Hel. O excellent!Her. Sweete, do not scorne her so
Dem. If she cannot entreate, I can compell
Lys. Thou canst compell, no more then she entreate.Thy threats haue no more strength then her weak praise.Helen, I loue thee, by my life I doe;I sweare by that which I will lose for thee,To proue him false, that saies I loue thee not
Dem. I say, I loue thee more then he can do
Lys. If thou say so, withdraw and proue it too
Dem. Quick, come
Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this?Lys. Away, you Ethiope
Dem. No, no, Sir, seeme to breake loose;Take on as you would follow,But yet come not: you are a tame man, go
Lys. Hang off thou cat, thou bur; vile thing let loose,Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent
Her. Why are you growne so rude?What change is this sweete Loue?Lys. Thy loue? out tawny Tartar, out;Out loathed medicine; O hated poison hence
Her. Do you not iest?Hel. Yes sooth, and so do you
Lys. Demetrius: I will keepe my word with thee
Dem. I would I had your bond: for I perceiueA weake bond holds you; Ile not trust your word
Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?Although I hate her, Ile not harme her so
Her. What, can you do me greater harme then hate?Hate me, wherefore? O me, what newes my Loue?Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?I am as faire now, as I was ere while.Since night you lou'd me: yet since night you left me.Why then you left me (O the gods forbid)In earnest, shall I say?Lys. I, by my life;And neuer did desire to see thee more.Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;Be certaine, nothing truer: 'tis no iest,That I do hate thee, and loue Helena
Her. O me, you iugler, you canker blossome,You theefe of loue; What, haue you come by night,And stolne my loues heart from him?Hel. Fine yfaith:Haue you no modesty, no maiden shame,No touch of bashfulnesse? What, will you teareImpatient answers from my gentle tongue?Fie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you
Her. Puppet? why so? I, that way goes the game.Now I perceiue that she hath made compareBetweene our statures, she hath vrg'd her height,And with her personage, her tall personage,Her height (forsooth) she hath preuail'd with him.And are you growne so high in his esteeme,Because I am so dwarfish, and so low?How low am I, thou painted May-pole? Speake,How low am I? I am not yet so low,But that my nailes can reach vnto thine eyes
Hel. I pray you though you mocke me, gentlemen,Let her not hurt me; I was neuer curst:I haue no gift at all in shrewishnesse;I am a right maide for my cowardize;Let her not strike me: you perhaps may thinke,Because she is something lower then my selfe,That I can match her
Her. Lower? harke againe
Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me,I euermore did loue you Hermia,Did euer keepe your counsels, neuer wronged you,Saue that in loue vnto Demetrius,I told him of your stealth vnto this wood.He followed you, for loue I followed him,But he hath chid me hence, and threatned meTo strike me, spurne me, nay to kill me too;And now, so you will let me quiet go,To Athens will I beare my folly backe,And follow you no further. Let me go.You see how simple, and how fond I am
Her. Why get you gone: who ist that hinders you?Hel. A foolish heart, that I leaue here behinde
Her. What, with Lysander?Her. With Demetrius
Lys. Be not afraid, she shall not harme thee Helena
Dem. No sir, she shall not, though you take her part
Hel. O when she's angry, she is keene and shrewd,She was a vixen when she went to schoole,And though she be but little, she is fierce
Her. Little againe? Nothing but low and little?Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?Let me come to her
Lys. Get you gone you dwarfe,You minimus, of hindring knot-grasse made,You bead, you acorne
Dem. You are too officious,In her behalfe that scornes your seruices.Let her alone, speake not of Helena,Take not her part. For if thou dost intendNeuer so little shew of loue to her,Thou shalt abide it
Lys. Now she holds me not,Now follow if thou dar'st, to try whose right,Of thine or mine is most in Helena
Dem. Follow? Nay, Ile goe with thee cheeke byiowle.
Exit Lysander and Demetrius.
Her. You Mistris, all this coyle is long of you.Nay, goe not backe
Hel. I will not trust you I,Nor longer stay in your curst companie.Your hands then mine, are quicker for a fray,My legs are longer though to runne away.Enter Oberon and Pucke.
Ob. This is thy negligence, still thou mistak'st,Or else committ'st thy knaueries willingly
Puck. Beleeue me, King of shadowes, I mistooke,Did not you tell me, I should know the man,By the Athenian garments he hath on?And so farre blamelesse proues my enterprize,That I haue nointed an Athenians eies,And so farre am I glad, it so did sort,As this their iangling I esteeme a sport
Ob. Thou seest these Louers seeke a place to fight,Hie therefore Robin, ouercast the night,The starrie Welkin couer thou anon,With drooping fogge as blacke as Acheron,And lead these testie Riuals so astray,As one come not within anothers way.Like to Lysander, sometime frame thy tongue,Then stirre Demetrius vp with bitter wrong;And sometime raile thou like Demetrius;And from each other looke thou leade them thus,Till ore their browes, death-counterfeiting, sleepeWith leaden legs, and Battie-wings doth creepe:Then crush this hearbe into Lysanders eie,Whose liquor hath this vertuous propertie,To take from thence all error, with his might,and make his eie-bals role with wonted sight.When they next wake, all this derisionShall seeme a dreame, and fruitless vision,And backe to Athens shall the Louers wendWith league, whose date till death shall neuer end.Whiles I in this affaire do thee imploy,Ile to my Queene, and beg her Indian Boy;And then I will her charmed eie releaseFrom monsters view, and all things shall be peace
Puck. My Fairie Lord, this must be done with haste,For night-swift Dragons cut the Clouds full fast,And yonder shines Auroras harbinger;At whose approach Ghosts wandring here and there,Troope home to Church-yards; damned spirits all,That in crosse-waies and flouds haue buriall,Alreadie to their wormie beds are gone;For feare least day should looke their shames vpon,They wilfully themselues exile from light,And must for aye consort with blacke browd night
Ob. But we are spirits of another sort:I, with the mornings loue haue oft made sport,And like a Forrester, the groues may tread,Euen till the Easterne gate all fierie red,Opening on Neptune, With faire blessed beames,Turnes into yellow gold, his salt greene streames.But not withstanding haste, make no delay:We may effect this businesse, yet ere day
Puck. Vp and downe, vp and downe, I will leadethem vp and downe: I am fear'd in field and towne.Goblin, lead them vp and downe: here comes one.Enter Lysander.
Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius?Speake thou now
Rob. Here villaine, drawne & readie. Where art thou?Lys. I will be with thee straight
Rob. Follow me then to plainer ground.Enter Demetrius.
Dem. Lysander, speake againe;Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?Speake in some bush: Where dost thou hide thy head?Rob. 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 childe,Ile whip thee with a rod. He is defil'dThat drawes a sword on thee
Dem. Yea, art thou there?Ro. Follow my voice, we'l try no manhood here.Enter.
Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on,When I come where he cals, then he's gone.The Villaine is much lighter heel'd then I:I followed fast, but faster he did flye;
shifting places.
That fallen am I in darke vneuen way,And here wil rest me. Come thou gentle day:
lye down.
For if but once thou shew me thy gray light,Ile finde Demetrius, and reuenge this spight.Enter Robin and Demetrius.
Rob. Ho, ho, ho; coward, why com'st thou not?Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st. For well I wot,Thou runst before me, shifting euery place,And dar'st not stand, nor looke me in the face.Where art thou?Rob. Come hither, I am here
Dem. Nay then thou mock'st me; thou shalt buy thisdeere,If euer I thy face by day-light see.Now goe thy way: faintnesse constraineth me,To measure out my length on this cold bed,By daies approach looke to be visited.Enter Helena.
Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night,Abate thy houres, shine comforts from the East,That I may backe to Athens by day-light,From these that my poore companie detest;And sleepe that sometime shuts vp sorrowes eie,Steale me a while from mine owne companie.
Sleepe.
Rob. Yet but three? Come one more,Two of both kindes makes vp foure.Here she comes, curst and sad,Cupid is a knauish lad,Enter Hermia.
Thus to make poore females mad
Her. Neuer so wearie, neuer so in woe,Bedabbled with the dew, and torne with briars,I can no further crawle, no further goe;My legs can keepe no pace with my desires.Here will I rest me till the breake of day,Heauens shield Lysander, if they meane a fray
Rob. On the ground sleepe sound,Ile apply your eie gentle louer, remedy.When thou wak'st, thou tak'stTrue delight in the sight of thy former Ladies eye,And the Country Prouerb knowne,That euery man should take his owne,In your waking shall be showne.Iacke shall haue Iill, nought shall goe ill.The man shall haue his Mare againe, and all shall beewell.
They sleepe all the Act.
Actus Quartus.
Enter Queene of Fairies, and Clowne, and Fairies, and the King behinde them.
Tita. Come, sit thee downe vpon this flowry bed,While I thy amiable cheekes doe coy,And sticke muske roses in thy sleeke smoothe head,And kisse thy faire large eares, my gentle ioy
Clow. Where's Peaseblossome?Peas. Ready
Clow. Scratch my head, Pease-blossome. Wher's MounsieuerCobweb
Cob. Ready
Clowne. Mounsieur Cobweb, good Mounsier get your weapons in your hand, & kill me a red hipt humble-Bee, on the top of a thistle; and good Mounsieur bring mee the hony bag. Doe not fret your selfe too much in the action, Mounsieur; and good mounsieur haue a care the hony bag breake not, I would be loth to haue you ouerflowne with a hony-bag signiour. Where's Mounsieur Mustardseed? Mus. Ready
Clo. Giue me your neafe, Mounsieur Mustardseed.Pray you leaue your courtesie good Mounsieur
Mus. What's your will? Clo. Nothing good Mounsieur, but to help Caualery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the Barbers Mounsieur, for me-thinkes I am maruellous hairy about the face. And I am such a tender asse, if my haire do but tickle me, I must scratch
Tita. What, wilt thou heare some musicke, my sweetloue
Clow. I haue a reasonable good eare in musicke. Letvs haue the tongs and the bones.
Musicke Tongs, Rurall Musicke.
Tita. Or say sweete Loue, what thou desirest to eat
Clowne. Truly a pecke of Prouender; I could munch your good dry Oates. Me-thinkes I haue a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweete hay hath no fellow
Tita. I haue a venturous Fairy,That shall seeke the Squirrels hoard,And fetch thee new Nuts
Clown. I had rather haue a handfull or two of dried pease. But I pray you let none of your people stirre me, I haue an exposition of sleepe come vpon me
Tyta. Sleepe thou, and I will winde thee in my arms,Fairies be gone, and be alwaies away.So doth the woodbine, the sweet Honisuckle,Gently entwist; the female Iuy soEnrings the barky fingers of the Elme.O how I loue thee! how I dote on thee!Enter Robin goodfellow and Oberon.
Ob. Welcome good Robin:Seest thou this sweet sight?Her dotage now I doe begin to pitty.For meeting her of late behinde the wood,Seeking sweet sauours for this hatefull foole,I did vpbraid 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 somtime on the buds,Was wont to swell like round and orient pearles;Stood now within the pretty flouriets eyes,Like teares that did their owne disgrace bewaile.When I had at my pleasure taunted her,And she in milde termes beg'd my patience,I then did aske of her, her changeling childe,Which straight she gaue me, and her fairy sentTo beare him to my Bower in Fairy Land.And now I haue the Boy, I will vndoeThis hatefull imperfection of her eyes.And gentle Pucke, take this transformed scalpe,From off the head of this Athenian swaine;That he awaking when the other doe,May all to Athens backe againe repaire,And thinke no more of this nights accidents,But as the fierce vexation of dreame.But first I will release the Fairy Queene.Be thou as thou wast wont to be;See as thou wast wont to see.Dians bud, or Cupids flower,Hath such force and blessed power.Now my Titania wake you my sweet Queene
Tita. My Oberon, what visions haue I seene!Me-thought I was enamoured of an asse
Ob. There lies your loue
Tita. How came these things to passe?Oh, how mine eyes doth loath this visage now!Ob. Silence a while. Robin take off his head:Titania, musick call, and strike more deadThen common sleepe; of all these, fine the sense
Tita. Musicke, ho musicke, such as charmeth sleepe.
Musick still.
Rob. When thou wak'st, with thine owne fooles eiespeepe
Ob. Sound musick; come my Queen, take hands with meAnd rocke the ground whereon these sleepers be.Now thou and I new in amity,And will to morrow midnight, solemnlyDance in Duke Theseus house triumphantly,And blesse it to all faire posterity.There shall the paires of faithfull Louers beWedded, with Theseus, all in iollity
Rob. Faire King attend, and marke,I doe heare the morning Larke,Ob. Then my Queene in silence sad,Trip we after the nights shade;We the Globe can compasse soone,Swifter then the wandering Moone
Tita. Come my Lord, and in our flight,Tell me how it came this night,That I sleeping heere was found,
Sleepers Lye still.
With these mortals on the ground.
Exeunt.
Winde Hornes.
Enter Theseus, Egeus, Hippolita and all his traine.
Thes. Goe one of you, finde out the Forrester,For now our obseruation is perform'd;And since we haue the vaward of the day,My Loue shall heare the musicke of my hounds.Vncouple in the Westerne valley, let them goe;Dispatch I say, and finde the Forrester.We will faire Queene, vp to the Mountains top,And marke the musicall confusionOf hounds and eccho in coniunction
Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once.When in a wood of Creete they bayed the BeareWith hounds of Sparta; neuer did I heareSuch gallant chiding. For besides the groues,The skies, the fountaines, euery region neere,Seeme all one mutuall cry. I neuer heardSo musicall a discord, such sweet thunder
Thes. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kinde,So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hungWith eares that sweepe away the morning dew,Crooke kneed, and dew-lapt, like Thessalian Buls,Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bels,Each vnder each. A cry more tuneableWas neuer hallowed to, nor cheer'd with horne,In Creete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly;Iudge when you heare. But soft, what nimphs are these?Egeus. My Lord, this is my daughter heere asleepe,And this Lysander, this Demetrius is,This Helena, olde Nedars Helena,I wonder of this being heere together
The. No doubt they rose vp early, to obserueThe right of May; and hearing our intent,Came heere in grace of our solemnity.But speake Egeus, is not this the dayThat Hermia should giue answer of her choice?Egeus. It is, my Lord
Thes. Goe bid the hunts-men wake them with theirhornes.
Hornes and they wake.
Shout within, they all start vp.
Thes. Good morrow friends: Saint Valentine is past,Begin these wood birds but to couple now?Lys. Pardon my Lord
Thes. I pray you all stand vp.I know you two are Riuall enemies.How comes this gentle concord in the world,That hatred is so farre from iealousie,To sleepe by hate, and feare no enmity
Lys. My Lord, I shall reply amazedly,Halfe sleepe, halfe waking. but as yet, I sweare,I cannot truly say how I came heere.But as I thinke (for truly would I speake)And now I doe bethinke me, so it is;I came with Hermia hither. Our intentWas to be gone from Athens, where we might beWithout the perill of the Athenian Law
Ege. Enough, enough, my Lord: you haue enough;I beg the Law, the Law, vpon his head:They would have stolne away, they would Demetrius,Thereby to haue defeated you and me:You of your wife, and me of my consent;Of my consent, that she should be your wife
Dem. My Lord, faire Helen told me of their stealth,Of this their purpose hither, to this wood,And I in furie hither followed them;Faire Helena, in fancy followed me.But my good Lord, I wot not by what not by what power,(But by some power it is) my loueTo Hermia (melted as the snow)Seems to me now as the remembrance of an idle gaude,Which in my childehood I did doat vpon:And all the faith, the vertue of my heart,The obiect and the pleasure of mine eye,Is onely Helena. To her, my Lord,Was I betroth'd, ere I see Hermia,But like a sickenesse did I loath this food,But as in health, come to my naturall taste,Now doe I wish it, loue it, long for it,And will for euermore be true to it
Thes. Faire Louers, you are fortunately met;Of this discourse we shall heare more anon.Egeus, I will ouer-beare your will;For in the Temple, by and by with vs,These couples shall eternally be knit.And for the morning now is something worne,Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside.Away, with vs to Athens; three and three,Wee'll hold a feast in great solemnitie.Come Hippolita.
Exit Duke and Lords.
Dem. These things seeme small & vndistinguishable,Like farre off mountaines turned into Clouds
Her. Me-thinks I see these things with parted eye,When euery thing seemes double
Hel. So me-thinkes:And I haue found Demetrius, like a iewell,Mine owne, and not mine owne
Dem. It seemes to mee,That yet we sleepe, we dreame. Do not you thinke,The Duke was heere, and bid vs follow him?Her. Yea, and my Father
Hel. And Hippolita
Lys. And he bid vs follow to the Temple
Dem. Why then we are awake; lets follow him, and by the way let vs recount our dreames.
Bottome wakes.
Exit Louers.
Clo. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is, most faire Piramus. Hey ho. Peter Quince? Flute the bellowes-mender? Snout the tinker? Starueling? Gods my life! Stolne hence, and left me asleepe: I haue had a most rare vision. I had a dreame, past the wit of man, to say, what dreame it was. Man is but an Asse, if he goe about to expound this dreame. Me-thought I was, there is no man can tell what. Me-thought I was, and me-thought I had. But man is but a patch'd foole, if he will offer to say, what me-thought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the eare of man hath not seen, mans hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceiue, nor his heart to report, what my dreame was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballet of this dreame, it shall be called Bottomes Dreame, because it hath no bottome; and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Peraduenture, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. Enter.
Enter Quince, Flute, Thisbie, Snout, and Starueling.
Quin. Haue you sent to Bottomes house? Is he comehome yet?Staru. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt hee istransported
This. If he come not, then the play is mar'd. It goesnot forward, doth it?Quin. It is not possible: you haue not a man in allAthens, able to discharge Piramus but he
This. No, hee hath simply the best wit of any handycraftman in Athens
Quin. Yea, and the best person too, and hee is a veryParamour, for a sweet voyce
This. You must say, Paragon. A Paramour is (God blesse vs) a thing of nought. Enter Snug the Ioyner.
Snug. Masters, the Duke is comming from the Temple, and there is two or three Lords & Ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward, we had all bin made men
This. O sweet bully Bottome: thus hath he lost sixepence a day, during his life; he could not haue scaped sixpence a day. And the Duke had not giuen him sixpence a day for playing Piramus, Ile be hang'd. He would haue deserued it. Sixpence a day in Piramus, or nothing. Enter Bottome.
Bot. Where are these Lads? Where are these hearts?Quin. Bottome, o most couragious day! O most happiehoure!Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask menot what. For if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. Iwill tell you euery thing as it fell out
Qu. Let vs heare, sweet Bottome
Bot. Not a word of me: all that I will tell you, is, that the Duke hath dined. Get your apparell together, good strings to your beards, new ribbands to your pumps, meete presently at the Palace, euery man looke ore his part: for the short and the long is, our play is preferred: In any case let Thisby haue cleane linnen: and let not him that playes the Lion, paire his nailes, for they shall hang out for the Lions clawes. And most deare Actors, eate no Onions, nor Garlicke; for wee are to vtter sweete breath, and I doe not doubt but to heare them say, it is a sweet Comedy. No more words: away, go away.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Egeus and his Lords.
Hip. 'Tis strange my Theseus, y these louers speake of
The. More strange then true. I neuer may beleeueThese anticke fables, nor these Fairy toyes,Louers and mad men haue such seething braines,Such shaping phantasies, that apprehend moreThen coole reason euer comprehends.The Lunaticke, the Louer, and the Poet,Are of imagination all compact.One sees more diuels then vaste hell can hold;That is the mad man. The Louer, all as franticke,Sees Helens beauty in a brow of Egipt.The Poets eye in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glanceFrom heauen to earth, from earth to heauen.And as imagination bodies forth the forms of thingsVnknowne; the Poets pen turnes them to shapes,And giues to aire nothing, a locall habitation,And a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination,That if it would but apprehend some ioy,It comprehends some bringer of that ioy.Or in the night, imagining some feare,Howe easie is a bush suppos'd a Beare?Hip. But all the storie of the night told ouer,And all their minds transfigur'd so together,More witnesseth than fancies images,And growes to something of great constancie;But howsoeuer, strange, and admirable.Enter louers, Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena.
The. Heere come the louers, full of ioy and mirth:Ioy, gentle friends, ioy and fresh dayesOf loue accompany your hearts
Lys. More then to vs, waite in your royall walkes,your boord, your bed
The. Come now, what maskes, what dances shallwe haue,To weare away this long age of three houres,Between our after supper, and bed-time?Where is our vsuall manager of mirth?What Reuels are in hand? Is there no play,To ease the anguish of a torturing houre?Call Egeus
Ege. Heere mighty Theseus
The. Say, what abridgement haue you for this euening?What maske? What musicke? How shall we beguileThe lazie time, if not with some delight?Ege. There is a breefe how many sports are rife:Make choise of which your Highnesse will see first
Lis. The battell with the Centaurs to be sungBy an Athenian Eunuch, to the Harpe
The. Wee'l none of that. That haue I told my LoueIn glory of my kinsman Hercules
Lis. The riot of the tipsie Bachanals,Tearing the Thracian singer, in their rage?The. That is an old deuice, and it was plaidWhen I from Thebes came last a Conqueror
Lis. The thrice three Muses, mourning for the deathof learning, late deceast in beggerie
The. That is some Satire keene and criticall,Not sorting with a nuptiall ceremonie
Lis. A tedious breefe Scene of yong Piramus,And his loue Thisby; very tragicall mirth
The. Merry and tragicall? Tedious, and briefe? Thatis, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. How shall weefinde the concord of this discord?Ege. A play there is, my Lord, some ten words long,Which is as breefe, as I haue knowne 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 tragicall my noble Lord it is: for PiramusTherein doth kill himselfe. Which when I sawRehearst, I must confesse, made mine eyes water:But more merrie teares, the passion of loud laughterNeuer shed
Thes. What are they that do play it?Ege. Hard handed men, that worke in Athens heere,Which neuer labour'd in their mindes till now;And now haue toyled their vnbreathed memoriesWith this same play, against your nuptiall
The. And we will heare it
Hip. No my noble Lord, it is not for you. I haue heardIt ouer, and it is nothing, nothing in the world;Vnless you can finde sport in their intents,Extreamely stretched, and cond with cruell paine,To doe you seruice
Thes. I will heare that play. For neuer any thingCan be amisse, when simplenesse and duty tender it.Goe bring them in, and take your places, Ladies
Hip. I loue not to see wretchednesse orecharged;And duty in his seruice perishing
Thes. Why gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing
Hip. He saies, they can doe nothing in this kinde
Thes. The kinder we, to giue them thanks for nothingOur sport shall be, to take what they mistake;And what poore duty cannot doe, noble respectTakes it in might, not merit.Where I haue come, great Clearkes haue purposedTo greete me with premeditated welcomes;Where I haue seene them shiuer and looke pale,Make periods in the midst of sentences,Throttle their practiz'd accent in their feares,And in conclusion, dumbly haue broke off,Not paying me a welcome. Trust me sweete,Out of this silence yet, I pickt a welcome:And in the modesty of fearefull duty,I read as much, as from the ratling tongueOf saucy and audacious eloquence.Loue therefore, and tongue-tide simplicity,In least, speake most, to my capacity
Egeus. So please your Grace, the Prologue is addrest
Duke. Let him approach.
Flor. Trum.
Enter the Prologue. Quince.
Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will.That you should thinke, we come not to offend,But with good will. To shew our simple skill,That is the true beginning of our end.Consider then, we come but in despight.We do not come, as minding to content you,Our true intent is. All for your delight,We are not heere. 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
Thes. This fellow doth not stand vpon points
Lys. He hath rid his Prologue, like a rough Colt: he knowes not the stop. A good morall my lord. it is not enough to speake, but to speake true
Hip. Indeed hee hath plaid on his Prologue, like achilde on a Recorder, a sound, but not in gouernment
Thes. His speech was like a tangled chaine: nothingimpaired, but all disordered. Who is next?
Tawyer with a Trumpet before them.
Enter Pyramus and Thisby, Wall, Moone-shine, and Lyon.
Prol. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show,But wonder on, till truth make all things plaine.This man is Piramus, if you would know;This beauteous Lady, Thisby is certaine.This man, with lyme and rough-cast, doth presentWall, that vile wall, which did these louers sunder:And through walls chink (poor soules) they are contentTo whisper. At the which, let no man wonder.This man, with Lanthorne, dog, and bush of thorne,Presenteth moone-shine. For if you will know,By moone-shine did these Louers thinke no scorneTo meet at Ninus toombe, there, there to wooe:This grizly beast (which Lyon hight by name)The trusty Thisby, comming first by night,Did scarre away, or rather did affright:And as she fled, her mantle she did fall;Which Lyon vile with bloody mouth did staine.Anon comes Piramus, sweet youth and tall,And findes his Thisbies Mantle slaine;Whereat, with blade, with bloody blamefull blade,He brauely broacht his boiling bloudy breast,And Thisby, tarrying in Mulberry shade,His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,Let Lyon, Moone-shine, Wall, and Louers twaine,At large discourse, while here they doe remaine.
Exit all but Wall.
Thes. I wonder if the Lion be to speake
Deme. No wonder, my Lord: one Lion may, when many Asses doe.
Exit Lyon, Thisbie, and Mooneshine.
Wall. In this same Interlude, it doth befall,That I, one Snowt (by name) present a wall:And such a wall, as I would haue you thinke,That had in it a crannied hole or chinke:Through which the Louers, Piramus and ThisbieDid whisper often, very secretly.This loame, this rough-cast, and this stone doth shew,That I am that same Wall; the truth is so.And this the cranny is, right and sinister,Through which the fearfull Louers are to whisper
Thes. Would you desire Lime and Haire to speakebetter?Deme. It is the wittiest partition, that euer I hearddiscourse, my Lord
Thes. Pyramus drawes neere the Wall, silence.Enter Pyramus.
Pir. O grim lookt night, o night with hue so blacke,O night, which euer art, when day is not:O night, o night, alacke, alacke, alacke,I feare my Thisbies promise is forgot.And thou o wall, thou sweet and louely wall,That stands between her fathers ground and mine,Thou wall, o Wall, o sweet and louely wall,Shew me thy chinke, to blinke through with mine eine.Thankes courteous wall. Ioue shield thee well for this.But what see I? No Thisbie doe I see.O wicked wall, through whom I see no blisse,Curst be thy stones for thus deceiuing mee
Thes. The wall me-thinkes being sensible, shouldcurse againe
Pir. No in truth sir, he should not. Deceiuing me,Is Thisbies cue; she is to enter, and I am to spyHer through the wall. You shall see it will fall.Enter Thisbie.
Pat as I told you; yonder she comes
This. O wall, full often hast thou heard my mones,For parting my faire Piramus, and meMy cherry lips haue often kist thy stones;Thy stones with Lime and Haire knit vp in thee
Pyra. I see a voyce; now will I to the chinke,To spy and I can heare my Thisbies face. Thisbie?This. My Loue thou art, my Loue I thinke
Pir. Thinke what thou wilt, I am thy Louers grace,And like Limander am I trusty still
This. And like Helen till the Fates me kill
Pir. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true
This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you
Pir. O kisse me through the hole of this vile wall
This. I kisse the wals hole, not your lips at all
Pir. Wilt thou at Ninnies tombe meete me straightway?This. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay
Wall. Thus haue I Wall, my part discharged so;And being done, thus Wall away doth go.
Exit Clow.
Du. Now is the morall downe between the twoNeighbours
Dem. No remedie my Lord, when Wals are so wilfull,to heare without warning
Dut. This is the silliest stuffe that ere I heard
Du. The best in this kind are but shadowes, and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them
Dut. It must be your imagination then, & not theirs
Duk. If wee imagine no worse of them then they of themselues, they may passe for excellent men. Here com two noble beasts, in a man and a Lion. Enter Lyon and Moone-shine
Lyon. You Ladies, you (whose gentle harts do feareThe smallest monstrous mouse that creepes on floore)May now perchance, both quake and tremble heere,When Lion rough in wildest rage doth roare.Then know that I, one Snug the Ioyner amA Lion fell, nor else no Lions dam:For if I should as Lion come in strifeInto this place, 'twere pittie of my life
Du. A verie gentle beast, and of good conscience
Dem. The verie best at a beast, my Lord, y ere I saw
Lis. This Lion is a verie Fox for his valor
Du. True, and a Goose for his discretion
Dem. Not so my Lord: for his valor cannot carrie his discretion, and the fox carries the Goose
Du. His discretion I am sure cannot carrie his valor: for the Goose carries not the Fox. It is well; leaue it to his discretion, and let vs hearken to the Moone
Moone. This Lanthorne doth the horned Moone present
De. He should haue worne the hornes on his head
Du. Hee is no crescent, and his hornes are inuisible,within the circumference
Moon. This lanthorne doth the horned Moone present:My selfe, the man i'th Moone doth seeme to be
Du. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the manShould be put into the Lanthorne. How is it els the mani'th Moone?Dem. He dares not come there for the candle.For you see, it is already in snuffe
Dut. I am wearie of this Moone; would he wouldchange
Du. It appeares by his smal light of discretion, that he is in the wane: but yet in courtesie, in all reason, we must stay the time
Lys. Proceed Moone
Moon. All that I haue to say, is to tell you, that the Lanthorne is the Moone; I, the man in the Moone; this thorne bush; my thorne bush; and this dog, my dog
Dem. Why all these should be in the Lanthorne: for they are in the Moone. But silence, heere comes Thisby. Enter Thisby.
This. This is old Ninnies tombe: where is my loue?Lyon. Oh.
The Lion roares, Thisby runs off.
Dem. Well roar'd Lion
Du. Well run Thisby
Dut. Well shone Moone.Truly the Moone shines with a good grace
Du. Wel mouz'd Lion
Dem. And then came Piramus
Lys. And so the Lion vanisht.Enter Piramus.
Pyr. Sweet Moone, I thank thee for thy sunny beames,I thanke thee Moone, for shining now so bright:For by thy gracious, golden, glittering beames,I trust to taste of truest Thisbies sight.But stay: O spight! but marke, poore Knight,What dreadful dole is heere?Eyes do you see! How can it be!O dainty Ducke: O Deere!Thy mantle good; what staind with blood!Approch you furies fell:O Fates! come, come: Cut thred and thrum,Quaile, crush, conclude, and quell
Du. This passion, and the death of a deare friend,Would go neere to make a man looke sad
Dut. Beshrew my heart, but I pittie the man
Pir. O wherefore Nature, did'st thou Lions frame?Since lion vilde hath heere deflour'd my deere:Which is: no, no, which was the fairest DameThat liu'd, that lou'd, that like'd, that look'd with cheere.Come teares, confound: Out sword, and woundThe pap of Piramus:I, that left pap, where heart doth hop;Thus dye I, thus, thus, thus.Now am I dead, now am I fled, my soule is in the sky,Tongue lose thy light, Moone take thy flight,Now dye, dye, dye, dye, dye
Dem. No Die, but an ace for him; for he is but one
Lis. Lesse then an ace man. For he is dead, he is nothing
Du. With the helpe of a Surgeon, he might yet recouer,and proue an Asse
Dut. How chance Moone-shine is gone before?Thisby comes backe, and findes her Louer.Enter Thisby.
Duke. She wil finde him by starre-light.Heere she comes, and her passion ends the play
Dut. Me thinkes shee should not vse a long one forsuch a Piramus: I hope she will be breefe
Dem. A Moth wil turne the ballance, which Piramuswhich Thisby is the better
Lys. She hath spyed him already, with those sweete eyes
Dem. And thus she meanes, videlicit
This. Asleepe my Loue? What, dead my Doue?O Piramus arise:Speake, speake. Quite dumbe? Dead, dead? A tombeMust couer thy sweet eyes.These Lilly Lips, this cherry nose,These yellow Cowslip cheekesAre gone, are gone: Louers make mone:His eyes were greene as Leekes.O Sisters three, come, come to mee,With hands as pale as Milke,Lay them in gore, since you haue shorewith sheeres, his thred of silke.Tongue not a word: Come trusty sword:Come blade, my brest imbrue:And farwell friends, thus Thisbie ends;Adieu, adieu, adieu
Duk. Moone-shine & Lion are left to burie the dead
Deme. I, and Wall too
Bot. No, I assure you, the wall is downe, that parted their Fathers. Will it please you to see the Epilogue, or to heare a Bergomask dance, betweene two of our company? Duk. No Epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Neuer excuse; for when the plaiers are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if hee that writ it had plaid Piramus, and hung himselfe in Thisbies garter, it would haue beene a fine Tragedy: and so it is truely, and very notably discharg'd. but come, your Burgomaske; let your Epilogue alone. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelue. Louers to bed, 'tis almost Fairy time. I feare we shall out-sleepe the comming morne, As much as we this night haue ouer-watcht. This palpable grosse play hath well beguil'd The heauy gate of night. Sweet friends to bed. A fortnight hold we this solemnity. In nightly Reuels; and new iollitie.
Exeunt.
Enter Pucke.
Puck. Now the hungry Lyons rores,And the Wolfe beholds the Moone:Whilest the heauy ploughman snores,All with weary taske fore-done.Now the wasted brands doe glow,Whil'st the scritch-owle, scritching loud,Puts the wretch that lies in woe,In remembrance of a shrowd.Now it is the time of night,That the graues, all gaping wide,Euery one lets forth his spright,In the Church-way paths to glide,And we Fairies, that do runne,By the triple Hecates teame,From the presence of the Sunne,Following darkenesse like a dreame,Now are frollicke; not a MouseShall disturbe this hallowed house.I am sent with broome before,To sweep the dust behinde the doore.Enter King and Queene of Fairies, with their traine.
Ob. Through the house giue glimmering light,By the dead and drowsie fier,Euerie Elfe and Fairie spright,Hop as light as bird from brier,And this Ditty after me, sing and dance it trippinglie,Tita. First rehearse this song by roate,To each word a warbling note.Hand in hand, with Fairie grace,Will we sing and blesse this place.
The Song.
Now vntill the breake of day,Through this house each Fairy stray.To the best Bride-bed will we,Which by vs shall blessed be:And the issue there create,Euer shall be fortunate:So shall all the couples three,Euer true in louing be:And the blots of Natures hand,Shall not in their issue stand.Neuer mole, harelip, nor scarre,nor mark prodigious, such as areDespised in Natiuitie,Shall vpon their children be.With this field dew consecrate,Euery Fairy take his gate,And each seuerall chamber blesse,Through this Pallace with sweet peace,Euer shall in safety rest.And the owner of it blest.Trip away, make no stay;Meet me all by breake of day
Robin. If we shadowes haue offended,Thinke but this (and all is mended)That you haue but slumbred heere,While these Visions did appeare.And this weake and idle theame,No more yeelding but a dreame,Gentles, doe not reprehend.If you pardon, we will mend.And as I am an honest Pucke,If we haue vnearned lucke,Now to scape the Serpents tongue,We will make amends ere long:Else the Pucke a lyar call.So good night vnto you all.Giue me your hands, if we be friends,And Robin shall restore amends.
FINIS. A MIDSOMMER Nights Dreame.