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Over hill, over dale, through bush, through brier,
over park, over pale, through flood, through fire,
we do wander everywhere.
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
and we serve the Fairy Queen,
to dew her orbs upon the green.
Cowslips tall her pensioners be.
In their gold coats spots you see;
those be rubies, fairy favours;
in those freckles live their savours.
We must go seek some dewdrops here
and hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
How now spirits?
Or I mistake your shape and making quite,
or are you not that shrewd and knavish sprite called 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?
You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
they that "hobgoblin" call you and "sweet Puck".
But, room, fairies! Here comes Oberon.
And here our mistress.
Would that he were gone!
Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
because that she, as her attendant,
hath a lovely boy stolen from an Indian king ;
and jealous Oberon would have the child.
Ill met by moonlight,
- proud Tytania! - jealous Oberon!
Fairies, skip hence,
I have forsworn his bed and company.
Therefore the winds
have suck'd up from the sea contagious fogs.
Therefore the ox hath stretch'd his yoke in vain,
the fold stands empty in the drowned field,
the crows are fatted with the murrion flock ;
the seasons alter:
the spring,
the summer,
- the childing autumn - the 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,
we are!
Do you amend it then ; it lies in you ;
I do but beg a little changeling boy to be my henchman.
Set your heart at rest.
The fairy land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a votaress of my order,
but she, being mortal, of that boy
did die.
And for her sake I will not part with him.
Give me that boy and I will go with thee.
- Not for thy fairy kingdom. - I will go with thee, go!
Fairies, away!
Well, go thy way :
thou shalt not from this grove
till I torment thee for this injury.
My gentle Puck, come hither.
Thou rememberest the herb I shew'd 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.
Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
on meddling monkey,
or busy ape.
Fetch me this herb,
and be thou here again,
ere the Leviathan can swim a league.
I'll put a girdle round about the earth
in forty minutes.
Having once this juice,
I'll watch Tytania, when she is asleep,
and drop the liquor of it in her eyes;
and ere I take this charm from off her sight
I'll make her render up her page to me.
How now, my love!
Why is your cheek so pale?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
Belike for want of rain,
which I could well beteem them
from the tempest of my eyes.
Ay me! For aught that I could ever read,
could ever hear by tale or history,
the course of true love never did run smooth ;
but either it was different in blood.
O cross!
Too high to be enthrall'd to low.
Or else misgraffed in respect of years.
O spite! Too old to be engaged to young.
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends.
O hell! To choose love by another's eyes.
If then true lovers have been cross'd,
it stands as an edict
in destiny.
Then let us teach our trial patience.
A good persuasion :
therefore, hear me, Hermia.
I have a widow aunt, a dowager
of great revenue,
and she hath no child ;
from Athens is her house remote seven leagues,
and she respects me as her only son.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
and to that place the sharp Athenian law,
compelling thee to marry with Demetrius,
cannot pursue us.
If thou lovest me
then, there will I go with thee.
My good Lysander,
if thou lov'st me
I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow.
I swear to thee, by his best arrow with the golden head.
I swear to thee by the simplicity of Venus' doves,
I swear to thee
by that which knitteth souls and prospers loves.
I swear to thee,
and by that fire which burn'd,
burn'd the Carthage queen,
when the false Troyan was seen,
under sail was seen,
I swear to thee
by all the vows that ever men have broke,
in number more than ever women spoke.
I swear to thee.
Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
on meddling monkey,
or busy ape.
But who comes here?
I am invisible;
I will overhear their conference.
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 stolen unto this wood ;
and here am I, and wode within this wood,
because I cannot meet my Hermia.
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.
You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;
leave you your power to draw,
and I shall have no power to follow you.
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?
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 thee.
Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;
for I am sick when I do look on thee.
And I am sick when I look not on thee.
I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes
and leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
I'll follow you...
Fare thee well, nymph.
- ...and make a - Fare thee well,
- heav'n of hell - ere he do leave this grove.
to die upon the hand I love so well.
Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love.
Welcome, wanderer!
Hast thou the flower there?
I know a bank
where the wild thyme blows,
where oxlips
and the nodding
violet grows.
Quite overcanopied
with luscious woodbine,
with sweet musk-roses
and with eglantine.
There sleeps Tytania
sometime of the night,
lull'd in these flowers
with dances,
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,
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.
- Is all our company here? - Ay, ay.
You were best to call them generally,
man by man, according to the script.
First, good Peter Quince,
say what the play treats on.
Marry, our play is "The Most Lamentable Comedy"
"and Most Cruel Death"
"of Pyramus and Thisby".
"Of Pyramus and Thisby".
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.
Answer as I call you.
Nick Bottom, the weaver.
Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.
You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.
What is Pyramus?
A lover, or a tyrant?
A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.
My chief humour is for a tyrant.
I could play 'erc'les 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...
and make and mar the foolish Fates.
This was lofty!
Now name the rest of the players.
Francis Flute.
This is 'erc'les' vein, a tyrant's vein.
- Francis Flute, bellows-mender. - A lover is more condoling.
Here, Peter Quince.
Flute, you must take Thisby on you.
What is Thisby?
Thisby, a wandering knight?
It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
Nay, faith,
let not me play a woman ;
I have a beard coming.
That's all one: you shall play it in a mask,
and you may speak as small as you will.
And I may hide my face,
let me play Thisby too,
I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.
"Thisne, Thisne."
"Ah, Pyramus,"
"my lover dear!"
"thy Thisby dear, and lady dear!"
No, no; you must play Pyramus;
and Flute, you Thisby.
Well, proceed.
"Ah Pyramus,"
- "my lover dear," - Robin Starveling,
- "thy Thisby dear, and lady dear..." - the tailor.
- Here, Peter Quince. - Robin Starveling,
you must play Thisby's mother.
- Tom Snout, the tinker. - Here, Peter Quince.
You, Pyramus' father; myself, Thisby's father;
Snug, the joiner;
you,
the Lion's part; and, I hope,
here is a play fitted.
Have you the Lion's part written?
Pray you, if it be, give it me,
for I am slow of study.
You may do it extempore,
for it is nothing but roaring.
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."
And 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.
That would hang us.
Ev'ry mother's son!
But I will aggravate my voice so
that I will roar you
as gently as any sucking dove;
I will roar you
and t'were any nightingale.
You can play no part but Pyramus;
for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ;
a proper man,
a most lovely gentleman-like man ;
therefore you must needs play Pyramus.
Well, I will undertake it.
But masters, here are your parts;
and I am to entreat you, request you and desire you,
to con them by tonight;
here may we rehearse anon.
We will meet;
and here we may rehearse
most obscenely and courageously.
Take pains;
be perfect; adieu.
Adieu.
At the Duke's oak we meet.
Fair love,
you faint with wandering 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.
Be it so, Lysander;
find you out a bed ;
for I upon this bank will rest my head.
One turf shall serve
as pillow for us both ;
one heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth.
Nay, good Lysander;
for my sake, my dear,
lie further off yet,
do not lie so near.
So far be distant;
and, good night, sweet friend.
Thy love ne'er alter
till thy sweet life end!
Amen, amen, to that fair prayer say I.
And then end life
when I end loyalty.
Amen, amen.
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.
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
all the charm this flower doth owe.
So awake when I am gone;
for I must now to Oberon.
Amen, amen, to that fair prayer say I.
Stay, though thou kill me,
sweet Demetrius.
I charge thee hence, and do not haunt me thus.
O, wilt thou darkling leave me?
Do not so.
Stay, on thy peril, I alone will go.
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.
Happy is Hermia.
Alas, I am as ugly as a bear;
for beasts that meet me run away for fear.
But who is here?
Lysander, on the ground?
Dead, or asleep?
I see no blood, no wound.
Lysander, if you live,
good sir, awake.
And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.
Transparent Helena! Nature shows her art
that through thy *** makes me see thy heart.
Where is Demetrius?
O, how fit a word is that vile name
to perish on my sword!
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.
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?
Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
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.
She sees not Hermia.
Hermia, sleep thou there;
and never mayst thou come Lysander near!
Sleep thou there;
and all my powers, address your love and might
to honour Helen,
and to be her knight.
Lysander, help me, Lysander,
what a dream was here!
Lysander, look, Lysander,
how I do quake with fear.
Methought a serpent ate my heart away,
and you sat smiling at his cruel prey.
Lysander - what, removed?
Lysander, lord!
What, out of hearing, gone?
No sound, no word?
Alack, where are you?
Speak, and if you hear; speak, of all loves! Lysander,
I swoon almost with fear.
Lysander!
Lord!
Come!
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 reremice 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.
You spotted snakes with double tongue,
thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ;
newts and blindworms, do no wrong ;
come not near our Fairy Queen.
Philomel, with melody
sing in our sweet lullaby.
Lullaby...
Never harm nor spell nor charm,
come our lovely lady nigh.
So, good night, with lullaby.
Weaving spiders, come not here;
hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
worm nor snail do no offence.
Philomel, with melody sing in our sweet lullaby.
Lullaby...
Never harm nor spell nor charm,
come our lovely lady nigh.
So, good night, with lullaby.
Hence, away! Now all is well;
one aloof stand sentinel.
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 thine eye that shall appear when thou wak'st,
it is thy dear;
wake when some vile thing is near.
- Are we all met? - Pat, pat, pat.
And here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.
- Peter Quince? - What sayest thou, bully Bottom?
There are things in this comedy
that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword
to kill himself, which the ladies cannot abide.
By'r la'kin, a parlous fear.
I believe we must leave the killing out,
when all is done.
Not a whit.
I have a device to make all well.
Write me a prologue;
tell them that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus,
but Bottom the weaver.
This will put them out of fear.
Will not the ladies
be afeard of the Lion?
I fear it,
I promise you.
Therefore
another prologue must tell them plainly
he is not a lion
but Snug the joiner.
But there is two hard things:
that is, to bring the moonlight into the chamber;
for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.
Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?
A calendar, a calendar - look in the almanac,
find out moonshine.
Moonshine, moonshine.
Or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lanthorn
and say he comes to present the person of Moonshine.
Then, there is another thing :
we must have a wall in the great chamber.
You can never bring in a wall.
What say you, Bottom?
Some man or other must present Wall,
and let him hold his fingers thus,
and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper.
Then all is well.
Come, sit down
every mother's son and rehearse your parts,
every man according to his cue.
Pyramus, you begin.
What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here,
so near the cradle of our Fairy Queen?
Speak, Pyramus.
Thisby, stand forth.
Thisby,
the flowers of odious savours sweet...
Odours, odours.
...odours savours sweet.
So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.
But hark, a voice!
Stay thou but here a while,
and by and by I will to thee appear.
I'll follow you,
I'll lead you about a round.
Must I speak now?
Ay, marry must you.
For you must understand
he goes but to see a noise he heard,
and is to come again.
Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
most briskly juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,
as true as truest horse that yet would never tire:
I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.
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".
O, as true as truest horse that yet would never tire.
If I were fair,
Thisby, I were only thine.
O monstrous! O strange!
We are haunted.
Pray, masters!
Fly, masters!
Help! Help! Help!
Why do they run away?
This is a knavery to make me afeard.
O Bottom, Bottom, thou art changed!
What do I see on thee?
What do you see?
You see an ***-head of your own, do you?
Bless thee, Bottom!
Thou art translated.
I see their knavery :
this is to make an *** of me,
to fright me, if they could.
But I will not stir from this place, and I will sing,
that they shall hear
I am not afraid.
The woosell *** so black of hue, with orange-tawny bill,
the throstle with his note so true, the wren with little quill...
What angel wakes me
from my flowery bed?
The finch, the sparrow and the lark,
the plainsong cuckoo grey,
whose note full many a man doth mark,
and dares not answer "Nay".
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
Mine ear is much enamoured of thy note;
so is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
Not so, neither;
but if I had wit enough
to get out of this wood...
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;
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee.
Peaseblossom!
Ready.
Cobweb!
And I.
Moth!
And I.
Mustardseed!
And I.
Where shall we go?
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 honeybags steal
from the humble-bees,
and for night tapers crop their waxen thighs
and light them at the fiery
glow-worms' eyes,
to have my love to bed, and to arise.
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
Hail, mortal, hail!
I cry your worship's mercy, your mercy, heartily.
Hail, mortal, hail!
I cry your worship's mercy.
I beseech your worship's name.
Cobweb. Hail, mortal, hail!
I shall desire you of more acquaintance,
good Master Cobweb.
Your name, honest gentleman?
Peaseblossom. Hail, mortal, hail!
I pray you commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother,
and to Master Peascod, your father.
Your name, I beseech you, sir?
Mustardseed. Hail, mortal, hail!
Your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now,
good Master Mustardseed.
I desire you of more acquaintance.
- Your name, sir? - Mo...
Come, sit thee down upon this flowery 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.
Where's Peaseblossom?
Ready.
Scratch my head, Peaseblossom.
- Where's Monsieur Cobweb? - Ready.
Monsieur Cobweb, get you your weapons in your hand
and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee,
and, good Monsieur, bring me the honeybag.
- Where's Monsieur Mustardseed? - Ready.
Give me your neaf,
Monsieur Mustardseed.
Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur.
What's your will?
Nothing, good monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch.
I am such a tender ***,
if my hair do but tickle me
I must scratch.
Where's Monsieur Moth?
- I'm he... - What,
wilt thou hear some music,
my sweet love?
I have a reas'nable good ear in music.
Let's have the tongs and the bones.
I have a reas'nable good ear in music.
But, I pray you,
let none of your people stir me.
I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.
Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away.
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!
How now, mad spirit!
What nightrule now about this haunted grove?
See, see, my mistress with a monster is in love.
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?
Stand close. This is the same Athenian.
This is the woman, but not this the man.
O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
plunge in the deep, and kill me too.
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?
I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.
Out, dog ; out, cur.
O hast thou slain him then?
- I am not guilty of Lysander's blood. - I pray thee, tell me then
that he is well.
And if I could, what should I get therefor?
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.
There is no following her in this fierce vein.
Here therefore for a while I will remain.
So sorrow's heaviness
doth heavier grow.
What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite,
and laid the love juice on some true love's sight.
About the wood go swifter than the wind,
and Helena of Athens look thou find.
I go, I go. Look, how I go,
swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.
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.
Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand, and the youth mistook by me.
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
These vows are Hermia's.
Will you give her o'er?
I had no judgment when to her I swore.
Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.
Demetrius loves her,
and he loves not you.
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,
these kissing cherries, tempting grow!
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow,
fanned 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!
- O Helen! Goddess! - O spite! O hell!
- Nymph, perfect, divine! - O spite, O hell!
I see you all are bent to set against me
- You are unkind, Demetrius. - for your merriment.
Be not so, for you love Hermia.
Look, where thy love comes;
- This you know I know. - yonder is thy dear.
Ah, Lysander,
why unkindly didst thou leave me so?
Injurious Hermia!
Most ungrateful maid!
Have you conspired,
have you with these contrived to bait me
with this foul derision?
Is all the counsel that we two have shared,
the sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
when we have chid the hasty footed time for parting us,
O, is it all forgot?
All schooldays' 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 ;
two lovely berries
moulded on one stem;
so, with two seeming bodies,
but one heart;
and will you rent our ancient love asunder,
to join with men in scorning your poor friend?
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly.
I am amazed at your passionate words.
I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me.
Ay, do. Persever, counterfeit sad looks,
make mouths upon me when I turn my back ;
wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up.
- But fare ye well. - Stay, gentle Helena.
- 'Tis partly my own fault, which death - Hear my excuse.
- or absence soon shall remedy. - My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!
- O excellent! - Sweet, do not scorn her so.
If she cannot entreat I can compel.
Thou canst compel no more than she entreat.
I say I love thee more than he can do.
If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.
Quick, come!
- Lysander, whereto tends all this? - Away, you Ethiope! - No, sir.
Seem to break loose; you are a tame man, go!
Hang off, thou cat, thou burr; vile thing, let loose,
or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!
What change is this, sweet love?
- Sweet love? - Thy love! Out, tawny Tartar!
Out, loathed medicine; hated potion, hence!
- Do you not jest? - Yes, sooth,
- and so do you. - I would I had your bond.
- I'll not trust your word. - What, should I hurt her,
strike her, kill her dead? Although I hate her,
I'll not harm her so.
What, can you do me greater harm than hate?
Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none.
Am I not Hermia? Are not you Lysander?
You both are rivals and love Hermia ; and now both rivals to mock Helena.
You juggler! You canker blossom!
You thief of love!
You counterfeit!
You puppet, you!
Puppet? Why, so?
Ay, that way goes the game.
Now I perceive that she hath made compare
between our statures;
she hath urged 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.
I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
let her not hurt me.
You may perhaps think,
because she is something lower than myself,
that I can match her.
Lower? Hark again!
O, when she's angry,
she is keen and shrewd.
She was a ***
when she went to school;
and though she be but little, she is fierce...
Little again? Nothing but "low" and "little"?
- Get you gone, you dwarf. - Hark again!
You minimus of hind'ring knot-grass made.
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
- You bead! You acorn! - Hark again! Let me come to her!
- Why will you suffer her to flout me? - Get you gone, you dwarf.
Be not afraid ; she shall not harm thee, Helena.
No, sir, she shall not,
though you take her part.
You are too officious in her behalf
that scorns your services.
Let her alone. Speak not of Helena.
Now follow, if thou dar'st.
Nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jowl,
to try whose right, of thine or mine,
is most in Helena.
You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you.
- Nay, go not back ; - I will not trust you, I,
nor longer stay in your curst company.
Nay, go not back.
Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray ;
my legs are longer, though, to run away.
This is thy negligence: still thou mistak'st,
or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully.
Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook...
Thou see'st these lovers seek a place to fight.
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;
and lead these testy rivals so astray
as one come not within another's way.
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep,
sleep with leaden legs
and batty wings doth creep.
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye;
when they next wake, all this derision
shall seem a dream and fruitless vision.
Haste, Robin, haste, make no delay ;
we may effect this business yet ere day.
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. - Where art thou,
proud Demetrius?
Speak thou now.
Here, villain, drawn and ready.
Where art thou?
Follow me then to plainer ground.
Lysander, speak again.
Thou runaway, thou coward,
art thou fled?
Art bragging to the stars and wilt not come?
Yea, art thou there?
Follow my voice; we'll try no manhood here.
He goes before me,
and still dares me on.
Lysander!
When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
And I am fall'n in dark uneven way,
and here will rest me.
Come, thou gentle day!
For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.
Ho, ho, coward, why comest thou not?
Abide me if thou darest.
Where art thou now?
Come hither, I am here.
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.
O weary night,
O long and tedious night,
abate thy hours!
Shine comforts from the east!
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye,
steal me a while from mine own company.
Yet but three?
Come one more.
Two of both kinds make up four.
Here she comes,
curst and sad :
Cupid is a knavish lad,
thus to make poor females mad.
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.
Heaven shield Lysander,
if they mean a fray.
On the ground
sleep sound.
He'll apply to your eye, gentle lover, remedy.
When thou wak'st
thou tak'st true delight in the sight
of thy former lady's eye,
and the country proverb known
in your waking shall be shown :
Jack shall have Jill, naught shall go ill,
the man shall have his mare again,
and all shall be well.
All shall be well.
My gentle Robin,
see'st thou this sweet sight?
Her dotage now I do begin to pity.
And now I have the boy,
I will undo this hateful imperfection of her eyes.
Be as thou wast wont to be,
see as thou wast wont to see.
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower
hath such force and blessed power.
Be as thou wast wont to be.
Now, my Tytania, wake you,
my sweet queen.
My Oberon,
what visions have I seen!
Methought I was enamour'd of an ***.
There lies your love.
How came these things to pass?
O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!
Silence a while.
Robin, take off this head.
Tytania, music call,
and strike more dead than common sleep
of all these five the sense.
Music, ho!
- Ho, music! - Sound, music!
Such as charmeth sleep!
Come, my queen, take hands with me,
and rock the ground
whereon these sleepers be.
Now thou and I are new in amity,
and will this very 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, all in jollity.
Fairy king, attend and mark:
I do hear the morning lark.
Helena!
Hermia!
Demetrius!
Lysander!
Are you sure that we are awake?
It seems to me that we yet sleep,
we dream.
Methinks I see things with parted eye,
when everything seems double.
These things seem small and undistinguishable,
like far-off mountains
turned into clouds.
So methinks,
and I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
mine own, and not mine own.
And I have found fair Helen
like a jewel,
mine own, and not mine own.
And I have found Lysander like a jewel,
- mine own, and not mine own. - And I have found sweet Hermia
like a jewel,
mine own, and not mine own.
Why then, we are awake.
Let's go, and by the way
let us recount our dreams.
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!
Stolen hence, and left me asleep?
I have had a dream - past the wit of man
to say what dream it was.
Methought I was -
there is no man can tell what.
Methought I was, and methought I had -
but man is but an *** if he can 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.
My dream!
I will get Peter Quince, the carpenter,
to write a ballad of this dream, and it shall be called
"Bottom's Dream",
because it hath no bottom;
and I will sing it in the latter end of the play,
before the Duke.
Peradventure, to make it the more gracious,
I shall sing it at her death.
Have you sent to Bottom's house?
Is he come home yet?
He cannot be heard of.
Out of doubt he is transported.
If he come not, then the play is marred :
it goes not forward, doth it?
It is not possible:
you have not a man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he.
No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraftman in Athens.
Yes, and the best person, too.
Masters,
the Duke is coming from the temple.
If our sport had gone forward we had all been made men.
O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence,
sixpence a day during his life.
And 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.
He could not have scaped it.
- Sixpence a day... - Sixpence. Or nothing.
Where are these lads?
Bottom!
Where are these hearts?
O most courageous day!
Masters!
Bottom!
I am to discourse wonders;
but ask me not what.
- Let us hear, sweet Bottom. - Not a word of me.
All that I will tell you is that the Duke hath dined
and our play is preferred.
Our play is preferred.
Most dear actors,
get your apparel together,
good strings to your beards,
new ribbons to your pumps;
and every man look o'er his part.
Let Thisby have clean linen ;
let not the lion pare his nails;
eat no onions, eat no garlic, that all may say :
- It is a sweet comedy. - No more words, no more words.
- It is a sweet comedy. - To the palace, go, away.
Now, fair Hippolyta,
our nuptial hour draws on apace.
This happy day brings in another moon -
but O, methinks how slow this old moon wanes!
She lingers my desires, like to a stepdame or a dowager
long withering out a young man's revenue.
This day will quickly steep itself in night.
This night will quickly dream away the time.
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
new bent in heaven, shall behold the night
of our solemnities.
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
and won thy love doing thee injuries.
But I will wed thee in another key -
with pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.
Pardon, my lord.
I pray you all stand up.
I know you two are rival enemies.
How came this gentle concord in the world?
My lord, I shall reply amazedly :
I went with Hermia hither.
Our intent was to be gone from Athens,
where we might, without the peril of the Athenian law...
My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
and I in fury hither follow'd them,
fair Helena in fancy following me.
But, my good lord...
Fair lovers,
of this discourse we more will hear anon.
Hermia, I will overbear your father's will;
for in the temple, by and by with us,
these couples shall eternally be knit.
Joy, gentle friends!
Joy and fresh days of love
accompany your hearts!
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?
"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.
What are they that do play it?
Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,
which never labour'd in their minds till now.
I will hear that play ;
for never anything can be amiss
when simpleness and duty tender it.
Take your places, ladies.
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.
This fellow doth not stand upon points.
Their speech was like a tangled chain.
They have rid their prologue like a rough colt.
Indeed they have played on their prologue like a child on a recorder:
a sound, but not in government.
It is not enough to speak but to speak true.
- Gentles! - Who is next?
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 roughcast
doth present Wall, that vile wall
which did these lovers sunder.
This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
presenteth Moonshine.
This grizzly beast is "Lion" hight by name.
For all the rest, let Lion, Moonshine, Wall,
and lovers twain at large discourse,
while here they do remain.
I wonder if the lion be to speak.
No wonder, fair lady :
one lion may, when many *** do.
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 ***.
And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.
Would you desire lime and hair to sing better?
It is the wittiest partition
that ever I heard discourse.
Pyramus draws near the wall.
Silence!
O grim-look'd night!
O night with hue so black!
O night which ever art when day is not!
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 ***, to blink through with mine eyne!
Thanks, courteous wall :
Jove shield thee well for this!
But what see I?
No Thisby do I see.
O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss!
Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me!
The wall methinks, being sensible, should curse again.
No, in truth, sir, he should not.
"Deceiving me"
is Thisby's cue.
Yonder she comes.
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.
I see a voice. Now will I to the ***
to spy and I can hear my Thisby's face.
Thisby?
My love thou art, my love I think.
Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace.
My love thou art, my love I think.
Think what thou wilt: O kiss me, kiss me
through the hole of this vile wall.
- O kiss me. - My love thou, my love I...
I kiss the wall's hole,
not your lips at all.
Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?
Tide life, tide death, I come without...
- "Delay"! - ...delay.
Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;
and being done, thus Wall away doth go.
This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.
The best in this kind are but shadows,
and the worst are no worse if imagination amend them.
Here come two noble beasts in : a man and a lion.
You, ladies,
you whose gentle hearts do fear
the smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor
should know that I, one Snug the joiner,
am a lion fell, nor else no lion's dam.
A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
The very best at a beast that e'er I saw.
But let us listen to the Moon.
This lanthorn doth the horned moon present.
He should have worn the horns on his head.
I, myself the man i'th' moon do seem to be.
The man should be put into the lanthorn.
How is it else the man i'th' moon?
This lanthorn doth the horn...
He dares not come there for the candle.
Proceed, Moon.
All I have to tell you is that this lanthorn is the moon,
I, the man i'th' moon,
this thorn bush my thorn bush, and this dog my dog.
I am weary of this moon.
Would he would change.
But silence;
here comes Thisby.
This is old Ninny's tomb.
Where is my love?
Well roared, Lion.
Well run, Thisby.
Well moused, Lion.
Well run, Thisby.
Well shone, Moon.
Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.
Sweet moon,
I thank thee for thy sunny beams.
I thank thee, moon,
for shining now so bright;
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!
Beshrew my heart,
but I pity the man.
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?
Come tears, confound ; out sword,
and wound the pap of Pyramus.
Thus die I: thus, thus, thus.
Now am I dead.
Now am I fled ; my soul is in the sky.
Tongue, lose thy light!
Moon, take thy flight!
Now die, die, die...
With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover
and prove an ***.
Here Thisby comes, and her passion ends the play.
I hope she will be brief.
Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise.
Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
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.
Tongue, not a word.
Come, trusty sword,
come, blade, my breast imbrue.
And farewell friends,
thus Thisby ends.
Adieu, adieu, adieu.
Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
Ay, and Wall too.
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?
No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play needs no excuse.
Come, your Bergomask.
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 overwatch'd.
Sweet friends, to bed.
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 churchway 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 hallow'd house.
I am sent with broom before to sweep the dust behind the door.
Through the house give glimmering light.
Every elf and fairy sprite sing this ditty after me,
sing, and dance it trippingly.
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.
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.
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.
If we shadows have offended,
think but this, and all is mended :
that you have but slumber'd here
while these visions did appear.
Gentles, do not reprehend.
If you pardon, we will mend ; 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.