Helena.
Thes.
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 on your Royal Walks, your Board, your Bed.
Thes.
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 Egeus.
Ege.
Here, mighty Theseus.
Thes.
Say, what Abridgement have you for this Evening?
What Mask? What Musick? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some Delight?
Ege.
There is a Brief how many Sports are rife:
Make choice of which your Highness will see first.
Lys.
The Battel with the Centaur, to be sung
By an Athenian Eunuch, to the Harp.
Thes.
We'll none of that. That have I told my Love,
In glory of my Kinsman Hercules.
Lys.
The Riot of the tipsie Bachanals,
Tearing the Thracian Singer in their Rage.
Thes.
That is an old Device, and it was plaid
When I from Thebes came last a Conqueror.
Lys.
The thrice three Muses, mourning for the Death of
Learning, late deceas'd in Beggary.
Thes.
That is some Satyr keen and critical,
Not sorting with a Nuptial Ceremony.
Lys.
A tedious brief Scene of young Pyramus,
And his Love Thisby; very tragical Mirth.
-- 513 --
Thes.
Merry and Tragical? Tedious and Brief? That is,
hot Ice, and wondrous strange Snow. How shall we find
the Concord of this Discord?
Ege.
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.
Thes.
What are they that do play it?
Ege.
Hard-handed Men, that work in Athens here,
Which never labour'd in their Minds till now;
And now have toiled their unbreathed Memories
With this same Play, against your Nuptials.
Thes.
And we will hear it.
Ege.
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 Intents,
Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel Pain,
To do you Service.
Thes.
I will hear that Play: For never any thing
Can be amiss, when Simpleness and Duty tender it.
Go bring them in, and take your Places, Ladies.
Hip.
I love not to see Wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And Duty in his Service perishing.
Thes.
Why, gentle Sweet, you shall see no such thing.
Hip.
He says they can do nothing in this kind.
Thes.
The kinder we, to give them Thanks for nothing.
Our Sport shall be, to take what they mistake;
And what poor Duty cannot do, noble Respect
Takes it in Might, not Merit.
Where I have come, great Clerks have purposed
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,
-- 514 --
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 ratling Tongue
Of sawcy and audacious Eloquence.
Love therefore, and Tongue-tide Simplicity,
In least, speak most, to my Capacity.
Ege.
So please your Grace, the Prologue is addrest.
Thes.
Let him approach.
[Flor. Trum.
Enter Quince for the Prologue.
Pro.
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 despight.
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.
Thes.
This Fellow doth not stand upon his 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 play'd on his Prologue, like a Child
on the Recorder; a sound, but not in government.
Thes.
His Speech was like a tangled Chain; nothing impair'd,
but all disorder'd. Who is the next?
Tawyer with a Trumpet before them.
Enter Pyramus, and Thisby, Wall, Moon-shine, and Lion.
Pro.
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 Rough-cast, doth present
Wall, the 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.
-- 515 --
This Man with Lanthorn, 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 Tomb, there, there to woo.
This grizly Beast, which Lion hight by Name,
The trusty Thisby, coming first by Night,
Did scare away, or rather did affright:
And as she fled, her Mantle she did fall;
Which Lion vile with bloody Mouth did stain.
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet Youth and tall,
And finds his gentle Thisby's Mantle slain;
Whereat, with Blade, with bloody blameful Blade,
He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody Breast,
And Thisby, tarrying in the Mulberry Shade,
His Dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
Let Lyon, Moon-shine, Wall, and Lovers twain,
At large discourse, while here they do remain.
[Exeunt all but Wall.
Thes.
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 befal,
That I, one Snowt by name, present a Wall:
And such a Wall, as I would have you think,
That had in it a crannied Hole or Chink;
Through which the Lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
Did whisper often very secretly.
This Loam, this Rough-cast, and this Stone doth shew,
That I am that same Wall; the truth is so.
And this the Cranny is, right and sinister,
Through which the fearful Lovers are to whisper.
Thes.
Would you desire Lime and Hair to speak better?
Dem.
It is the wittiest Partition that ever I heard discourse,
my Lord.
Thes.
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.
-- 516 --
And thou, O Wall, thou sweet and lovely Wall,
That stands between her Father's Ground and mine,
Thou Wall, O Wall, O sweet and lovely Wall,
Shew me thy Chink, to blink through with mine Eyn.
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,
Curst be thy Stones for thus deceiving me.
Thes.
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, and I am to spy
Her through the Wall. You shall see it will fall
Enter Thisby.
Pat. I told you; yonder she comes.
This.
O Wall, full often hast thou heard my Moans,
For parting my fair Pyramus and me.
My cherry Lips hath often kiss'd thy Stones;
Thy Stones with Lime and Hair knit up in thee.
Pyr.
I hear a Voice; now will I to the Chink,
To spy and I can see my Thisby's Face. Thisby?
This.
My Love thou art, my Love, I think.
Pyr.
Think what thou wilt, I am thy Lovers Grace,
And like Limander am I trusty still.
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 all.
Pyr.
Wilt thou at Ninny's Tomb meet me straightway?
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.
[Exit.
Thes.
Now is the Moral down between the two Neighbours.
Dem.
No remedy, my Lord, when Walls are so wilful,
to hear without warning.
Hip.
This is the silliest Stuff that e'er I heard.
Thes.
The best in this kind are but Shadows, and the
worst are no worse, if Imagination amend them.
-- 517 --
Hip.
It must be your Imagination then, and not theirs.
Thes.
If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves,
they may pass for Excellent Men. Here comes two
noble Beasts, in a Man and a Lion.
Enter Lion and Moon-shine.
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
No Lion fell, nor else no Lion's Dam:
For if I should as Lion come in Strife
Into this place, 'twere pity of my Life.
Thes.
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.
Thes.
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.
Thes.
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 hearken to the Moon.
Moon.
This Lanthorn doth the horned Moon present.
Dem.
He should have worn the Horns on his Head.
Thes.
He is no Crescent, and his Horns are invisible, within
the Circumference.
Moon.
This Lanthorn doth the horned Moon present:
My self the Man i'th' Moon doth seem to be.
Thes.
This is the greatest Error of all the rest: the Man
should be put into the Lanthorn: How is it else the Man
i'th' Moon?
Dem.
He dares not come there for the Candle;
For you see it is already in Snuff.
Hip.
I am weary of this Moon; would he would
Change.
Thes.
It appears by his small Light of Discretion, that he
is in the Wane; but yet in courtesie, in all reason, we must
stay the time.
Lys.
Proceed, Moon.
Moon.
All that I have to say, is to tell you, that the
-- 518 --
Lanthorn 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 Lanthorn; for they
are in the Moon. But silence; here comes Thisby.
Enter Thisby.
This.
This is old Ninny's Tomb; where is my Love?
Lion.
Oh.
[The Lion roars, Thisby runs off.
Dem.
Well roar'd Lion.
Thes.
Well run Thisby.
Hip.
Well shone Moon.
Truly the Moon shines with good grace.
Thes.
Well mouth'd Lion.
Dem.
And then came Pyramus.
Lys.
And so the Lion vanish'd.
Enter Pyramus.
Pyr.
Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny Beams;
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright:
For by thy gracious, golden, glittering Streams,
I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
But stay: O spight! but mark, poor Knight,
What dreadful dole is here?
Eyes do you see! How can it be!
O dainty Duck! O Deer!
Thy Mantle good; what stain'd with Blood!
Approach you Furies fell:
O Fates! Come, come: Cut Thred and Thrum,
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell.
Thes.
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 wild 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 Cheer.
Come Tears, confound: Out Sword, and wound
The Pap of Pyramus.
Ay, that left Pap, where Heart doth hop:
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus,
Now am I dead, now am I fled, my Soul is in the Sky,
-- 519 --
Tongue lose thy light, Moon take thy flight,
Now die, die, die, die, die.
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.
Thes.
With the help of a Surgeon he might yet recover,
and prove an Ass.
Hip.
How chance the Moon-shine is gone, before
Thisby comes back, and finds her Lover?
Enter Thisby.
Thes.
She will find him by Star-light.
Here she comes; and her Passion ends the Play.
Hip.
Methinks she should not use a long one for such a
Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.
Dem.
A Moth will turn the Ballance, which Pyramus,
which Thisby is the better.
Lys.
She hath spied him already with those sweet Eyes.
Dem.
And thus she means, 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 lilly Lips, this cherry Nose,
These yellow Cowslip Cheeks
Are gone, are gone: Lovers make moan.
His Eyes were green as Leeks.
O Sisters three, come, come to me,
With Hands as pale as Milk;
Lay them in gore, since you have shore
With Sheers, this Thread of Silk.
Tongue not a word; Come trusty Sword;
Come Blade, my Breast imbrue:
And farewel Friends, thus Thisby ends;
Adieu, adieu, adieu.
Thes.
Moon-shine 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 Dance, between two of our Company?
-- 520 --
Thes.
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 hung himself in Thisby's Garter, it
would have been a fine Tragedy: And so it is truly, and
very notably discharg'd. But come, your Burgomask; 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,
As much as we this Night have over-watch'd.
This palpable gross Play hath well beguil'd
The heavy Gate of Night. Sweet Friends to Bed.
A Fortnight hold we this Solemnity,
In nightly Revel, and new Jollity.
[Exeunt.
Enter Puck.
Puck.
Now the hungry Lion roars,
And the Wolf beholds the Moon:
Whilst the heavy Ploughman snoars,
All with weary Task fore-done.
Now the wasted Brands do glow,
Whilst the Scritch-Owl, scritching loud,
Puts the Wretch that lyes 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 Spright,
In the Church-way Paths to glide;
And we Fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecates team,
From the presence of the Sun,
Following Darkness like a Dream,
Now are Frolick; not a Mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed House.
I am sent with Broom before,
To sweep the Dust behind the Door.
Enter King and Queen of Fairies, with their Train.
Ob.
Through the House give glimmering Light,
By the dead and drowsie Fire,
-- 521 --
Every Elf and Fairy Spright,
Hop as light as Bird from Brier,
And this Ditty after me, Sing and Dance it trippingly.
Queen.
First rehearse this Song by roat,
To each Word a warbling Note.
Hand in hand, with Fairy grace,
Will we sing and bless this Place.
The SONG.
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:
And the Blots in Nature's Hand
Shall not in their Issue stand;
Never Mole, Hare-lip, nor Scar,
Nor mark Prodigious, such as are
Despised in Nativity,
Shall upon their Children be.
With this Field Dew consecrate,
Every Fairy take his Gate,
And each several Chamber bless,
Through this Palace with sweet Peace,
Ever shall in Safety rest,
And the Owner of it blest.
Trip away, make no stay;
Meet me all by Break of Day.
Puck.
If we, Shadows, have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but Slumbred here,
While these Visions did appear.
And this weak and idle Theam,
No more yielding but a Dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you Pardon, we will mend.
-- 522 --
And as I am honest Puck,
If we have unearned Luck,
Now to 'scape the Serpent's Tongue,
We will make Amends e'er long:
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.
[Exeunt omnes.
