Bottom.

Are we all met?

Quin.

Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage, this hauthorn-brake our tyring house, and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the Duke.

Bot.

Peter Quince,—

Quin.

What say'st thou, bully Bottom?

Bot.

There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself, which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?

Snout.

By'rlaken, a parlous fear?

Star.

I believe, we must leave the killing out, when all is done.

Bot.

Not a whit, I have a device to make all well; write me a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not kill'd indeed; and for more better assurance tell them, that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver; this will put them out of fear.

Quin.

Well, we will have such a prologue, and it shall be written in eight and six.

Bot.

No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.

Snout.

Will not the ladies be afraid of the lion?

Star.

I fear it, I promise you.

Bot.

Masters, you ought to consider with your selves; to bring in, God shield us, a lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to look to it.

Snout.

Therefore another prologue must tell, he is not a lion.

Bot.

Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the same defect; ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish you, or I would request you, or I would intreat you, not to fear, not to tremble; my life for yours; if you think, I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life; no, I am no such thing, I am a man as other men are; and there, indeed, let him name his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.

Quin.

Well, it shall be so; but there is two hard things, that is, to bring the moon-light into a chamber;

for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moon-light.

Snug.

Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?

Bot.

A kalendar, a kalendar! look in the almanack; find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine.

Quin.

Yes, it doth shine that night.

Bot.

Why then may you leave a casement of the great chamber window, where we play, open; and the moon may shine in at the casement.

Quin.

Ay, or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to disfigure, or to present, the Person of moon-shine. Then there is another thing; we must have a wall in the great chamber, for Pyramus and Thisby (says the story) did talk through the chink of a wall.

Snug.

You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?

Bot.

Some man or other must present Wall; and let him have some plaster, or some lome, or some roughcast about him, to signify wall: Or let him hold his fingers thus; and through the cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper.

Quin.

If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin; when you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake; and so every one according to his cue.

Puck.
What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,
So near the cradle of the fairy Queen?
What, a play tow'rd? I'll be an auditor;
An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause.

Quin.
Speak, Pyramus; Thisby, stand forth.

Pyr.
Thisby, the flower of odious savours sweet.

Quin.
Odours, odours.

Pyr.
Odours, savours sweet.
  So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisby, dear;
But hark, a voice! stay thou but here a whit;(14) ^note

Puck.
A stranger Pyramus than e'er plaid here! [Aside.

This.

Must I speak now?

Quin.

Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.

This.
Most radiant Pyramus, most lilly-white of hue,
  Of colour like the red rose on triumphant bryer,
Most brisky Juvenile, and eke most lovely Jew,
  As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire,
I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.

Quin.

Ninus' tomb, man; 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.

This.

O, as true as truest horse, that yet would never tire.

Pyr.

If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.

Quin.

O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted; pray, masters; fly, masters; help!

Puck.
I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round,
  Through bog, through bush, through brake, through bryer;
Sometimes a horse I'll be, sometimes a hound,
  A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire,

And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar and burn,
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire at every turn. [Exit.

Bot.

Why do they run away? this is a knavery of them to make me afeard.

Snowt.

O Bottom, thou art chang'd; what do I see on thee?

Bot.

What do you see? you see an ass-head of your own, do you?

Quin.

Bless thee, Bottom, bless thee; thou art translated.

Bot.

I see their knavery, this is to make an ass of me, to fright me if they could; but I will not stir from this place, do what they can; I will walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am not afraid.

The Ousel cock, so black of hue,
  With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
  The wren with little quill.

Queen.

What angel wakes me from my flow'ry bed?

Bot.

The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, [Sings.
  The plain-song cuckow gray,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
  And dares not answer, nay.

For, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? who would give a bird the lye, tho' he cry cuckow never so?

Queen.
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again;
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note,(15) ^note



So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force (perforce) doth move me,
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.

Bot.

Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days. The more the pity, that some honest neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

Queen.

Thou art as wise, as thou art beautiful.

Bot.

Not so neither: but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.

Queen.
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;
The summer still doth tend upon my state,
And I do love thee; therefore, go with me,
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee;
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep:
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!(16) ^note Enter four Fairies.

1 Fair.
Ready.

2 Fair.
And I.

3 Fair.
And I.

4 Fair.
And I, where shall we go?

Queen.
Be kind, and courteous to this gentleman;
Hop in his walks, and gambole in his eyes;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs and mulberries,

The honey-bags steal from the humble bees,
And for night tapers crop their waxen thighs,
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,
To have my love to bed, and to arise:
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes;
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

1 Fair.

Hail, mortal, hail!

2 Fair.

Hail!—

3. Fair.

Hail!—

Bot.

I cry your worship's mercy heartily; I beseech, your worship's name.

Cob.

Cobweb.

Bot.

I shall desire of you more acquaintance, good master Cobweb; if I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. Your name, honest gentleman?

Pease.

Peaseblossom.

Bot.

I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash your mother, and to master Peascod your father. Good master Peaseblossom, I shall desire of you more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, Sir?

Mus.

Mustardseed.

Bot.

Good master Mustardseed, I know your patience well: that same cowardly giant-like Ox-beef hath devour'd many a gentleman of your house. I promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire more of your acquaintance, good master Mustardseed.

Queen.
Come, wait upon him, lead him to my bower.
  The moon, methinks, looks with a watry eye,
And when she weeps, weep ev'ry little flower,
  Lamenting some enforced chastity!
Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. [Exeunt. Enter King of Fairies.

Ob.
I wonder, if Titania be awak'd:
Then what it was that next came in her eye,
Which she must doat on in extremity.

Enter Puck.
Here comes my messenger! how now, mad sprite,
What night-rule now about this haunted grove?

Puck.
My mistress with a monster is in love.
Near to her close and consecrated bower,
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,
Were met together to rehearse a play,
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day.
The shallow'st thick-skin of that barren sort,
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake,
When I did him at this advantage take,
An Ass's nole I fixed on his head;
Anon, his Thisby must be answered,
And forth my minnock comes: when they him spy,
As wild geese, that the creeping fowler eye,
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky;
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly;
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls;
He murder cries, and help from Athens calls.
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong,
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong.
For briars and thorns at their apparel snatch,
Some sleeves, some hats; from yielders all things catch.
I led them on in this distracted fear,
And left sweet Pyramus translated there:
When in that moment (so it came to pass)
Titania wak'd, and straitway lov'd an ass.

Ob.
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?

Puck.
I took him sleeping; that is finish'd too;
And the Athenian woman by his side,
That, when he wakes, of force she must be ey'd.

Enter Demetrius and Hermia.

Ob.
Stand close, this is the same Athenian.

Puck.
This is the woman, but not this the man.

Dem.
O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

Her.
Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse;
For thou, I fear, hast giv'n me cause to curse:
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
And kill me too.
The sun was not so true unto the day,
As he to me. Would he have stol'n away
From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon,
This whole earth may be bor'd, and that the moon
May through the center creep, and so displease
Her brother's noon-tide with th' Antipodes.
It cannot be, but thou hast murther'd him;
So should a murtherer look, so dread, so grim.

Dem.
So should the murther'd look; and so should I,
Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty:
Yet you the murtherer look as bright, and clear,
As yonder Venus in her glimm'ring sphere.

Her.
What's this to my Lysander? where is he?
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?

Dem.
I'ad rather give his carcass to my hounds.

Her.
Out, dog! out, cur! thou driv'st me past the bounds
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then?
Henceforth be never number'd among men.
O! once tell true, and even for my sake,
Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake?
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch!
Could not a worm, an adder do so much?
An adder did it, for with doubler tongue
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.

Dem.
You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood;
I am not guilty of Lysander's blood,
Nor is he dead, for ought that I can tell.

Her.
I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.

Dem.
And if I could, what should I get therefore?

Her.
A privilege never to see me more;
And from thy hated presence part I so:
See me no more, whether he's dead or no. [Exit.

Dem.
There is no following her in this fierce vein,
Here, therefore, for a while I will remain:
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow,
For debt, that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;
Which now in some slight measure it will pay,
If for his Tender here I make som stay. [Lies down.

Ob.
What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite,
And laid thy love-juice on some true love's sight:
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
Some true love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true.

Puck.
Then fate o'er-rules, that one man holding troth
A million fail, confounding oath on oath.

Ob.
About the wood go swifter than the wind,
And Helena of Athens, see, thou find.
All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer;
With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear;
By some illusion, see, thou bring her here;
I'll charm his eyes, against she doth appear.

Puck.
I go, I go; look, how I go;
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit.

Ob.
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. Enter Puck.

Puck.
Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand,
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover's fee.
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Ob.
Stand aside: the noise, they make,
Will cause Demetrius to awake.

Puck.
Then will two at once woo one;
That must needs be sport alone.
And those things do best please me,
That befal prepost'rously. Enter Lysander and Helena.

Lys.
Why should you think, that I should woo in scorn?
  Scorn and derision never come in tears.
Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
  In their nativity all truth appears:
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?

Hel.
You do advance your cunning more and more;
  When truth kills truth, O devilish, holy, fray!
These vows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er?
  Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh;
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.

Lys.
I had no judgment, when to her I swore.

Hel.
Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.

Lys.
Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.

Dem. [awaking]
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, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow,
Fann'd 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.

Hel.
O spight, O hell! I see, you all are bent
To set against me, for your merriment:
If you were civil, and knew courtesie,
You would not do me thus much injury.
Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
But you must join in souls to mock me too?
If you are men, as men you are in show,
You would not use a gentle lady so:

To vow and swear, and super-praise my parts;
When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts.
You both are rivals, and love Hermia,
And now both rivals to mock Helena.
A trim exploit, a manly enterprize,(17) ^note


To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes
With your derision! none of noble sort
Would so offend a virgin, and extort
A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.

Lys.
You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so;
For you love Hermia; this, you know, I know.
And here with all good will, with all my heart,
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part;
And yours of Helena to me bequeath,
Whom I do love, and will do to my death.

Hel.
Never did mockers waste more idle breath.

Dem.
Lysander, keep thy Hermia, I will none;
If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone.
My heart to her but, as guest-wise, sojourn'd;
And now to Helen it is home return'd,
There ever to remain.

Lys.
It is not so.

Dem.
Disparage not the faith, thou dost not know,
Lest to thy peril thou abide it dear.
Look, where thy love comes, yonder is thy dear. Enter Hermia.

Her.
Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
The ear more quick of apprehension makes:
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
It pays the hearing double recompence.
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?

Lys.
Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go?

Her.
What love could press Lysander from my side?

Lys.
Lysander's love, that would not let him bide,
Fair Helena; who more engilds the night,
Than all yon fiery O's and eyes of light.
Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know,
The hate, I bear thee, made me leave thee so?

Her.
You speak not, as you think: it cannot be.

Hel.
Lo, she is one of this confed'racy;
Now, I perceive, they have conjoin'd all three,
To fashion this false sport in spight of me.
Injurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid,
Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd
To bait me with this foul derision?
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd,
The sisters vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us; O! and is all forgot?
All school-days friendship, childhood innocence?
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
Created with our needles both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion;
Both warbling of one song, both in one key;
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds
Had been incorp'rate. So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition;
Two lovely berries molded on one stem,
So with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,(18) ^note

Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.
And will you rend our ancient love asunder,
To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly;
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it;
Though I alone do feel the injury.

Her.
I am amazed at your passionate words:
I scorn you not; it seems, that you scorn me.

Hel.
Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face?
And made your other love, Demetrius,
(Who, even but now, did spurn me with his foot)
To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare,
Precious, celestial? wherefore speaks he this,
To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander
Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
And tender me, forsooth, affection;
But by your setting on, by your consent?
What though I be not so in grace as you,
So hung upon with love, so fortunate;
But miserable most, to love unlov'd?
This you should pity, rather than despise.

Her.
I understand not what you mean by this.

Hel.
Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks,
Make mouths upon me, when I turn my back;
Wink each at other, hold the sweet jest up:
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
You would not make me such an argument:
But fare ye well, 'tis partly mine own fault,
Which death or absence soon shall remedy.

Lys.
Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena.

Hel.
O excellent!

Her.
Sweet, do not scorn her so.

Dem.
If she cannot entreat, I can compel.

Lys.
Thou canst compel, no more than she entreat:
Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak Prayers.(19) ^note

Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do;
I swear, by that which I will lose for thee,
To prove him false, that says, I love thee not.

Dem.
I say, I love thee more than he can do.

Lys.
If thou say so, withdraw and prove it too.

Dem.
Quick, come.—

Her.
Lysander, whereto tends all this?

Lys.
Away, you Ethiope!

Dem.
No, no, he'll seem
To break away; take on as he would follow,
But yet come not; you are a tame man, go.

Lys.
Hang off, thou cat, thou burr; vile thing, let loose;
Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent.

Her.
Why are you grown so rude? what change is this?
Sweet love!

Lys.
Thy love? out, tawny Tartar, out;
Out, loathed medicine: hated poison, hence.

Her.
Do you not jest?

Hel.
Yes, sooth, and so do you.

Lys.
Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.

Dem.
I would, I had your bond; for, I perceive,
A weak bond holds you; I'll not trust your word.

Lys.
What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so.

Her.
What, can you do me greater harm, than hate?
Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love?
Am not I Hermia? are not you Lysander?
I am as fair now, as I was ere-while.
Since night, you lov'd me; yet, since night, you left me;
Why then you left me—(O the gods forbid!)
In earnest, shall I say?

Lys.
Ay, by my life;
And never did desire to see thee more.
Therefore be out of hope, of question, doubt;
Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest;
That I do hate thee, and love Helena.

Her.
O me, you jugler; oh, you canker-blossom,
You thief of love; what, have you come by night,
And stoll'n my love's heart from him?

Hel.
Fine, i'faith!

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
No touch of bashfulness? what, will you tear
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
Fie, fie, you counterfeit; you puppet, you.

Her.
Puppet! why, so: ay, that way goes the game.
Now, I perceive, that she hath made compare
Between our statures; she hath urg'd 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.

Hel.
I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
Let her not hurt me: I was never curst;
I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
I am a right maid, for my cowardice:
Let her not strike me. You, perhaps, may think,
Because she's something lower than my self,
That I can match her.

Her.
Lower! hark, again.—

Hel.
Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me;
I evermore did love you, Hermia,
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;
Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
I told him of your stealth unto this wood:
He follow'd you, for love I follow'd him,
But he hath chid me hence, and threaten'd me
To strike me, spurn me, nay to kill me too;
And now, so you will let me quiet go,
To Athens will I bear my folly back,
And follow you no further. Let me go.
You see, how simple and how fond I am.

Her.
Why, get you gone; who is't, that hinders you?

Hel.
A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.

Her.
What, with Lysander?

Hel.
With Demetrius.

Lys.
Be not afraid, she shall not harm thee, Helena.

Dem.
No, Sir, she shall not, though you take her part.

Hel.
O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd;
She was a vixen, when she went to school;
And though she be but little, she is fierce.

Her.
Little, again? nothing but low, and little?
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
Let me come to her.

Lys.
Get you gone, you dwarf,
You Minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made,(20) ^note

Dem.
You are too officious,
In her behalf that scorns your services.
Let her alone, speak not of Helena,
Take not her part: for if thou dost intend
Never so little shew of love to her,
Thou shalt aby it.

Lys.
Now she holds me not;
Now follow, if thou dar'st; to try whose right,
Or thine, or mine, is most in Helena.

Dem.
Follow? nay, I'll go with thee cheek by jowl. [Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius.

Her.
You, mistress, all this coyl is long of you:
Nay, go not back.

Hel.
I will not trust you, I;
Nor longer stay in your curst company.
Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray;
My legs are longer, though, to run away [Exeunt: Herm. pursuing Helena. Enter Oberon and Puck.

Ob.
This is thy negligence: still thou mistak'st,
Or else committ'st thy knaveries willingly.

Puck.
Believe me, King of shadows, I mistook.
Did not you tell me, I should know the man
By the Athenian garments he had on?
And so far blameless proves my enterprize,
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes;
And so far am I glad it did so sort,
As this their jangling I esteem a sport.

Ob.
Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight;
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;
The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron;
And lead these testy rivals so astray,
As one come not within another's way.
Like to Lysander, sometime, frame thy tongue,
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
And sometime rail thou, like Demetrius;
And from each other, look, thou lead them thus;
'Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep;
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye,
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
To take from thence all error with its might;
And make his eye-balls rowl with wonted sight.
When they next wake, all this derision
Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision;
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend
With league, whose date 'till death shall never end.
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
I'll to my Queen, and beg her Indian boy;
And then I will her charmed eye release
From monster's view, and all things shall be peace.

Puck.
My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger;
At whose approach, ghosts wandring here and there
Troop home to church-yards; damned spirits all,
That in cross-ways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,

They willfully exile themselves from light;
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.

Ob.
But we are spirits of another sort;
I with the morning-light have oft made sport;
And, like a forester, the groves may tread,
Ev'n 'till the eastern gate, all fiery red,
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,
Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams.
But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay;
We may effect this business yet ere day. [Exit Oberon.

Puck.
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. Enter Lysander.

Lys.
Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou now.

Puck.
Here, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou?

Lys.
I will be with thee straight.

Puck.
Follow me then
To plainer ground. [Lys. goes out, as following Dem. Enter Demetrius.

Dem.
Lysander, speak again;
Thou run-away, thou coward, art thou fled?
Speak in some bush: where dost thou hide thy head?

Puck.
Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,
Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,
And wilt not come? come, recreant; come, thou child,
I'll whip thee with a rod; he is defil'd,
That draws a sword on thee.

Dem.
Yea, art thou there?

Puck.
Follow my voice, we'll try no manhood here. [Exeunt. Lysander comes back.

Lys.
He goes before me, and still dares me on;
When I come where he calls me, then he's gone.

The villain is much lighter-heel'd, than I:
I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly;
That fall'n am I in dark uneven way,
And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day: [Lyes down.
For if but once thou shew me thy gray light,
I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spight. Enter Puck and Demetrius.

Puck.
Ho, ho, ho, coward, why com'st thou not?

Dem.
Abide me, if thou dar'st: for well I wot,
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place;
And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face,
Where art thou?

Puck.
Come thou hither, I am here.

Dem.
Nay, then thou mock'st me; thou shalt buy this dear,
If ever I thy face by day-light 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. [Lyes down. Enter Helena.

Hel.
O weary night, O long and tedious night,
  Abate thy hours; shine, comforts, from the East;
That I may back to Athens by day-light,
  From these, that my poor company detest;
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye,
Steal me a while from mine own company. [Sleeps.

Puck.
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. Enter Hermia.

Her.
Never so weary, never so in woe,
  Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briars,
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.
Heav'ns shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! [Lyes down.

Puck.
On the ground, sleep sound,
I'll apply, to your eye, gentle lover, remedy. [Squeezing the juice on Lysander's eye.
When thou wak'st, thou tak'st
True delight, in the sight, of thy former lady's eye;
And the country proverb known,
That every man should take his own,
In your waking shall be shown.
Jack shall have Jill, naught shall go ill,
The man shall have his mare again, and all be well. [Exit Puck. [They sleep.