When first I beheld your noble bandPounce from rock and lairs vernal,My soul and hair were liftedWith admiration and amazement.Free as air, ye sons of immortal sires,Hold these crags, defiant still,As eagles in their onward sweep—Citizens of destiny,Entertainment awaits your advent,Even beneath yon columned capitol!The emperors, pampered in powerWere subject to some human laws,But you, great, wonderful chief,Roderick, the Terrible, and fierceSoar superior over all, bloody villain,Force with gold and silver alone—Dictating thy generous onslaughts!Cæsar, Pompey and ScipioCould not compete with thy valor;Only Nero, paragon of infamy,Could match the renown of Roderick,Thy fame, great chief, boundless as the globe!Italy, Spain, France and EnglandPay constant tribute to thy purse,Travelers and pilgrims, seeking gloryBy kissing the pope's big toeDrop their golden coin and jewelsInto thy pockets capacious,Hear me, ye sprites of Apennine,And the ghouls of murdered travelersLet the circumambient airRing with universal cheersFor Roderick, the glory of Robbers,And the terror of mankind.(Whirlwind of cheers.)
When first I beheld your noble bandPounce from rock and lairs vernal,My soul and hair were liftedWith admiration and amazement.Free as air, ye sons of immortal sires,Hold these crags, defiant still,As eagles in their onward sweep—Citizens of destiny,Entertainment awaits your advent,Even beneath yon columned capitol!The emperors, pampered in powerWere subject to some human laws,But you, great, wonderful chief,Roderick, the Terrible, and fierceSoar superior over all, bloody villain,Force with gold and silver alone—Dictating thy generous onslaughts!Cæsar, Pompey and ScipioCould not compete with thy valor;Only Nero, paragon of infamy,Could match the renown of Roderick,Thy fame, great chief, boundless as the globe!Italy, Spain, France and EnglandPay constant tribute to thy purse,Travelers and pilgrims, seeking gloryBy kissing the pope's big toeDrop their golden coin and jewelsInto thy pockets capacious,Hear me, ye sprites of Apennine,And the ghouls of murdered travelersLet the circumambient airRing with universal cheersFor Roderick, the glory of Robbers,And the terror of mankind.(Whirlwind of cheers.)
At the conclusion of William's apostrophe to the prince of robbers, Tamora, the fair queen, jabbed me with a poniard and ordered me to sing.
I mounted the platform rock, overlooking the horrible vale below, and sang in my sweetest strain "Black Eyed Susan," gesticulating at the conclusion of each verse in the direction of the queen, who seemed to be charmed with my voice and audacity.
An encore was demanded with a yell of delight, and I forthwith sang the new song "America," which was cheered to the echo—and as they still insisted that I "go on," "go on," I rendered in my best voice the recent composition of "Hiawatha."
The robber band yelled like wild Indians, and the fair queen took me to her pine bower and fondled me into the realm of dreams, although Icould see that Roderick was disposed to throw me on the rocks below—but, the "madam" was "boss" of that mountain ranch and gave orders with her poniard.
As the earliest beams of morning lit up the crests of the Apennines we fed on a roast of roe buck and quail, and barley bread washed down by goblets of Falernian wine that had been captured the day before from a pleasure party from Brindisi.
The goblets we drank from were skulls of former citizens of the world, who attempted to dally with the dictates of Roderick.
The noble chief Roderick and his imperial queen, Tamora, who seemed to rule her terrible husband, with one hundred of the most villainous cut-throats it had ever been my misfortune to behold, gave us a "great send off" from their inaccessible mountain lair.
Roderick gave William a talismanic ring that shown to any of his brother robbers on the globe would at once secure safety and hospitality.
Tamora in her sweetest mountain manner gave me a diamond hilted poniard, and then with a Fra Diavolo chorus, we were waved off down the precipitous crags with a special guide on the main road leading to imperial Rome.
William and myself drew long breaths after we had passed the Horatio Bridge, and planted our feet firmly on the Appian Way, leading direct to the precincts of Saint Peter's, with its lofty dome shining in the morning sun.
Gentle reader, if you have never been in battle or captured by robbers, you needn't "hanker" forthe experience, but take it as you would your clothing, "second hand."
At the "Hotel Cæsar" we brushed the dust from our anatomy, and ordered dinner, which was served in fine style by a lineal descendant of the great Julius, who wore a spreading mustache, a purple smile and an abbreviated white apron.
In the afternoon we called on Pope Clement, who had heard of our experience with the robbers, and seemed very much interested in our narration of the details of our capture and entertainment.
Clement seemed to be a nice, smooth man, setting on a purple chair with a purple skull cap on his head, and a purple robe on his fat form.
His big toe was presented to us for adoration, but as we did not seem to "ad," he withdrew his pedal attachment and talked about the "relics" and the "weather."
We did not purchase any "relics," and as to the Roman "weather," no mortal who tries it in summer desires a second dose.
There seemed to be a continuous smell of something dead in the atmosphere of Rome, while the droves of virgins, monks, priests, bishops and cardinals seemed to be pressing through the streets, night and day, begging, singing, riding, and like ants, coming and going out of the churches continually.
Selling "relics," psalm singing and preaching was about all the business we could see in the Imperial City.
It is very funny how a fool habit will cling to the century pismires of humanity, and actuallyblind the elements of common sense and patent truth.
We were offered a job lot of "relics" for five florins, which included a piece of the true cross, a bit of the rope that hung Judas, a couple of hairs from the head of the Virgin Mary, a peeling from the apple of Mother Eve, a part of the toe nail of Saint Thomas, a finger of Saint John, a thigh bone of Saint Paul, a tooth of Saint Antony, and a feather of the cock of Saint Peter, but we persistently declined the proffered honors and true "relics of antiquity," spending the five florins for a "night liner" to wheel us about the grand architectural sights of the city of the Cæsars.
The night before leaving Rome William and myself climbed upon the topmost rim of the crumbling Coliseum and gazed down upon the sleeping moonlit capital with entranced admiration.
The night was almost as bright as day, and the mystic rays from the realm of Luna, shining on gate, arch, column, spire, tower, temple and dome, revealed to us the ghosts of vanished centuries, and from the depths of the Coliseum there seemed to rise the shouts of a hundred thousand voices, cheering the gladiator from Gaul, who had just slain a Numidian lion in the arena, when, with "thumbs up," he was proclaimed the victor, decorated with a crown of laurel and given his freedom forever.
Shakspere could not resist his natural gift ofexuberantpoetry to sound these chunks of eloquence to the midnight air, while I listened with enraptured enthusiasm to the elocution of the Bard:
Hark! Saint Peter, with his brazen tongueVoices the hour of twelve;The wizard tones of tireless TimeThrills the silvery air;The multitudinous world sleeps,Pope and beggar alike—In the land of lingering dreams—Oblivious of glory,Poverty, or war, destructive;Sleep, the daily death of allThrows her mesmeric mantleOver prince and pauper;And care, vulture of fleeting lifeFolds her bedraggled wingsTo rest a space, 'till first cock crowHails the glimmering dawnWith piercing tones triumphant;Father Tiber, roaring, moves alongUnder rude stony archesAnd chafes the wrinkled, rocky shoresAs when Romulus and RemusSuckled wolf of Apennines!Vain are all the triumphs of man.These temples and palaces,Reaching up to the brilliant starsIn soaring grandeur, vast—Shall pass away like morning mist,Leaving a wilderness of ruins.And, where now sits pride, wealth and fraudPampered in purpled power—The lizard, the bat and the wolfShall hold their habitation;And the vine and the rag-weedSwaying in the whistling windsShall sing their mournful requiem.The silence of dark BabylonShall brood where millions struggled,And naught shall be heard in cruel Rome,But the wail of the midnight storm,Echoing among the broken columnsOf its lofty, vanished glory—Where vain, presumptive, midget manPromised himself Immortality!
Hark! Saint Peter, with his brazen tongueVoices the hour of twelve;The wizard tones of tireless TimeThrills the silvery air;The multitudinous world sleeps,Pope and beggar alike—In the land of lingering dreams—Oblivious of glory,Poverty, or war, destructive;Sleep, the daily death of allThrows her mesmeric mantleOver prince and pauper;And care, vulture of fleeting lifeFolds her bedraggled wingsTo rest a space, 'till first cock crowHails the glimmering dawnWith piercing tones triumphant;Father Tiber, roaring, moves alongUnder rude stony archesAnd chafes the wrinkled, rocky shoresAs when Romulus and RemusSuckled wolf of Apennines!Vain are all the triumphs of man.These temples and palaces,Reaching up to the brilliant starsIn soaring grandeur, vast—Shall pass away like morning mist,Leaving a wilderness of ruins.And, where now sits pride, wealth and fraudPampered in purpled power—The lizard, the bat and the wolfShall hold their habitation;And the vine and the rag-weedSwaying in the whistling windsShall sing their mournful requiem.The silence of dark BabylonShall brood where millions struggled,And naught shall be heard in cruel Rome,But the wail of the midnight storm,Echoing among the broken columnsOf its lofty, vanished glory—Where vain, presumptive, midget manPromised himself Immortality!
After five days of sightseeing we took the public stage for Milan, guarded by soldiers, and arrived safely on board the Albion, which sailed away, through the Strait of Messina, around classic Greece to Negropont and on to Alexandria, Egypt, where we anchored for a load of dates, figs and Persian spices.
William and myself took a boat up the Nile to Cairo, and hired a guide to steer us over the desert to the far-famed Pyramids.
There in the wild waste of desert sands these monuments to forgotten kings and queens lift their giant peaks, appealing to the centuries for recognition, but although the great granite stone memorials still remain as a wonder to mankind, the dark, silent mummies that sleep within and around these funereal emblems give back no sure voice as to when and where they lived, rose and fell in the long night of Egyptian darkness.
Remains of vast buried cities are occasionally exposed by the shifting, searching storm winds of the desert, and many a modern Arab has cooked his frugal breakfast by splinters picked up from the bones of his ancestors.
It was night when we got to the Pyramids, and we concluded to camp with an Arab and his family at the base of the great Cheops until next morning, and then before sunrise scale its steep steps and lofty crest.
A few silver coins insured us a warm greeting from the "Arab family," who seemed to vie with each other in preparing a hot supper and clean couches.
They sang their desert songs until nearly midnight, the daughter Cleo playing on the harp with dextrous fingers, and throwing a soft soprano voice upon the air, like the tones of an angel, echoing over a bank of wild flowers.
Standing on the pinnacle of the Pyramid William again struck one of his theatrical attitudes, and with outstretched hands exclaimed:
Immortal Sol! Image of Omnipotence!To thee lift I my soul in pure devotion;Out of desert wilds, in golden splendor,Rise and flash thy crimson face, eternal—Across the wastes of shifting, century sands;Again is mirrored in my sighing soulThe lofty temples and bastioned wallsOf Memphis, Balback, Nineveh, Babylon—Gone from the earth like vapor from old Nile,When thy noonday beams lick up its waters!Hark! I hear again the vanished voicesOf lofty Memnon, where proud pagan priestsSyllable the matin hour, utteringProphecies from Jupiter and Apollo—To devotees deluded, then as now,By astronomical, selfish fakirs,Who pretend claim to heavenly agencyAnd power over human souls divine.Poor bamboozled man; know God never yetEmpowered any one of his truant tribeTo ride with a creed rod, image of Himself;And thou, oh Sol, giver of light and heat,Speed the hour when man, out of superstitionShall leap into the light of pure reason,Only believing in everlasting Truth!
Immortal Sol! Image of Omnipotence!To thee lift I my soul in pure devotion;Out of desert wilds, in golden splendor,Rise and flash thy crimson face, eternal—Across the wastes of shifting, century sands;Again is mirrored in my sighing soulThe lofty temples and bastioned wallsOf Memphis, Balback, Nineveh, Babylon—Gone from the earth like vapor from old Nile,When thy noonday beams lick up its waters!Hark! I hear again the vanished voicesOf lofty Memnon, where proud pagan priestsSyllable the matin hour, utteringProphecies from Jupiter and Apollo—To devotees deluded, then as now,By astronomical, selfish fakirs,Who pretend claim to heavenly agencyAnd power over human souls divine.Poor bamboozled man; know God never yetEmpowered any one of his truant tribeTo ride with a creed rod, image of Himself;And thou, oh Sol, giver of light and heat,Speed the hour when man, out of superstitionShall leap into the light of pure reason,Only believing in everlasting Truth!
In a short time we crossed the sands of the desert and interviewed the Sphynx, but with that battered, solemn countenance, wrinkled by the winds and sands of ages, those granite lips still refused to give up the secrets of its stony heart, or tell us the mysteries of buried antiquity.
We were soon again in the cabin of the Albion, sailing away to Athens, where we anchored for two days.
William and myself ran hourly risk of breaking our legs and necks among the classic ruins of Athenian genius, where Plato, Socrates, Aristotle, Sophocles, Euripides, Pericles, Alcibiades, Demosthenes, Zeno, Solon, Themestocles, Leonidas, Philip and Alexander had lived and loved in their glorious, imperishable careers.
We went on top of Mars Hill, and climbed to the top of the ruined Acropolis, disturbing a few lizards, spiders, bats, rooks and pigeons that made their homes where the eloquence of Greece once ruled the world.
William made a move to strike one of his accustomed dramatic attitudes, but I "pulled him off," remarking that he could not, in an impromptuway, do justice to the occasion, and intimated that when he arrived at the Red Lion in London, he could write up Cleopatra and Antony, and the ten-years' siege of Troy, with Helen, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Achilles, Pandarus, Paris, Troilus, Cressida and Hector as star performers in the plays.
It was not very often that I interfered with William in his personal movements and aspirations, but as he had given so much of his poetry in illustration of our recent travels, and knowing that I was in honor bound to report to posterity all he said and did as his mental stenographer, I begged him to "give us a rest," and "let it go at that."
The next day the Albion bore away for the Strait of Gibraltar, rounding Portugal, Spain and France, sailing into the Strait of Dover, passed Gravesend, until we anchored in safety under the shadow of the Blackfriars Theatre, where a jolly crowd of bohemians greeted our rapid and successful tour of continental and classic lands.
"This accident and flood of FortuneSo far exceed all instance, all discourse,That I am ready to distrust mine eyesAnd wrangle with my reason thatPersuades me to any other trust."
"This accident and flood of FortuneSo far exceed all instance, all discourse,That I am ready to distrust mine eyesAnd wrangle with my reason thatPersuades me to any other trust."
"This is the fairy land; O spite of spitesWe talk with goblins, owls, and elfish sprites.'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff asMadmen tongue and brain!""If music be the food of love, play on;Give me excess of it."
"This is the fairy land; O spite of spitesWe talk with goblins, owls, and elfish sprites.
'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff asMadmen tongue and brain!"
"If music be the food of love, play on;Give me excess of it."
Shakspere had blocked out the play of "Midsummer Night's Dream" in the year 1593, and completed it in the summer of 1599.
The story of Palamon and Arcite by Chaucer, and the love of Athenian Theseus for the Amazonian Queen Hippolyta, as told by Plutarch, gave William his first idea of composing a play where the acts of fairies and human beings would assimilate in their loves and jealousies.
One evening while seated at the Falcon Tavern, in company with the Earl of Southampton, Essex, Florio, Bacon, Cecil, Warwick, Burbage, Drayton and Jonson, William read the main points of the play, which was lauded to the skies by all present.
Burbage, the manager of the Globe, suggested to Essex and Southampton that it would be a grand idea to have the "Dream" enacted in the park and woods of Windsor!
It was a novel idea, and one sure to catch the romantic sentiments of Queen Elizabeth, as old Duke Theseus, the cross-purposed lovers, Bottom and his rude theatrical troop, and the fairies, led by Oberon, Titania and Puck could have full swing in the forest, sporting in their natural elements.
In reading or viewing the play, the mind wanders in a mystic grove by moonlight and breathes at every step odors of sweet flowers, while listening to the musical murmurings of fantastic fairies and echoing hounds in forest glens.
Theseus was the first and greatest Grecian in strength of body, second only to his cousin Hercules, each reveling in the god-like antics of seduction, incest, rape, robbery and murder!
The Persian, Egyptian, Grecian and Roman gods commingled with the heroes and heroines of mankind and committed unheard of crimes with impunity, the most outrageous villain seeming to be honored as the greatest god!
The amphitheater grove in front of Windsor Castle, overlooking the Thames, was the place selected for the exhibition of the "Dream." Natural circular terraces for the spectators.
The Virgin Queen had sent out five thousand invitations to her wealthy and intellectual subjects to attend the new and romantic play of Shakspere, "Midsummer Night's Dream," on the 4th of July, 1599.
Everything had been prepared in the way of natural and artificial scenery by the direction of William, while the Queen sat on a sylvan throne, embowered in vines and roses, surrounded by all her courtiers, ladies and lords, in grand, golden array.
The night was calm, bright and warm, while the young moon and twinkling stars, shining over Windsor, lent a celestial radiance to the scene, where lovers and fairies mingled in the meshes of affection. Candles, torches, chimes, lanterns and stationary fire balloons were interspersed through the royal domain in brilliant profusion.
Essex and Southampton were, unfortunately, absent in Ireland putting down a rebellion.
William took the part of Theseus, Field played Hippolyta, Burbage played Puck, Heminge represented Lysander, and Condell Demetrius, while Phillips and Cooke played respectively Hermia and Helen, Jo Taylor played Oberon and Robert Benfield acted Titania, the fairy queen.
The characters Pyramus and Thisbe were played by Peele and Crosse.
The play opens with a grand scene in the palace of Theseus, who thus addresses the Amazonian Queen Hippolyta:
"Now, fair Hippolyta, our mutual hourDraws on apace, four happy days bring in,Another moon; but, O, methinks, how slowThis old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,Long withering out a young man's revenue!"
"Now, fair Hippolyta, our mutual hourDraws on apace, four happy days bring in,Another moon; but, O, methinks, how slowThis old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,Long withering out a young man's revenue!"
Hippolyta:
"Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights;And then, the moon shall behold the nightOf our solemnities."
"Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights;And then, the moon shall behold the nightOf our solemnities."
Egeus, a wealthy Athenian complains to Duke Theseus that his daughter Hermia will not consent to marry Demetrius, but disobedient, insists on wedding with Lysander.
Theseus decides that she must obey her father or suffer death, or enter a convent, excluded from the world forever.
Theseus reasons with Hermia thus:
"If you yield not to your father's choice,Whether you can endure the livery of a nun;For aye to be in shady cloister mewed,To live a barren sister all your life;Chanting fair hymns to the cold, fruitless moon.Thrice blessed they that master so their blood,To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;But earthlier happy is the rose distilled,Than that, which withering on the virgin thornGrows, lives, and dies in single blessedness!"
"If you yield not to your father's choice,Whether you can endure the livery of a nun;For aye to be in shady cloister mewed,To live a barren sister all your life;Chanting fair hymns to the cold, fruitless moon.Thrice blessed they that master so their blood,To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;But earthlier happy is the rose distilled,Than that, which withering on the virgin thornGrows, lives, and dies in single blessedness!"
This sentiment was cheered heartily by the great forest audience, and "Queen Bess" led the applause!
Lysander pleaded his own case for the heart of Hermia, and sighing, says:
"Ah, me! for aught that I could ever read,Could ever hear by tale or history,The course of true love never did run smooth!"
"Ah, me! for aught that I could ever read,Could ever hear by tale or history,The course of true love never did run smooth!"
Hermia and Helena compare notes and wonder at the perversity of their respective lovers.
Hermia says:
"The more I hate Demetrius, the more he followsme;"
"The more I hate Demetrius, the more he followsme;"
And Helena says:
"The more I love him, the more hehatethme!"
"The more I love him, the more hehatethme!"
Hermia still sighing for Lysander says:
"Before the time I did Lysander see,Seemed Athens as a paradise to me;O then, what graces in my love do dwellThat he hath turned a heaven unto hell."
"Before the time I did Lysander see,Seemed Athens as a paradise to me;O then, what graces in my love do dwellThat he hath turned a heaven unto hell."
Helena soliloquizes regarding the inconsistency of Demetrius since he saw Hermia:
"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,And, therefore, is winged cupid painted blind;I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight;Then to the wood, will he, to-morrow night,Pursue her; and for this intelligenceIf I have thanks, it is a dear expense;But herein mean I to enrich my painTo have his sight thither and back again."
"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,And, therefore, is winged cupid painted blind;I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight;Then to the wood, will he, to-morrow night,Pursue her; and for this intelligenceIf I have thanks, it is a dear expense;But herein mean I to enrich my painTo have his sight thither and back again."
A number of rude workingmen of Athens propose to give an impromptu play in the Duke's palace in honor of his wedding.
It is a burlesque on all plays, and being so very crude and bad, is good by contrast!
Pyramus and Thisby are the prince and princess, who die for love.
Bottom is to play the big blower in the improvised drama and the Jackass among the fairies. He says:
"I could play a part to tear a cat in, to make allsplit"—"Tho raging rocks,With shivering shocks,Shall break the locksOf prison gates;And Phœbus' carShall shine from farAnd make and marThe foolish fates!"
"I could play a part to tear a cat in, to make allsplit"—"Tho raging rocks,With shivering shocks,Shall break the locksOf prison gates;And Phœbus' carShall shine from farAnd make and marThe foolish fates!"
Puck, the mischievous Robin Goodfellow, who is ever playing pranks among his fairy tribe and human lovers, enters the forest scene and addresses one of the fairies thus:
"How now, spirit, whither wander you?"
"How now, spirit, whither wander you?"
Fairy says:
"Over hill, over dale,Through bush, through brier,Over park, over pale,Through flood, through fire,Farewell, thou wit of spirits, I'll be gone;Our queen and all her elves come here anon."
"Over hill, over dale,Through bush, through brier,Over park, over pale,Through flood, through fire,Farewell, thou wit of spirits, I'll be gone;Our queen and all her elves come here anon."
Puck, the funny tattler, tells of the jealousy of King Oberon, because Titania has adopted a lovely boy:
"For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,Because that she as her attendant hathA lovely boy stolen from an Indian king,She never had so sweet a changeling!"
"For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,Because that she as her attendant hathA lovely boy stolen from an Indian king,She never had so sweet a changeling!"
This sly cut at Queen Elizabeth, who had recently adopted a young American Indian as her parlor page, elicited applause among the courtiers, yet "Lizzie" did not seem to join in the cheers!
Oberon and Titania meet and quarrel, just as natural as if they belonged to earthly passion people.
"Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania!What, jealous Oberon? Fairy, skip hence;I have forsworn his bed and company."
"Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania!What, jealous Oberon? Fairy, skip hence;I have forsworn his bed and company."
Oberon:
"Tarry, rash woman; am I not thy lord?"
"Tarry, rash woman; am I not thy lord?"
Titania:
"Then I must be thy lady?"
"Then I must be thy lady?"
Oberon accuses Titania with being in love with Theseus and assisting him in the ravishment of antique beauties.
She replies:
"These are the forgeries of jealousy;Never met we on hill, dale, forest or mead;Or on the beached margent of the seaTo dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport!"
"These are the forgeries of jealousy;Never met we on hill, dale, forest or mead;Or on the beached margent of the seaTo dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport!"
After the departure of Queen Titania and her fairy train, King Oberon calls in Puck to aid in punishing her imagined infidelity.
"My gentle Puck, come hither; thou remember'stSince once I sat upon a promontory,And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's backUttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,The rude sea grew civil at her song;And certain stars shot madly from their spheresTo hear the sea maid'smusic?"
"My gentle Puck, come hither; thou remember'stSince once I sat upon a promontory,And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's backUttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,The rude sea grew civil at her song;And certain stars shot madly from their spheresTo hear the sea maid'smusic?"
Puck replies:
"I remember."
"I remember."
Oberon continues:
"That very time I saw, but thou could'st not,Flying between the cold moon and the earthCupid all armed; a certain aim he tookAt a fair Vestal, throned by the West;And loosed his shaft smartly from his bow,As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaftQuenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon;And the Imperial Voteress passed onIn maiden meditation, fancy free!Yet marked 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 flower; the herb I showed thee once,The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid,Will make, or man or woman madly doteUpon the next live creature that it sees.Fetch me this herb; and be thou here againEre the Leviathan can swim a league."
"That very time I saw, but thou could'st not,Flying between the cold moon and the earthCupid all armed; a certain aim he tookAt a fair Vestal, throned by the West;And loosed his shaft smartly from his bow,As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaftQuenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon;And the Imperial Voteress passed onIn maiden meditation, fancy free!Yet marked 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 flower; the herb I showed thee once,The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid,Will make, or man or woman madly doteUpon the next live creature that it sees.Fetch me this herb; and be thou here againEre the Leviathan can swim a league."
Puck replies:
"I'll put a girdle round about the earth in fortyminutes!"
"I'll put a girdle round about the earth in fortyminutes!"
The audience saw by this time that the "Vestal" and "Imperial Voteress" in "maiden meditation, fancy free" was none other than Queen Elizabeth, and therefore three cheers and a roaring lion were given for the delicate and eloquent compliment of Shakspere to her Virgin Majesty!
Tributes to the powerful, though undeserved, are received with spontaneous applause, while just praise for the poor receive no echo from the jealous throng. Poor, toadying humanity!
The infatuated Helena follows Demetrius into the dark forest, and though he tells her that he does not and cannot love her, she says:
"And even for that, do I love you the more;I am your spaniel; and DemetriusThe more you beat me, I will fawn on you,And to be used, as you use your dog!"
"And even for that, do I love you the more;I am your spaniel; and DemetriusThe more you beat me, I will fawn on you,And to be used, as you use your dog!"
I have seen fool women and fool men act just that way, and the more they were spurned, the more they clung to their infatuation.
Puck returns with the flower containing the juice that will make wanton women and licentious men return to their just lovers.
Oberon grasping the herb says:
"I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blowsWhere ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;Quite over-canopied with blooming woodbine,With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine;There sleeps Titania, sometime of the nightLulled in these flowers with dances and delight,And with this juice I'll streak her eyesTo make her full of hateful fantasies.And take thou some of it, and seek through this grove;A sweet Athenian lady is in loveWith a disdainful youth; anoint his eyes;But do it, when the next thing he espiesMay be the lady."
"I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blowsWhere ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;Quite over-canopied with blooming woodbine,With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine;There sleeps Titania, sometime of the nightLulled in these flowers with dances and delight,And with this juice I'll streak her eyesTo make her full of hateful fantasies.And take thou some of it, and seek through this grove;A sweet Athenian lady is in loveWith a disdainful youth; anoint his eyes;But do it, when the next thing he espiesMay be the lady."
Titania enters with her fairy train and orders them to sing her to sleep, and be gone.
Oberon finds his queen sleeping and squeezes some of the love juice on her eyelids, saying:
"What thou see'st when thou dost awakeDo it for thy true love take;Love and languish for his sake;When thou makest, it is thy dear,Wake when some vile thing is near."
"What thou see'st when thou dost awakeDo it for thy true love take;Love and languish for his sake;When thou makest, it is thy dear,Wake when some vile thing is near."
Lysander and Hermia wander in the woods, lost and tired, and sink down to rest. He says:
"One turf shall serve as pillow for us both,One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth!"
"One turf shall serve as pillow for us both,One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth!"
Puck finds the lovers asleep, and says to Lysander:
"Churl, upon thy eyes I throw,All the power that this charm doth owe,When thou wakest, let love forbidSleep his seat on thy eyelid."
"Churl, upon thy eyes I throw,All the power that this charm doth owe,When thou wakest, let love forbidSleep his seat on thy eyelid."
Puck finds Bottom in the woods, rehearsing the play for the marriage of Theseus, and translates the weaver into an ass, with a desire for love. He wanders near the flowery bed where Queen Titania sleeps.
She hears him sing, and opening her eyes, says:
"What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?Thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me,On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee!"
"What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?Thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me,On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee!"
Bottom says:
"Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that;Reason and love keep little company now-a-days!"
"Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that;Reason and love keep little company now-a-days!"
Oberon relents and releases his Fairy Queen from her dream of infatuation with Bottom disguised as an ass, and says:
"But first, I will release the fairy queen,Be as thou wast wont to be;(Touching her eyes with the herb.)See as thou wast 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."
"But first, I will release the fairy queen,Be as thou wast wont to be;(Touching her eyes with the herb.)See as thou wast 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 awakes and exclaims:
"My Oberon, what visions have I seen!Methought I was enamored of an ass!"
"My Oberon, what visions have I seen!Methought I was enamored of an ass!"
Titania is not the only woman who is enamored by an Ass; in fact the mismatched, cross-purposed, twisted, infatuated affections of the sordid, deceitful earth are as thick as blackberries in July, while pretense and pampered power greatly prevail around the globe.
Theseus and his train wander through the woods in preparation for the grand hunt and find Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia and Helena still asleep under the magic influence of Puck.
Theseus wonders how the lovers came to the wood, and says to the father of Hermia:
"But speak, Egeus; is not this the dayThat Helena should give answer of her choice?"
"But speak, Egeus; is not this the dayThat Helena should give answer of her choice?"
Egeus:
"It is, my lord."
"It is, my lord."
Theseus:
"Go bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.(Expresses surprise at their situation.)How comes this gentle concord in the world,That hatred is so far from jealousy,To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity."
"Go bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.(Expresses surprise at their situation.)How comes this gentle concord in the world,That hatred is so far from jealousy,To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity."
The lovers are reconciled to their natural choice, and Theseus decides against the father:
"Egeus, I will overbear your will,For in the temple by and by, with usThese couples shall eternally be knit."
"Egeus, I will overbear your will,For in the temple by and by, with usThese couples shall eternally be knit."
Bottom wakes and tells his theatrical partners:
"I have had a dream, past the wit of man to saywhat dream it was.Man is but an ass, a patched fool.Eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hathnot seen, man's hand is not able to taste, histongue to conceive, nor his heart to report,what my dream was!"
"I have had a dream, past the wit of man to saywhat dream it was.Man is but an ass, a patched fool.Eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hathnot seen, man's hand is not able to taste, histongue to conceive, nor his heart to report,what my dream was!"
The vast audience laughed heartily at the befuddled language of Bottom, the weaver, and imagined themselves under the like spell of fantastic fairies.
The fifth and last act opens up with Theseus and his Amazonian Queen in the palace, prepared for the nuptial rites, and also the marriage of Lysander and Demetrius to their choice.
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Theseus speaking of the strange conduct of lovers, delivers this greatbit of philosophy:
"More strange than true, I never may believeThese antique fables, nor these fairy toys.Lovers and madmen have such seething brains—Such shaping fantasies, that apprehendMore 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 forthThe forms of things unknown, the poet's penTurns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothingA local habitation and a name!"
"More strange than true, I never may believeThese antique fables, nor these fairy toys.Lovers and madmen have such seething brains—Such shaping fantasies, that apprehendMore 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 forthThe forms of things unknown, the poet's penTurns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothingA local habitation and a name!"
The play of Pyramus and Thisby is then introduced to the palace audience, when Bottom and his Athenian mechanics amuse Theseus and Hippolyta with their crude, rustic conception of love-making.
As the play proceeds Hippolyta remarks:
"This is the silliest stuff that I ever heard."
"This is the silliest stuff that I ever heard."
And Theseus says:
"The best in this kind are but shadows;And the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them!"
"The best in this kind are but shadows;And the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them!"
Pyramus appeals to the moon thus:
"Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams,I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright,I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight!"
"Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams,I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright,I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight!"
Pyramus and Thisby commit suicide, for disappointment in love, in the climax scene, and waking again Bottom wishes to know if the Duke wants any more of the burlesque play.
Theseus replies:
"Your play needs no excuse; for when the players are all dead,There need none to be blamed!The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.Lovers to bed; 'tis almost fairy time,I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn,As much as we this night have overwatched.This palpable, gross play hath well beguiledThe heavy gait of night—sweet friends, to bed;A fortnight hold we this solemnityIn nightly revels and new jollity!"
"Your play needs no excuse; for when the players are all dead,There need none to be blamed!
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.Lovers to bed; 'tis almost fairy time,I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn,As much as we this night have overwatched.This palpable, gross play hath well beguiledThe heavy gait of night—sweet friends, to bed;A fortnight hold we this solemnityIn nightly revels and new jollity!"
The forest scene is filled with fairies, led by Puck, Oberon and Titania, all fantastically dressed, rehearsing and singing in their mystic revels.
Puck leading, says:
"Now the hungry lion roars,And the wolf beholds the moon.Whilst the heavy ploughman snoresAll with weary task foredone;And we fairies, that do runBy the triple of Hecate's team,From the presence of the sunFollowing darkness like a dream."
"Now the hungry lion roars,And the wolf beholds the moon.Whilst the heavy ploughman snoresAll with weary task foredone;And we fairies, that do runBy the triple of Hecate's team,From the presence of the sunFollowing darkness like a dream."
Oberon orders: