
    And then I will her charmed eye release
    From monster's view, and all things shall be peace.
  PUCK. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
    For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast;
    And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger,
    At whose approach ghosts, wand'ring here and there,
    Troop home to churchyards. Damned spirits all
    That in cross-ways and floods have burial,
    Already to their wormy beds are gone,
    For fear lest day should look their shames upon;
    They wilfully themselves exil'd from light,
    And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.
  OBERON. But we are spirits of another sort:
    I with the Morning's love have oft made sport;
    And, like a forester, the groves may tread
    Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red,
    Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,
    Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams.
    But, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay;
    We may effect this business yet ere day. Exit OBERON
  PUCK. Up and down, up and down,
             I will lead them up and down.
             I am fear'd in field and town.
             Goblin, lead them up and down.
    Here comes one.

Enter LYSANDER

  LYSANDER. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.
  PUCK. Here, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou?
  LYSANDER. I will be with thee straight.
  PUCK. Follow me, then,
    To plainer ground. Exit LYSANDER as following the voice

Enter DEMETRIUS

  DEMETRIUS. Lysander, speak again.
    Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?
    Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?
  PUCK. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,
    Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,
    And wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child;
    I'll whip thee with a rod. He is defil'd
    That draws a sword on thee.
  DEMETRIUS. Yea, art thou there?
  PUCK. Follow my voice; we'll try no manhood here. Exeunt

Re-enter LYSANDER

  LYSANDER. He goes before me, and still dares me on;
    When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
    The villain is much lighter heel'd than I.
    I followed fast, but faster he did fly,
    That fallen am I in dark uneven way,
    And here will rest me. [Lies down] Come, thou gentle day.
    For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
    I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps]

Re-enter PUCK and DEMETRIUS

  PUCK. Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com'st thou not?
  DEMETRIUS. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot
    Thou run'st before me, shifting every place,
    And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face.
    Where art thou now?
  PUCK. Come hither; I am here.
  DEMETRIUS. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy this
dear,
    If ever I thy face by daylight see;
    Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
    To measure out my length on this cold bed.
    By day's approach look to be visited.
                                          [Lies down and sleeps]

Enter HELENA

  HELENA. O weary night, O long and tedious night,
    Abate thy hours! Shine comforts from the east,
    That I may back to Athens by daylight,
    From these that my poor company detest.
    And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye,
    Steal me awhile from mine own company. [Sleeps]
  PUCK. Yet but three? Come one more;
              Two of both kinds makes up four.
              Here she comes, curst and sad.
              Cupid is a knavish lad,
              Thus to make poor females mad.

Enter HERMIA

  HERMIA. Never so weary, never so in woe,
    Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers,
    I can no further crawl, no further go;
    My legs can keep no pace with my desires.
    Here will I rest me till the break of day.
    Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!
                                          [Lies down and sleeps]
  PUCK. On the ground
                 Sleep sound;
                 I'll apply
                 To your eye,
          Gentle lover, remedy.
                        [Squeezing the juice on LYSANDER'S eyes]
                 When thou wak'st,
                 Thou tak'st
                 True delight
                 In the sight
          Of thy former lady's eye;
          And the country proverb known,
          That every man should take his own,
          In your waking shall be shown:
                 Jack shall have Jill;
                 Nought shall go ill;
    The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.
 Exit

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY
WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

Enter TITANIA and Bottom; PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH,
MUSTARDSEED,
and other FAIRIES attending;
                      OBERON behind, unseen

  TITANIA. Come, sit thee down upon this flow'ry bed,
    While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
    And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,
    And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.
  BOTTOM. Where's Peaseblossom?
  PEASEBLOSSOM. Ready.
  BOTTOM. Scratch my head, Peaseblossom.
    Where's Mounsieur Cobweb?
  COBWEB. Ready.
  BOTTOM. Mounsieur Cobweb; good mounsieur, get you your weapons
in
    your hand and kill me a red-hipp'd humble-bee on the top of a
    thistle; and, good mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not
fret
    yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; and, good
mounsieur,
    have a care the honey-bag break not; I would be loath to have
you
    overflown with a honey-bag, signior. Where's Mounsieur
    Mustardseed?
  MUSTARDSEED. Ready.
  BOTTOM. Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you,
leave
    your curtsy, good mounsieur.
  MUSTARDSEED. What's your will?
  BOTTOM. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to
    scratch. I must to the barber's, mounsieur; for methinks I am
    marvellous hairy about the face; and I am such a tender ass,
if
    my hair do but tickle me I must scratch.
  TITANIA. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?
  BOTTOM. I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let's have the
tongs
    and the bones.
  TITANIA. Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.
  BOTTOM. Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry
    oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay. Good
    hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.
  TITANIA. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
    The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.
  BOTTOM. I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But,
I
    pray you, let none of your people stir me; I have an
exposition
    of sleep come upon me.
  TITANIA. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
    Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. Exeunt FAIRIES
    So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
    Gently entwist; the female ivy so
    Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
    O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee! [They sleep]

Enter PUCK

  OBERON. [Advancing] Welcome, good Robin. Seest thou this sweet
      sight?
    Her dotage now I do begin to pity;
    For, meeting her of late behind the wood,
    Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,
    I did upbraid her and fall out with her.
    For she his hairy temples then had rounded
    With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
    And that same dew which sometime on the buds
    Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls
    Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes,
    Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.
    When I had at my pleasure taunted her,
    And she in mild terms begg'd my patience,
    I then did ask of her her changeling child;
    Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
    To bear him to my bower in fairy land.
    And now I have the boy, I will undo
    This hateful imperfection of her eyes.
    And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp
    From off the head of this Athenian swain,
    That he awaking when the other do
    May all to Athens back again repair,
    And think no more of this night's accidents
    But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
    But first I will release the Fairy Queen.
                                             [Touching her eyes]
           Be as thou wast wont to be;
           See as thou was wont to see.
           Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower
           Hath such force and blessed power.
    Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.
  TITANIA. My Oberon! What visions have I seen!
    Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.
  OBERON. There lies your love.
  TITANIA. How came these things to pass?
    O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!
  OBERON. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head.
    Titania, music call; and strike more dead
    Than common sleep of all these five the sense.
  TITANIA. Music, ho, music, such as charmeth sleep!
  PUCK. Now when thou wak'st with thine own fool's eyes peep.
  OBERON. Sound, music. Come, my Queen, take hands with me,
                                                         [Music]
    And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.
    Now thou and I are new in amity,
    And will to-morrow midnight solemnly
    Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly,
    And bless it to all fair prosperity.
    There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
    Wedded, with Theseus, an in jollity.
  PUCK. Fairy King, attend and mark;
              I do hear the morning lark.
  OBERON. Then, my Queen, in silence sad,
              Trip we after night's shade.
              We the globe can compass soon,
              Swifter than the wand'ring moon.
  TITANIA. Come, my lord; and in our flight,
              Tell me how it came this night
              That I sleeping here was found
              With these mortals on the ground. Exeunt

        To the winding of horns, enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA,
                      EGEUS, and train

  THESEUS. Go, one of you, find out the forester;
    For now our observation is perform'd,
    And since we have the vaward of the day,
    My love shall hear the music of my hounds.
    Uncouple in the western valley; let them go.
    Dispatch, I say, and find the forester. Exit an ATTENDANT
    We will, fair Queen, up to the mountain's top,
    And mark the musical confusion
    Of hounds and echo in conjunction.
  HIPPOLYTA. 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.
  THESEUS. 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-lapp'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?
  EGEUS. 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.
  THESEUS. 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?
  EGEUS. It is, my lord.
  THESEUS. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.
                           [Horns and shout within. The sleepers
                                     awake and kneel to THESEUS]
    Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past;
    Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?
  LYSANDER. Pardon, my lord.
  THESEUS. 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?
  LYSANDER. 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,
    Without the peril of the Athenian law-
  EGEUS. 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.
  DEMETRIUS. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
    Of this their purpose hither to this wood;
    And I in fury hither followed 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 gaud
    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 a sickness, did I loathe this food;
    But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
    Now I do wish it, love it, long for it,
    And will for evermore be true to it.
  THESEUS. 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
  DEMETRIUS. These things seem small and undistinguishable,
    Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.
  HERMIA. Methinks I see these things with parted eye,
    When every thing seems double.
  HELENA. So methinks;
    And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
    Mine own, and not mine own.
  DEMETRIUS. Are you sure
    That we are awake? It seems to me
    That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
    The Duke was here, and bid us follow him?
  HERMIA. Yea, and my father.
  HELENA. And Hippolyta.
  LYSANDER. And he did bid us follow to the temple.
  DEMETRIUS. Why, then, we are awake; let's follow him;
    And by the way let us recount our dreams. Exeunt
  BOTTOM. [Awaking] When my cue comes, call me, and I will
answer. My
    next is 'Most fair Pyramus.' Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute,
the
    bellows-mender! Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God's my life,
    stol'n 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 patch'd 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 call'd '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

Enter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING

  QUINCE. Have you sent to Bottom's house? Is he come home yet?
  STARVELING. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is
transported.
  FLUTE. If he come not, then the play is marr'd; it goes not
    forward, doth it?
  QUINCE. It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens
able
    to discharge Pyramus but he.
  FLUTE. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in
    Athens.
  QUINCE. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a very paramour
for
    a sweet voice.
  FLUTE. You must say 'paragon.' A paramour is- God bless us!- A
    thing of naught.

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.
  FLUTE. 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

  BOTTOM. Where are these lads? Where are these hearts?
  QUINCE. Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!
  BOTTOM. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask me not
what;
    for if I tell you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you
    everything, right as it fell out.
  QUINCE. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.
  BOTTOM. 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 preferr'd. 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 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, away! Exeunt

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY
WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS

  HIPPOLYTA. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak
of.
  THESEUS. 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
    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?
  HIPPOLYTA. 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.

Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and HELENA

  THESEUS. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.
    Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love
    Accompany your hearts!
  LYSANDER. More than to us
    Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!
  THESEUS. Come now; what masques, 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.
  PHILOSTRATE. Here, mighty Theseus.
  THESEUS. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening?
    What masque? what music? How shall we beguile
    The lazy time, if not with some delight?
  PHILOSTRATE. There is a brief how many sports are ripe;
    Make choice of which your Highness will see first.
                                                [Giving a paper]
  THESEUS. '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 Thisby; very tragical mirth.'
    Merry and tragical! tedious and brief!
    That is hot ice and wondrous strange snow.
    How shall we find the concord of this discord?
  PHILOSTRATE. A play there 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.
  THESEUS. What are they that do play it?
  PHILOSTRATE. Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,
    Which never labour'd in their minds till now;
    And now have toil'd their unbreathed memories
    With this same play against your nuptial.
  THESEUS. And we will hear it.
  PHILOSTRATE. 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.
  THESEUS. I will hear that play;
    For never anything can be amiss
    When simpleness and duty tender it.
    Go, bring them in; and take your places, ladies.
                                                Exit PHILOSTRATE
  HIPPOLYTA. I love not to see wretchedness o'er-charged,
    And duty in his service perishing.
  THESEUS. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.
  HIPPOLYTA. He says they can do nothing in this kind.
  THESEUS. 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.
    Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
    In least speak most to my capacity.

Re-enter PHILOSTRATE

  PHILOSTRATE. So please your Grace, the Prologue is address'd.
  THESEUS. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets]

Enter QUINCE as the PROLOGUE

  PROLOGUE. 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,
  THESEUS. This fellow doth not stand upon points.
  LYSANDER. 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.
  HIPPOLYTA. Indeed he hath play'd on this prologue like a child
on a
    recorder- a sound, but not in government.
  THESEUS. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing im
paired,
    but all disordered. Who is next?

          Enter, with a trumpet before them, as in dumb show,
            PYRAMUS and THISBY, WALL, MOONSHINE, and LION

  PROLOGUE. 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 lanthorn, 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 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 PROLOGUE, PYRAMUS, THISBY,
                                             LION, and MOONSHINE
  THESEUS. I wonder if the lion be to speak.
  DEMETRIUS. 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 crannied 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.
  THESEUS. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?
  DEMETRIUS. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard
    discourse, my lord.

Enter PYRAMUS

  THESEUS. Pyramus draws near the wall; silence.
  PYRAMUS. 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 what see I? No Thisby do I see.
    O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,
    Curs'd be thy stones for thus deceiving me!
  THESEUS. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse
again.
  PYRAMUS. 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 THISBY

  THISBY. 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.
  PYRAMUS. I see a voice; now will I to the chink,
    To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face.
    Thisby!
  THISBY. My love! thou art my love, I think.
  PYRAMUS. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace;
    And like Limander am I trusty still.
  THISBY. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.
  PYRAMUS. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.
  THISBY. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.
  PYRAMUS. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.
  THISBY. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.
  PYRAMUS. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?
  THISBY. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.
                                       Exeunt PYRAMUS and THISBY
  WALL. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;
    And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. Exit WALL
  THESEUS. Now is the moon used between the two neighbours.
  DEMETRIUS. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear
    without warning.
  HIPPOLYTA. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.
  THESEUS. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst
are
    no worse, if imagination amend them.
  HIPPOLYTA. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.
  THESEUS. 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 as 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 on my life.
  THESEUS. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
  DEMETRIUS. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.
  LYSANDER. This lion is a very fox for his valour.
  THESEUS. True; and a goose for his discretion.
  DEMETRIUS. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his
    discretion, and the fox carries the goose.
  THESEUS. 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.
  MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present-
  DEMETRIUS. He should have worn the horns on his head.
  THESEUS. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within
the
    circumference.
  MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;
    Myself the Man i' th' Moon do seem to be.
  THESEUS. 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?
  DEMETRIUS. He dares not come there for the candle; for, you
see, it
    is already in snuff.
  HIPPOLYTA. I am aweary of this moon. Would he would change!
  THESEUS. 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.
  LYSANDER. Proceed, Moon.
  MOONSHINE. All that I have to say is to tell you that the lanthorn
is
    the moon; I, the Man i' th' Moon; this thorn-bush, my
thorn-bush;
    and this dog, my dog.
  DEMETRIUS. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all
these
    are in the moon. But silence; here comes Thisby.

Re-enter THISBY

  THISBY. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?
  LION. [Roaring] O- [THISBY runs off]
  DEMETRIUS. Well roar'd, Lion.
  THESEUS. Well run, Thisby.
  HIPPOLYTA. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good
    grace. [The LION tears THISBY'S Mantle, and exit]
  THESEUS. Well mous'd, Lion.

Re-enter PYRAMUS

  DEMETRIUS. And then came Pyramus.
  LYSANDER. And so the lion vanish'd.
  PYRAMUS. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
    I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;
    For, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams,
    I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.
             But stay, O spite!
             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.
  THESEUS. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go
    near to make a man look sad.
  HIPPOLYTA. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
  PYRAMUS. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
    Since lion vile hath here deflower'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. [Stabs himself]
           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. [Exit MOONSHINE]
           Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies]
  DEMETRIUS. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.
  LYSANDER. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.
  THESEUS. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and
yet prove an ass.
  HIPPOLYTA. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisby comes
back
    and finds her lover?

Re-enter THISBY

  THESEUS. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and
her
    passion ends the play.
  HIPPOLYTA. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a
    Pyramus; I hope she will be brief.
  DEMETRIUS. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which
    Thisby, is the better- he for a man, God warrant us: She for
a
    woman, God bless us!
  LYSANDER. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.
  DEMETRIUS. And thus she moans, videlicet:-
  THISBY. Asleep, my love?
               What, dead, my dove?
             O Pyramus, arise,
               Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
               Dead, dead? A tomb
             Must cover thy sweet eyes.
               These lily lips,
               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. [Stabs herself]
               And farewell, friends;
               Thus Thisby ends;
             Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies]
  THESEUS. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
  DEMETRIUS. Ay, and Wall too.
  BOTTOM. [Starting up] 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?
  THESEUS. 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 played Pyramus,
and
    hang'd himself in Thisby's garter, it would have been a fine
    tragedy. And so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd.
But
    come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue alone. [A dance]
    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. Exeunt

Enter PUCK with a broom

  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 hallowed house.
             I am sent with broom before,
             To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with all their train

  OBERON. 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.
  TITANIA. 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.

[OBERON leading, the FAIRIES sing and dance]

  OBERON. 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;
             And the owner of it blest
             Ever shall in safety rest.
             Trip away; make no stay;
             Meet me all by break of day. Exeunt all but PUCK
  PUCK. If we shadows have offended,
             Think but this, and all is mended,
             That you have but slumb'red 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

THE END

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY
WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

End of this Etext of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
A Midsummer Night's Dream