DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN. Theseus, Duke of Athens, Mr. Bransby. Egeus, an Athenian Lord, Mr. Burton. Lysander, in love with Hermia, Mr. Vernon. Demetrius, in love with Hermia, Mr. W. Palmer. Quince, the Carpenter, Mr. Love. Snug, the Joiner, Mr. Clough. Bottom, the Weaver, Mr. Yates. Flute, the Bellows-mender, Mr. Baddeley. Snowt [Snout], the Tinker, Mr. Ackman. Starveling, the Taylor, Mr. Parsons.

WOMEN. Hippolita [Hippolyta], Princess of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus, Mrs. Hopkins. Hermia, Daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander, Miss Young. Helena, in love with Demetrius, Mrs. Vincent.

ATTENDANTS. Oberon, King of the Fairies, Miss Rogers. Titania, Queen of the Fairies, Miss Ford. Puck, Master Cape. First Fairy [Fairy 1], Miss Wright. Second Fairy [Fairy 2], Master Raworth. Other Fairies attending the King and Queen. [Fairies], [Pyramus], [Thisby], [Fairy 3], [Fairy 4], [Cobweb], [Peaseblossom], [Mustardseed] SCENE, Athens, and a Wood not far from it.

A Midsummer Night's Dream. ACT I. SCENE I. SCENE, a Palace. Enter Theseus, and Hippolita, with Attendants.

THESEUS.
Now, fair Hippolita, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: But oh, methinks how slow
This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,
Long withering out a young man's revenue.

Hip.
Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights,
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 th' 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.
Hippolita, 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, and with revelling.

Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius.

Ege.
Happy be Theseus our renowned Duke.

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 Duke,
This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child:
Thou, thou, Lysander. And, my noble Lord,
Be't 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 he either to this gentleman,
Or to her death, according to our law.

The.
What say you, Hermia? Be advis'd, fair maid,
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

Her.
So is Lysander.

The.
In himself he is;
But in this kind, wanting your father's voice,
The other must be held the worthier.

Her.
I do intreat your Grace to pardon me:
I know not by what pow'r 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 befall, if I refuse.

The.
Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men;
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
Whether not yielding to your father's choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun:
Thrice blessed they that master so their blood,
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,
Than that, which withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

Her.
So will I grow, so live, so die, my Lord,
Ere I will yield my virgin heart and hand
Unto his Lordship, to whose unwish'd yoke
My soul consents not to give sov'reignty.

AIR.
With mean disguise let others nature hide,
  And mimick virtue with the paint of art;
I scorn the cheat of reason's foolish pride,
  And boast the graceful weakness of my heart;
The more I think, the more I feel my pain,
  And learn the more each heav'nly charm to prize;
While fools, too light for passion, safe remain,
  And dull sensation keeps the stupid wise.

The.
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; or protest
A single life on chaste Diana's altar.

Dem.
Relent, sweet Hermia, and Lysander yield.

Lys.
You have her father's love, Demetrius;
Let me have Hermia's; do you marry him.

Ege.
Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love;
And what is mine, my love shall render him.

Lys.
I am, my Lord, as well deriv'd as he,
As well possest: My love is more than his:
My fortune's ev'ry way as fairly rank'd,
And, which is more than all, I'm lov'd of Hermia.
Why shou'd not I then prosecute my right?
Demetrius sought Nedar's daughter Helena,
And won her soul; and she, sweet Lady, doats,
Devoutly doats, doats in idolatry
Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

The.
I must confess that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought t'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 fit 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 Hippolita. [Exeunt.

Manent Lysander and Hermia.

Lys.
Hermia, for aught 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 else misgrafted in respect of years,
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,
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
That (in a spleen) unfolds both heav'n 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 then true lovers have been ever crost,
Oh, let us teach our trial patience:

Lys.
A good persuasion; therefore hear me, Hermia:
I have a widow-aunt, a dowager,
From Athens is her house remov'd 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,
To do observance to the morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.
AIR.
When that gay season did us lead
To the tann'd hay-cock in the mead,
When the merry bells rung round,
And the rebecks brisk did sound,
When young and old came forth to play
On a sunshine holyday.
Let us wander far away,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray
O'er the mountains barren breast,
Where labouring clouds do often rest,
O'er the meads with daizies py'd,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide.

Her.
My good Lysander,
I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow,
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
To morrow truly will I meet Lysander.

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

Her.
Good speed, fair Helena! whither away?

Hel.
Call you me fair? that fair again unsay;
Demetrius loves you, fair;
AIR.
O Hermia fair, O happy, happy fair,
Your eyes are load stars, and your Tongue's sweet air,
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear;
O teach me how you look, and with what art
You sway the motions of your lover's heart.

Her.
Take comfort;
Demetrius no more shall see your Hermia,
Lysander and myself will fly this place.
AIR.
Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seem'd Athens like a Paradise to me;
O then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn'd a heaven into a hell!

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

Her.
And in the wood, where often you and I
Were won't to lye upon faint primrose beds,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsels sweet,
There my Lysander and myself shall meet,
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and strange companions.
Farewel sweet play-fellow! Pray thou for us;

Keep word, Lysander, we must starve our sight
From lover's food, 'till morrow deep midnight. [Exit Hermia.

Lys.
I will, my Hermia. Helena, adieu!
As you on him, Demetrius doat on you. [Exit Lys.

Hel.
How happy some, o'er other some can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as Hermia;
But what of that; Demetrius thinks not so:
Yet ere he look'd on Hermia's eyes, he swore,
He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine:
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 a dear reward.
AIR.
Against myself why all this art,
To glad my eyes, I grieve my heart;
To give him joy, I court my bane!
And with his sight enrich my pain. [Exit Hel. Scene SCENE a Room in Quince's House. Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snowt, and Starveling.

Quin.

Is all our company here?

Bot.

You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip.

Quin.

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

Bot.

First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and so grow on to a point.

Quin.

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. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scrowl. Masters, spread yourselves.

Quin.

Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom the weaver!

Bot.

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

Quin.

You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

Bot.

What is Pyramus, a lover, or a tyrant?

Quin.

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; I will move storms; I will condole in some measure. To the rest; yet, my chief humour is for a tyrant; I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in. “To make all split the raging rocks and shivering shocks shall break the locks of prison-gates, and Phibbus carr shall shine from far, and make and mar the foolish fates!” This was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling.

Quin.

Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

Flu.

Here, Peter Quince.

Quin.

Flute, you must take Thisby on you.

Flu.

What is Thisby, a wand'ring knight?

Quin.

It is the Lady that Pyramus must love.

Flu.

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

Quin.

That's all one, you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak small as you will.

Bot.

An I may hide my face, 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.

Quin.

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

Bot.

Well, proceed.

Quin.

Robin Starveling, the Taylor.

Star.

Here, Peter Quince.

Quin.

Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother: Tom Snowt, the tinker.

Snowt.

Here, Peter Quince.

Quin.

You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father; Snug the joiner, you the Lion's part; I hope there 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.

Quin.

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 Duke say, let him roar again, let him roar again!

Quin.

If you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Dutchess and 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 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 gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.

Quin.

You can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet-fac'd 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. What beard were I best to play it in?

Quin.

Why what you will.

Bot.

I will discharge it in either your straw-colour'd beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour'd beard, your perfect yellow.

Quin.

Some of your French-crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play bare fac'd. But, masters, here are your parts, and I am to intreat 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 moonlight, there we will rehearse; for if we meet in the city, we shall be dog'd with company, and our devices known. In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties, 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.

Quin.

At the Duke's oak we meet.

Bot.

But hold ye, hold ye, neighbours; are your voices in order, and your tunes ready? For if we miss our musical pitch, we shall be all 'sham'd and abandon'd.

Quin.

Ay, ay! Nothing goes down so well as a little of your sol, fa, and long quaver; therefore let us be in our airs —and for better assurance I have got the pitch pipe.

Bot.

Stand round, stand round! We'll rehearse our eplog —Clear up your pipes, and every man in his turn take up his stanza-verse—Are you all ready?

All.

Ay, ay!—Sound the pitch-pipe, Peter Quince.

Bot.

Now make your reverency and begin.

SONG—for Epilogue; By Quince, Bottom, Snug, Flute, Starveling, Snout.

1 Quin.
Most noble Duke, to us be kind;
Be you and all your courtiers blind,
That you may not our errors find,
  But smile upon our sport.
For we are simple actors all,
Some fat, some lean, some short, some tall;
Our pride is great, our merit small;
  Will that, pray, do at court?

II. Starv.
The writer too of this same piece,
Like other poets here of Greece,
May think all swans, that are but geese,
  And spoil your princely sport.
Six honest folks we are, no doubt,
But scarce know what we've been about,
And tho' we're honest, if we're out,
  That will not do at court.

III. Bot.
Shall tinkers, weavers, taylors, dare
To strut and bounce like any play'r,
And shew you all, what fools we are,
  And that way make you sport?
Our lofty parts we could not hit,
For what we undertook unfit;
Much noise indeed, but little wit,
  That will not do at court.

IV. Flu.
O would the Duke and Dutchess smile,
The court would do the same awhile,
But call us after, low and vile,
  And that way make their sport:
Nay, would you still more pastime make,
And at poor we your purses shake,
Whate'er you give, we'll gladly take,
  For that will do at court.

Bot.

Well said, my boys, my hearts! Sing but like nightingales thus when you come to your misrepresentation, and we are made for ever, you rogues! so! steal a way now to your homes without inspection; meet me at the Duke's oak—by moon light—mum's the word.

All.

Mum!

ACT II. SCENE I. SCENE, a Wood. Enter a Fairy at one Door, and Puck, or Robin-good-fellow, at another.

Puck.
How now, Spirit! whither wander you?

1st Fai.
Over hill, over dale,
Through bush, through brier,
Over park, over pale,
Through flood, through fire,
I do wander every where,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
AIR.
Kingcup, daffodil and rose,
Shall the fairy wreath compose;
Beauty, sweetness, and delight,
Crown our revels of the night:
  Lightly trip it o'er the green
  Where the Fairy ring is seen;
  So no step of earthly tread,
  Shall offend our Lady's head.
Virtue sometimes droops her wing,
Beauties bee, may lose her sling;
Fairy land can both combine,
Roses with the eglantine:
  Lightly be your measures seen,
  Deftly footed o'er the green;
  Nor a spectre's baleful head
  Peep at our nocturnal tread.
Farewel thou lob of spirits, I'll begone;
Our Queen and all her Elves come here anon.

Puck.
The King doth keep his revels here to-night,
Take heed the Queen come not within his sight;
For they do square, that all their Elves for fear
Creep into acorn-cups, and hide them there.

1st Fai.
But why is Oberon so fell and wrath?

Puck.
Because that she, as her attendant hath
A lovely boy stol'n from an Indian King;
And she perforce with-holds the changling,
Tho' jealous Oberon wou'd have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild.

1st Fai.
Or I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish Sprite
Call'd Robin-good-fellow.

Puck.
Thou speak'st aright;
I am that merry wand'rer of the night:
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
Oft lurk in gossip's bowl, and her beguile
In very likeness of a roasted crab;
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale;
The wisest aunt telling the saddest tale,
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,
And rails or cries, and falls into a cough,
And then the whole choir hold their hips and losse.
AIR. 1st Fai.
Yes, yes, I know you, you are he
That frighten all the villagree;
Skim milk, and labour in the quern,
And bootless make the huswife churn;
Or make the drink to bear no harm,
Laughing at their loss and harm,
But call you Robin, and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and bring good luck.
Yes, you are that unlucky Sprite!
Like Will-a-whisp, a wandring light,
Through ditch, thro' bog, who lead astray
Benighted swains, who lose their way;
You pinch the slattern black and blue,
You silver drop in huswife's shoe;
For call you Robin and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and bring good luck.

Puck.
But make room, Fairy, here comes Oberon.

1st Fai.
And here my mistress: Would that he were gone! Enter Oberon King of Fairies at one door, with his train, and the Queen at another with hers.

Ob.
Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania!

Queen.
What, jealous Oberon? Fairy, skip hence,
I have forsworn his bed and company.

Ob.
Tarry, rash wanton! Am not I thy Lord?

Queen.
Then I must be thy Lady: Why art thou here?
Come from the farthest steep of India?
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
Your baskin'd mistress, and your warrior love,
To Theseus must be wedded; and you come
To give their bed joy and prosperity.

Ob.
How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolita,
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night
From Perigune, whom he ravished,
And make him, with fair Egle, break his faith
With Ariadne and Antiopa?

Queen.
These are the forgeries of jealousy:
And never since that middle summer's spring
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
The spring, the summer,
The chiding autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries; and the amazed world
By their increase now knows not which is which;
And this same progeny of evil comes
From our debate, from our dissention,
We are their parents and original.

Ob.
Do you amend it then, it lies in you.
Why should Titania cross her Oberon?
I do but beg a little changling boy
To be my henchman.

Queen.
Set your heart at rest,
The Fairy-land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a votress of my order,
And in the spiced Indian air by night
Full often she hath gossipt by my side;
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands,

Marking th' embarked traders of the flood,
When we have laught to see the sails conceive,
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait,
Would imitate, and sail upon the land,
To fetch me trifles, and return again
As from a voyage rich with merchandize;
But she being mortal of that boy did die,
And for her sake I do rear up her boy,
And for her sake I will not part with him.

Ob.
How long within this wood intend you stay?

Queen.
Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day.
If you will patiently dance in our round,
And see our moon-light revels, go with us;
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.

Ob.
Give me that boy, and I'll go with thee.

Queen.
Not for thy Fairy kingdom.
AIR. DUET.

Queen.
Away, away,
I will not slay,
  But fly from rage and thee.

King.
Begone, begone,
You'll feel anon
  What 'tis to injure me.

Queen.
Away, false man!
Do all you can,
  I scorn your jealous rage!

King.
We will not part;
Take you my heart!
  Give me your favourite page.

Queen.
I'll keep my page!

King.
And I my rage!
  Nor shall you injure me.

Queen.
Away, away!
I will not stay,
  But fly from rage and thee.

Both.
Away, away, &c. [Exeunt Queen, &c.

Ob.
Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this grove,
Till I torment thee for this injury—
My gentle Puck, come hither:
There is a flow'r, the herb I shew'd thee once,
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid,

Will make a man or woman madly doat
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me that herb, and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

Puck.
I'll put a girdle round about the earth
In forty minutes. [Exit.

Ob.
Having once this juice,
I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes:
The next thing which she waking looks upon,
(Be it on bear, lion, wolf, bull, ape or monkey),
She shall pursue it with the soul of love:
And ere I take this charm off from her sight,
(As I can take it with another herb),
I'll make her render up her page to me.
But who comes here? I am invisible,
And I will over-hear their conference. Enter Demetrius, Helena following him.

Dem.
I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
Hence, get thee gone! and follow me no more.

Hel.
You draw me on, I cannot help but follow.

Dem.
Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair?
Or rather do I not in plainest truth
Tell you I do not, and I cannot love you?
AIR.
Forbid the stormy sea to roll,
  Or fix the roving wind;
But, ah, attempt not to controul
  The changes of my mind.
Recall the minutes that are fled,
  Forbid fleet time to move,
Wake to new life the sleeping dead,
  But ne'er recall my love.

Hel.
Scorn me, spurn me,
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.

Dem.
You do impeach your modesty too much,
To trust the opportunity of night,
And the ill counsel of a desart place.

Hel.
Your virtue is my privilege; for that
It is not night when I do see your face,
Therefore, I think, I am not in the night.
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,
For you, in my respect, are all the world.

Dem.
I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.

Hel.
The wildest hath not such a heart as you.

Dem.
I will not stay thy questions; let me go:
Or if you follow me, do not believe
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. [Exit.

Hel.
Ay, in the temple, in the town and field
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex.
AIR.
Our softer sex can't fight for love,
  As rougher men may do;
In gentle sighs our passions move,
  We shou'd be woo'd, not woo. [Exit.

Ob.
Fare thee well, nymph! Ere he doth leave this grove
Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. Enter Puck.
Hast thou the flow'r there? Welcome wanderer!

Puck.
Ay, there it is.

Ob.
I pray thee give it me;
I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where oxslip and the nodding violet grows;
There sleeps Titania, sometime of the night,
Lull'd in these flow'rs, with dances and delight;
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,
And make her full of hateful fantasies.
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove;
A sweet Athenian Lady is in love
With a disdainful youth; anoint his eyes;
But do it when the next thing he espies
May be the Lady. Thou shalt know the man
By th' Athenian garments he hath on.
And look you, meet me ere the first cock crow.

Puck.
Fear not, my Lord, your servant shall do so. [Exit.

Ob.
Now, with all speed, to charm Titania. [Exit King.

Enter Second Fairy, with a troop of Fairies.
AIR.
Come, follow, follow me,
Ye fairy Elves that be;
O'er tops of dewy grass,
So nimbly do we pass;
The young and tender stalk
Ne'er bends where we do walk. [Exeunt. End of the Second Act.

ACT III. SCENE I. SCENE The Wood. Enter Queen of Fairies, with her Train.

Queen.
Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song:
Then for the third part of a minute hence,
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,
Some war with rear-mice for their leathern wings,
To make my small elves coats: And some keep back
The clamorous-owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders,
At our queint spirits. Sing me now asleep,
Then to your offices, and let me rest. [Goes to the Bower and lies down.
AIR. 1st. Fai.
You spotted snakes with double tongue,
  Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen,
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,
  Come not near our fairy Queen.
Philomel with melody,
Sing in your sweet lullaby,
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:
Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,
Come our lovely Lady nigh,
So good night with lullaby.

II.
  Weaving spiders come not here;
Hence, you long-leg'd spinners, hence:
  Beetles black approach not near,
Worm nor snail do no offence.
Philomel with melody, &c.
Hence away! now all is well;
One aloof stand centinel. [Exeunt Fairies.

Enter Oberon.

Ob.
What thou seest when thou dost wake,
Do it for thy true love take;
Love and languish for his sake;
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,
Pard, or boar with bristled hair,
In thy eye what shall appear,
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear;
Wake when some vile thing is near. [Exit Ob. Enter Lysander and Hermia.

Lys.
Fair love, you faint with wand'ring in the wood;
And, to speak truth, I have forgot our way:
We'll rest us, Hermia, if thou think it good,
And tarry for the comfort of the day.

Her.
Be't so, Lysander; find you out a bed,
For I upon this bank will rest my head.

Lys.
One turf shall serve as pillow for us both,
One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.
DUET. AIR.
Not the silver doves that fly,
  Yoak'd in Cytherea's car,
Are so beauteous to the eye,
  Are so choicely match'd by far.
Not the wings that bear aloft,
  The gay sportive God of love,
Are so lovely bright and soft,
  Or with more consent do move.

Her.
Now, my Lysander, on that bank repose,
That if perchance my woman's fears shou'd seek
Protection in thy love and brav'ry,
I may not call on love and thee in vain.

Lys.
Repose thee, love, I'll watch thee thro' the night,
No harm shall reach thee—
Sleep give thee all his rest.

Her.
With half that wish, the wisher's eyes be prest! [They sleep.

Enter Puck.

Puck.
Through the forest have I gone,
But Athenian find I none;
Night and silence! who is here?
Weeds of Athens he doth wear;
This is he, my master said,
Despised the Athenian maid?
And here the maiden sleeping sound
On the dank and dirty ground.
But first I'll throw into a trance,
This youth; that elves may round him dance:
Melting sounds your power impart,
That I may pierce his harden'd heart! [Soft musick.

Lys.
Whence is this sweet enchanting harmony!
A thicker shade o'er spreads the night! my senses,
Some secret unknown influence feels—
I cannot shake it off; chains invisible
Already bind my limbs, and all my pow'rs enthrall. [He sinks down.

Puck.
'Tis done, 'tis done; and now my skill,
His breast with other love shall fill:
Churl upon thy eyes I throw,
All the power this charm doth owe;
So awake when I am gone!
For I must now to Oberon. [Exit. Enter Demetrius and Helena running.

Hel.
Stay, tho' thou kill me, sweet Demetrius!

Dem.
I charge thee hence, and do not haunt me thus.

Hel.
O wilt thou leave me? do not so, my love.

Dem.
Stay on thy peril, I alone will go. [Exit Dem.

Hel.
O I am out of breath in this fond chace;
The more my prayer, the lesser is my favour.
But who is here? Lysander on the ground:
Dead or asleep?
Lysander, if you live, good Sir, awake.

Lys.
And run thro' fire for thee, sweet Helena. [Waking.
Where is Demetrius? Oh how fit a word,
Is that vile name, to perish on my sword!

Hel.
Do not say so, Lysander, say not so:
What tho' he loves your Hermia? What of that?

Yet Hermia still loves you; be satisfy'd.

Lys.
Content with Hermia? No: I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have lost.
The will of man is by his reason sway'd,
And reason says you are the worthier.
Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
And leads me to your eyes, where I can read
Love's stories written in love's richest book.

Hel.
But wherefore this?
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
Is't not enough, is't not enough, Lysander,
That I did never, no, nor ever can,
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius,
But you must flout my insufficiency?
I thought you Lord of more true gentleness.
AIR.
If, oh, if no flame returns
The Flame that in my bosom burns,
  If love for love's deny'd;
Oh, be not an ungentle swain,
Nor add to cold neglect, disdain,
  And insolence and pride! [Exit.

Lys.
She sees not Hermia: Hermia, sleep thou there,
And never may'st thou come Lysander near;
For as a surfeit of the sweetest things
Brings deepest loathing to the appetite;
Or as the heresies that men do quit,
Are hated most of those they did deceive;
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
Of all be hated, but the most of me. [Exit.

Her.
Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best
To pluck this crawling serpent from my bosom.
Ah me, for pity! what a dream was here?
Lysander, look how I do quake with horror.
Methought a serpent eat my heart away,
And you sate smiling at him.—Ha! Lysander,
Lysander! what remov'd? Lysander, Lord!
What out of hearing gone? out of sight!
Alack, where are you? speak, and if you hear me,
Speak of all loves: I swoon almost with fear.

AIR.
Sweet soothing hope, whose magic-art,
  Transforms our night to day,
Dispel the clouds, that wrap my heart,
  With thy enliv'ning ray:
Thus when the sky with noxious steams,
  Has been obscur'd awhile,
The sun darts forth his piercing beams,
  And makes all nature smile. [Exit. Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout and Starveling. The Queen of Fairies lying a sleep.

Bot.

Are we all met?

Quin.

Pat, pat! and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehersal. This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn 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!

Starv.

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?

Starv.

I fear it, I promise you.

Bot.

Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves; to bring in, heaven shield us! a Lion among Ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wildfowl 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 met by moon-light.

Snug.

Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?

Bot.

A kalendar, a kalendar! look into 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 lanthern; 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 plaister, or some lome, or some rough-cast, 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; and when you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake, and so every one according to his cue.

Puck.
What hempen homespuns 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 while,
And by-and-by I will to thee appear. [Exit Pyr.

Puck.
A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here! [Aside. [Exit.

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 bier,
Most briskly jevenile, 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.