Tita.
Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
  While I thy amiable cheeks do coy^{6 note}

Bot.
Where's Peas-blossom?

Peas.
Ready.

Bot.

Scratch my head, Peas-blossom.—Where's monsieur Cobweb?

Cob.

Ready.

Bot.

Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good monsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the action, monsieur; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior.—Where's monsieur Mustard-seed?

Must.

Ready.

Bot.

Give me your neif^{7 note}
, monsieur Mustard-seed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur.

Must.

What's your will?

Bot.

Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalero Cobweb^{8 note} to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy about the face: and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.

Tita.

What, wilt thou hear some musick, my sweet love?

Bot.

I have a reasonable good ear in musick: let us have the tongs^{9 note}

Tita.

Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat.

Bot.

Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

Tita.
I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
The squirrel's hoard^{1 note}, and fetch thee new nuts.

Bot.

I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.

Tita.
Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away^{2 note}

Gently entwist,—the female ivy^{4 note}

O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee! [They sleep.

Oberon advances. Enter Puck.

Obe.
Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet sight?
Her dotage now I do begin to pity.
For meeting her of late, behind the wood,
Seeking sweet savours^{5 note} for this hateful fool,
I did upbraid her, and fall out with her:
For she his hairy temples then had rounded
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds
Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls,
Stood now within the pretty flourets' eyes^{6 note}
,
Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail.
When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her,
And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience,
I then did ask of her her changeling child;
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
To bear him to my bower in fairy land.
And now I have the boy, I will undo
This hateful imperfection of her eyes.
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp
From off the head of this Athenian swain;
That he awaking when the other do^{7 note}

May all to Athens back again repair;
And think no more of this night's accidents,
But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
But first I will release the fairy queen.

Be, as thou wast wont to be; [Touching her eyes with an herb.
See, as thou wast wont to see:
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower^{8 note}

Tita.
My Oberon! what visions have I seen!
Methought, I was enamour'd of an ass.

Obe.
There lies your love.

Tita.
How came these things to pass?
O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now!

Obe.
Silence, a while.—Robin, take off this head.—
Titania, musick call; and strike more dead
Than common sleep, of all these five the sense^{9 note}.

Tita.
Musick, ho! musick; such as charmeth sleep.

Puck.
Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's eyes peep.

Obe.
Sound, musick. [Still musick.] 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, to-morrow midnight, solemnly,
Dance in duke Theseus' house triumphantly,
And bless it to all fair prosperity^{1 note}

Puck.
Fairy king, attend, and mark;
I do hear the morning lark.

Obe.
Then, my queen, in silence sad,
Trip we after the night's shade^{2 note}

We the globe can compass soon,
Swifter than the wand'ring moon.

Tita.
Come, my lord; and in our flight,
Tell me how it came this night,
That I sleeping here was found,
With these mortals, on the ground. [Exeunt. [Horns sound within. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train.

The.
Go, one of you, find out the forester;—
For now our observation is perform'd^{3 note}

And mark the musical confusion
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.

Hip.
I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once,
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear^{5 note}

The skies, the fountains^{7 note}

, every region near
Seem'd all one mutual cry^{8 note}: I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

The.
My hounds are bred^{9 note}

With ears that sweep away the morning dew^{3 note}


;
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn,
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly:
Judge, when you hear.—But, soft; what nymphs are these?

Ege.
My lord, this is my daughter here asleep;
And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is;
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena:
I wonder of^{4 note}

their being here together.

The.
No doubt, they rose up early, to observe
The rite of May^{5 note}

Came here in grace of our solemnity.—
But, speak, Egeus; is not this the day
That Hermia should give answer of her choice?

Ege.
It is, my lord.

The.
Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia, and Helena, wake and start up.

The.
Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past^{6 note};
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?

Lys.
Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel to Theseus.

The.
I pray you all, stand up.
I know, you are two rival enemies;
How comes this gentle concord in the world,
That hatred is so far from jealousy,
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?

Lys.
My lord, I shall reply amazedly,
Half sleep, half waking: But as yet, I swear,
I cannot truly say how I came here:
But, as I think, (for truly would I speak,—
And now I do bethink me, so it is;)
I came with Hermia hither: our intent
Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be
Without the peril of the Athenian law.

Ege.
Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough:
I beg the law, the law, upon his head.—
They would have stol'n away, they would, Demetrius,
Thereby to have defeated you and me:

You, of your wife; and me, of my consent;
Of my consent that she should be your wife.

Dem.
My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
Of this their purpose hither, to this wood;
And I in fury hither follow'd them;
Fair Helena in fancy following me^{7 note}

But, like in sickness^{2 note}, did I loath this food:
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now do I wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.

The.
Fair lovers, you are fortunately met:
Of this discourse we more will hear anon.—
Egeus, I will overbear your will;
For in the temple, by and by with us,
These couples shall eternally be knit.
And, for the morning now is something worn,
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside.—
Away, with us, to Athens: Three and three,
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.—
Come, Hippolyta^{3 note}. [Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train.

Dem.
These things seem small, and undistinguishable,
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.

Her.
Methinks, I see these things with parted eye,
When every thing seems double.

Hel.
So methinks:
And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own^{4 note}

Dem.
Are you sure
That we are awake? It seems to me^{5 note}

That yet we sleep, we dream.—Do not you think,
The duke was here, and bid us follow him?

Her.
Yea; and my father.

Hel.
And Hippolyta.

Lys.
And he did bid us follow to the temple.

Dem.
Why then, we are awake: let's follow him;
And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt. As they go out, Bottom awakes.

Bot.

When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer:—my next is, Most fair Pyramus.—Hey, 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 most rare vision. I have had a dream,—past the wit of man to say what dream it was: Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was—there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had,—But man is but a patched fool^{6 note}, if he will offer to say what methought

I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen; man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke: Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death^{7 note}