Helena.
The.
Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.—
Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love,
Accompany your hearts!
Lys.
More than to us
Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!
The.
Come now; what masks, what dances shall we have,
To wear away this long age of three hours,
Between our after-supper, and bed-time?
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philostrate2 note
.
-- 311 --
Philost.
Here, mighty Theseus.
The.
Say, what abridgment3 note
have you for this evening?
What mask? what musick? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some delight?
Philost.
There is a brief4 note
, how many sports are ripe5 note
;
Make choice of which your highness will see first.
[Giving a paper.
The. [reads6 note.]
The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung,
-- 312 --
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp7 note
.
We'll none of that: that have I told my love,
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.
The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.
That is an old device; and it was play'd
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
Of learning8 note
, late deceas'd in beggary.
That is some satire, keen, and critical9 note
,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.
A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus,
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical1 note? Tedious and brief?
That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow2 note
.
-- 313 --
How shall we find the concord of this discord?
Philost.
A play there is, my lord, some ten words long;
Which is as brief as I have known a play;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long;
Which makes it tedious: for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.
The.
What are they, that do play it?
Philost.
Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here,
Which never labour'd in their minds till now;
-- 314 --
And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories3 note
With this same play, against your nuptial.
The.
And we will hear it.
Philost.
No, my noble lord,
It is not for you: I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Unless you can find sport in their intents4 note
,
-- 315 --
Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain,
To do you service.
The.
I will hear that play:
For never any thing can be amiss,
When simpleness and duty tender it5 note
.
Go, bring them in;—and take your places, ladies.
[Exit Philostrate.
Hip.
I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And duty in his service perishing.
The.
Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.
Hip.
He says, they can do nothing in this kind.
The.
The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
Our sport shall be6 note
, to take what they mistake:
And what poor duty cannot do7 note,
Noble respect takes it in might, not merit8 note
.
-- 316 --
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed9 note
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears,
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Of sawcy and audacious eloquence.
Love therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity,
In least, speak most, to my capacity.
-- 317 --
Enter Philostrate.
Philost.
So please your grace, the prologue is addrest1 note
.
The.
Let him approach.
[Flourish of trumpets2 note
.
Enter Prologue.
Prol.
If we offend, it is with our good will.
That you should think, 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 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.
The.
This fellow doth not stand upon points.
Lys.
He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt;
he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord:
It is not enough to speak, but to speak true.
Hip.
Indeed he hath played on his* note prologue,
like a child on a recorder3 note
; a sound, but not in
government4 note
.
-- 318 --
The.
His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing
impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?
Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine,
and Lion, as in dumb show.5 note.
Prol.
“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, certáin6 note
.
-- 319 --
“This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present
“Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder:
“And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are content
“To whisper; at the which let no man wonder.
“This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn,
“Presenteth moon-shine: for, if you will know,
“By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn
“To meet at Ninus' tomb7 note
, there, there to woo.
“This grisly beast, which by name lion hight8 note
,
“The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
“Did scare away, or rather did affright:
-- 320 --
“And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall9 note
;
“Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain:
“Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall,
“And finds his trusty* note Thisby's mantle slain:
“Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade1 note
,
“He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast;
“And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade,
“His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
-- 321 --
“Let lion, moon-shine, wall, and lovers twain,
“At large discourse, while here they do remain.”
[Exeunt Prol. Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine.
The.
I wonder, if the lion be to speak.
Dem.
No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when
many asses do.
Wall.
“In this same interlude, it doth befall,
“That I, one Snout by name, present a wall
“And such a wall, as I would have you think,
“That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink,
“Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
“Did whisper often very secretly.
“This lime* note, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show
“That I am that same wall; the truth is so:
“And this the cranny is2 note
, right and sinister,
“Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.”
The.
Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?
Dem.
It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard
discourse, my lord3 note.
-- 322 --
The.
Pyramus draws near the wall: silence!
Enter Pyramus.
Pyr.
“O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black!
“O night, which ever art, when day is not!
“O night, O night, alack, alack, alack,
“I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot!—
“And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
“That stand'st between her father's ground and mine;
“Thou wall, O wall, O sweet, and lovely wall,
“Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.
[Wall holds up his fingers.
“Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!
“But what see I? No Thisby do I see.
“O wicked wall4 note
, through whom I see no bliss;
“Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me!”
The.
The wall, methinks, being sensible, should
curse again.
Pyr.
No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving
me, is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now, and I am
to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will
fall pat as I told you:—Yonder she comes.
Enter Thisbe.
This.
“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 thee5 note.”
-- 323 --
Pyr.
“I see a voice: now will I to the chink,
“To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face.
“Thisby!”
This.
“My love! thou art my love, I think.”
Pyr.
“Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace;
“And like Limander am I trusty still6 note
.”
This.
“And I like Helen, till the fates me kill.”
Pyr.
“Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.”
This.
“As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.”
Pyr.
“O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.”
This.
“I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all7 note
.”
Pyr.
“Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway8 note
?”
This.
“Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.”
Wall.
“Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so;
“And, being done, thus wall away doth go.”
[Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe.
-- 324 --
The.
Now is the mural9 note down* note between the two
neighbours.
Dem.
No remedy, my lord, when walls are so
wilful to hear without warning1 note.
Hip.
This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.
The.
The best in this kind are but shadows: and
the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.
Hip.
It must be your imagination then, and not
theirs.
The.
If we imagine no worse of them, than they
of themselves, they may pass for excellent men.
Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion2 note
.
-- 325 --
Enter Lion and Moonshine.
Lion.
“You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
“The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
“May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,
“When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
“Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am
“A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam3 note
:
“For if I should as lion come in strife
“Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.”
The.
A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
Dem.
The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er
I saw.
Lys.
This lion is a very fox for his valour.
The.
True; and a goose for his discretion.
Dem.
Not so, my lord: for his valour cannot
carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose.
-- 326 --
The.
His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his
valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well:
leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the
moon.
Moon.
“This lantern doth the horned moon present:”
Dem.
He should have worn the horns on his head.
The.
He is no crescent, and his horns are invible
within the circumference.
Moon.
“This lantern doth the horned moon present;
“Myself the man i'th' moon do * note seem to be.”
The.
This is the greatest error of all the rest;
the man should be put into the lantern: How is it
else the man i'the moon?
Dem.
He dares not come there for the candle:
for, you see, it is already in snuff3 note
.
Hip.
I am aweary of this moon: Would, he
would change!
The.
It appears, by his small light of discretion,
that he is in the wane: but yet, in courtesy, in all
reason, we must stay the time.
Lys.
Proceed, moon.
Moon.
All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that
the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon;
this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my
dog.
Dem.
Why, all these should be in the lantern;
-- 327 --
for they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes
Thisbe.
Enter Thisbe.
This.
“This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is my love?”
Lion.
“Oh &lblank;.”
[The Lion roars.—Thisbe runs off.
Dem.
Well roared, lion.
The.
Well run, Thisbe.
Hip.
Well shone, moon.—Truly, the moon
shines with a good grace.
The.
Well moused, lion4 note
.
[The Lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit.
Dem.
And so comes Pyramus.
Lys.
And then the moon vanishes5 note
.
Enter Pyramus.
Pyr.
“Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
“I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright:
-- 328 --
“For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams6 note
,
“I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
“But stay;—O spite!
“But mark;—Poor knight,
“What dreadful dole is here?
“Eyes, do you see?
“How can it be?
“O dainty duck! O dear!
“Thy mantle good,
“What, stain'd with blood?
“Approach, ye furies fell7 note
!
“O fates! come, come8 note
;
“Cut thread and thrum9 note
;
“Quail, crush, conclude, and quell1 note
!”
-- 329 --
The.
This passion, and the death of a dear friend,
would go near to make a man look sad.
Hip.
Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
Pyr.
“O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame?
“Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear:
“Which is—no, no—which was the fairest dame,
“That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer2 note
.
“Come, tears, confound3 note
;
“Out, sword, and wound
“The pap of Pyramus:
“Ay, that left pap,
“Where heart doth hop4 note
:—
“Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
-- 330 --
“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, die, die.
[Dies.—Exit Moonshine.
Dem.
No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but
one.
Lys.
Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he
is nothing.
The.
With the help of a surgeon, he might yet
recover, and prove an ass5 note.
Hip.
How chance moonshine is gone, before
Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?
The.
She will find him by star-light.—Here she
comes; and her passion ends the play.
Enter Thisbe.
Hip.
Methinks, she should not use a long one,
for such a Pyramus: I hope, she will be brief.
Dem.
A mote will turn the balance6 note, which Pyramus,
which Thisbe, is the better7 note
.
-- 331 --
Lys.
She hath spied him already with those sweet
eyes.
Dem.
And thus she moans8 note
, videlicet.—
This.
“Asleep, my love?
“What, dead, my dove?
“O Pyramus, arise,
“Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
“Dead, dead? A tomb
“Must cover thy sweet eyes.
“These lily lips9 note
,
“This cherry nose,
-- 332 --
“These yellow cowslip cheeks,
“Are gone, are gone:
“Lovers, make moan!
“His eyes were green as leeks1 note
.
“O sisters three,
“Come, come, to me,
“With hands as pale as milk;
“Lay them in gore,
“Since you have shore
“With shears his thread of silk.
-- 333 --
“Tongue, not a word:—
“Come, trusty sword;
“Come, blade, my breast imbrue:
“And farewell, friends;—
“Thus Thisbe ends:
“Adieu, adieu, adieu.”
[Dies.
The.
Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the
dead.
Dem.
Ay, and wall too.
Bot.
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 dance2 note, between
two of our company3 note
?
The.
No epilogue, I pray you; for your play
needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the
players are all dead, there need none to be blamed.
Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and
hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have
been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very
notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask:
let your epilogue alone.
[Here a dance of Clowns.
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:—
Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.
I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn,
-- 334 --
As much as we this night have o'erwatch'd.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd
The heavy gait4 note of night.—Sweet friends, to bed.—
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels, and new jollity.
[Exeunt.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
