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What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne?
But who is here ?--Lysander! on the ground !
Dead? or asleep? I see'no blood, no wound:
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.
Lys. [Wakes.] And run through fire I will, for thy

sweet sake,
Transparent Helena! Nature here shows art,
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word
Is that vile name, to perish on my sword !

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so:
What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?
Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content.

Lys. Content with Hermia ? No: I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
Not Hermia, but Helena, I love,
Who will not change a raven for a dove?
The will of man is by his reason sway'd;
And reason says you are the worthier maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their season;
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason
And touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
And leads me to your eyes; where I o'erlook
Love's stories, written in love's richest book.

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born ?
When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn ?
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,
That I did never, no, nor never can,
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,
But you must fout my insufficiency?
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,
In such disdainful manner me to woo,
But fare you well : perforce I must confess,
I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
O, that a lady, of one man refus'd,
Should, of another, therefore be abus'd! [Exit, R.

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 The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ; Or, as the heresies, that men do leave, Are hated most of those they did deceive';

So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy,
Of all be bated; but the most of me!
And all my powers, address your love and might,
To honour Helen, and to be her knight! [Exit, R.
Her. [Waking, and rising.] Help me, Lysander, help

me ! do thy best,
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast !
Ah me, for pity! what a dream was here!
Lysander, look how I do quake with fear:
Methought a serpent eat my beart away,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey :-
Lysander! what, remov'd ? Lysander! lord !
What out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word?
Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear;
Speak, of all loves; I swoon almost with fear.
No?--then I well perceive you are not nigh:
Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Exit, L.



SCENE I.--The Wood, Bower, and Duke's Oak- The

Queen of Fairies lying asleep on a Bank, R. V. E. Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, Flute, SNOUT, and

STARVELING, L. U. E. Bot. (R. C.) Are we all met?

Qui. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal: 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. (c.) 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?

Sno. By’rlakin, a parlous fear.

Sta. 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 killed indeed; and, for the more better assurance, “ tell them, that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but Bot« tom the weaver:" this will put them out of fear.

Qui. 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.

Sno. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ?
Sta. I fear it, I promise you.

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves : 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.

Sno. 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 entreat 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.

Qui. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things; that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber : for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.

Snug. Doth the moon shine, that night we play our play?

Bot. A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanack; find out moonshine, find out moonshine.

Qui. Yes, it doth shine that night.

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

Qui. 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 moonshine. 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 chinks of a wall.

Snug. You never can 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 rough. cast about him, to signify wall; or let him hold his finger thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper.

Qui. 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.

Enter Puck, L.
Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering

So near the cradle of the fairy queen ?
What, a play toward ? I'll be an auditor ;
An actor, too, perhaps, if I see cause.

Qui. Speak, Pyramus :—Thisby, stand forth.
Pyr. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet,'
Qui. 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, l. Puck. (Aside.) A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here !

[Erit, R. Thi. Must I speak now?

Qui. Ay, marry, must you : for you must understand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again. Thi.“ Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,

Of colour like the red-rose on triumphant brier, Most briskly juveual, and eke most lovely Jew,

As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.'

Qui. 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,' Re-enter Puck and BOTTOM, with an ass's head, R. U. E. Thi. 0,- As true as truest horse, that yet wonld

never tire Pyr. ' If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.'

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Qui. O monstrous ! 0, strange, we are haunted.
Pray, masters ! fiy, masters! belp! [Exeunt clowns, R.

Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round,
Through bog, through bush, through brake, through

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brier ;


Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime 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, 1.

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

Re-enter Snout, L. Sno. 0, Bottom, thou art changed ! what do I see on thee ?

Bot. What do you see? you see an ass's head of your own; do you?

Re-enter QUINCE, R. Qui. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee! thou art trapslated.

[Exit, L. 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 bot afraid.

The ousel-cock, so black of hue,

With orange-tawney bill,
The throstle with his note so true,

The wren with little quill;
Tit. [Waking.] What angel wakes me from my
flowery bed ?

[Advancing from bower, unseen by Bottom. Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,

The plain-song cuckoo gray,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,

And dares not answer, nay ;-
Bot. For, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish
a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry,
cuckoo, never so ?

Tit. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note,

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