The.
Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: but, oh, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes.

Hip.
Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights;
Four nights 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.

The.
Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals,
The pale companion is not for our pomp. [Exit Philostrate.
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,^{1 note} and with revelry.

Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius.

Ege.
Happy be Theseus, our renowned prince!

The.
Thanks, good Egeus: What's the news with thee?

Ege.
Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
Stand forth, Demetrius;—My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her:
Stand forth, Lysander;—and my gracious prince,
This man hath witch'd the bosom of my child:
Turn'd her obedience which is due to me,
To stubborn hardness:—And, my gracious lord,
Be it so she will not here before your grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens;
As she is mine, I may dispose of her:
Which shall be either to this gentleman,
Or to her death; according to our law.

Her.
I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
I know not by what power I am made bold,
In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts:
But I beseech your grace that I may know
The worst that may befal me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

The.
Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;
Take time to pause: and, by the next new moon
(The sealing-day betwixt my love and me),
Upon that day either prepare to die,
For disobedience to your father's will,
Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would:
Or on Diana's altar to protest,
For aye, austerity and single life.

Lys.
I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he,
As well possess'd; my love is more than his;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd;
And, which is more,
I am belov'd of Hermia:

Why should not I, then, prosecute my right?
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes,—dotes in idolatry,
Upon this spotted^{2 note} and inconstant man.

The.
I must confess, that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
But, being over-full of self-affairs,
My mind did lose it.—But, Demetrius, come;
And come, Egeus, you shall go with me,
I have some private schooling for you both.—
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To sit your fancies to your father's will:
Or else the law of Athens yields you up
To death, or to a vow of single life.—
Come, my Hippolyta. [Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, Demetrius, and train.

Lys.
How now, my love? Why are your cheeks so pale?

Her.
Belike, for want of rain; which I could well
Beteem them^{3 note} from the tempest of mine eyes.

Lys.
Ah me! for ought that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth:
But, either it was different in blood;
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it;
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,^{4 note}

That, in a spleen,^{5 note} unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say—Behold!
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.

Her.
If thus true lovers have been ever cross'd,
Then let us teach our trial patience.

Lys.
A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia.
I have a widow aunt,
Of great revenue, and she hath no child:
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us: If thou lov'st me then,
Steal forth to-morrow night;
And in the wood,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
There will I stay for thee.

Her.
My good Lysander!
I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow;
By the simplicity of Venus' doves;
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves;
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
In number more than ever women spoke;—
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

Lys.
Keep promise, love: Look, here comes Helena. Enter Helena.

Her.
How now, fair Helena! Whither away?

Hel.
Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
O, teach me how you look; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

Her.
I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

Hel.
O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

Her.
The more I hate, the more he follows me.

Hel.
The more I love, the more he hateth me.

Her.
Take comfort; he no more shall see my face;
Lysander and myself will fly this place.

Lys.
Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
To-morrow night, when Phœbe doth behold
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal),
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal.

Her.
And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint^{6 note} primrose-beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet;^{7 note}
There my Lysander and myself shall meet:
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us,
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!—
Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. [Exit Hermia.

Lys.
I will, my Hermia.—Helena, adieu:
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you! [Exit Lysander.

Hel.
How happy some, o'er other some can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
He will not know what all but he do know.
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind;
Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste;
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste;
And therefore is love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd.
As waggish boys in game^{8 note} themselves forswear,

So the boy Love is perjur'd every where:
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,^{9 note}
He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine;
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt.
I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night,
Pursue her; and for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is dear recompense:
But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
To have his sight thither, and back again. [Exit. Scene II. —WORKSHOP OF QUINCE, THE CARPENTER. The Furniture and Tools introduced in this Scene are copied from discoveries at Herculaneum. Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, and Starveling.^{10 note}

Qui.

Is all our company here?

Bot.

You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip.^{11 note}

Qui.

Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the Prince and his bride on his wedding-day at night.

Bot.

First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on.

Qui.

Marry, our play is—The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

Bot.

A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry.^{12 note} Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll: Masters, spread yourselves.^{13 note}

Qui.

Answer, as I call you.—Nick Bottom, the weaver.

Bot.

Ready: Name what part I am for, and proceed.

Qui.

You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

Bot.

What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?

Qui.

A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love.

Bot.

That will ask some tears in the true performing of it: If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes. Yet my chief humour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles^{14 note} rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.

  “The raging rocks,
  “With shivering shocks,
  “Shall break the locks
    “Of prison-gates:
  “And Phibbus'^{15 note} car
  “Shall shine from far,
  “And make and mar
    “The foolish fates.”

This was lofty!—Now name the rest of the players.

Qui.

Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.^{16 note}

Flu.

Here, Peter Quince.

Qui.

You must take Thisby on you.

Flu.

What is Thisby? a wandering knight?

Qui.

It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

Flu.

Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

Qui.

That's all one.

Bot.

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!

Qui.

No, no; you must play Pyramus, and, Flute, you Thisby.

Bot.

Well, proceed.

Qui.

Robin Starveling, the tailor.

Sta.

Here, Peter Quince.

Qui.

Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother. —Tom Snout, the tinker.

Sno.

Here, Peter Quince.

Qui.

You Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father;— Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part:—and, I hope, here is a play fitted.

Snug.

Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study.

Qui.

You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

Bot.

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 Prince say, Let him roar again, Let him roar again.

Qui.

An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the ladies, that they would shriek; and that were enough to hang us all.

All.

That would hang us every mother's son.

Bot.

I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us: but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gentle as any sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere^{17 note} any nightingale.

Qui.

You can play no part but Pyramus: for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see in a

summer's day; a most lovely, gentleman-like man; therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

Bot.

Well, I will undertake it.

Qui.

Masters, here are your parts; and I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night; and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moon-light; there will we rehearse: for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogg'd with company, and our devices known. In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties,^{18 note} such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not.

Bot.

We will meet; and there we may rehearse more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains; be perfect; adieu.

Qui.

At the prince's oak we meet.

Bot.

Enough; Hold, or cut bow-strings.^{19 note}

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