A Time that Lovers Flights doth still conceal,
Through Athens Gate have we devis’d to steal.

Her. And in the Wood, where often you and I
Upon faint Primrofe-beds were wont to lye,
Emptying our Bosoms of their Counsel (welld;
There my Lysander and my self 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,
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 doats on you. [Exit Lyfander.

Hel. How happy fome, o'er othersome can be !
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that; Demetrius thinks not fo:
He will not know, what all but he doth know.
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's Eyes,
Şo I, admiring of his Qualities:
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to Form and Dignity;
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 hast.
And therefore is Love said to be a Child,
Because in Choice he often is beguild.
As waggish Boys themselves in Game forswear,
So the Boy Love is perjur'd every where.
For e'er Demetrius lookt on Hermia's Eyne,
He hail'd down Oaths that he was only mine.
And when this Hail fome Heat from Hermia felt,
So he diffolv'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 a dear Expence.
But herein mean I to enrich my Pain,
To have his Sight thither, and back again.


[Exit. Enter Quince, Snug, Botcom, Flute, Snowt, and Straveling.

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 Enterlude before the Duke and the Dutchess, on his Wedding-day at Night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the Play treats on; then read the Names of the A&ors; and fo 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 your selyes.

Quin. Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom the Wea


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 doit, let the Audience look to their Eyes; I will condole in fome measure. To the rest yet, my chief Hu. mour is for a Tyrant; I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a Cat in, to make all split to raging Rocks, and shivering Shocks shall break the Locks of Prison-Gates, and Phiba bus's Carr shall shine from far, and make and mar the Foolifh Fates. This was lofty. Now name the rest of the Play,

This is Ercles Vein, a Tyrant's Vein; a Lover is more condoling

Quin. Francis Flute the Bellows-mender.
Flu. Here Peter Quince.
Quin. You must take Thisby on you.
Flu. What is Thisby, a wandring Knight?
Quin. It is the Lady that Pyramus must love.

Flu. Nay faith, let not me play a Woman, I have a Beard coming.


Play fitted.

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

Bot. And 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 your Thisby.

Bot. Well, proceed.
Onin. Robin Starveling the Taylor.
Star. Here Peter Quince.

Quin. Robin Straveling, you must play Thisby's Mo. ther. Tom Snowt, the Tinker.

Snowt. Here Peter Quince.

Quin. You Pyramus's Father; my felf, Thisby's Father ; Snug, the Joiner, you the Lion's part; and I hope there is a

Snug. Have you the Lion's Part written? Pray you if it be give it me, for I am Now of Study.

Onin. 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, Het 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 Friend, if that you should fright the Ladies out of their Wits, they would have no more Disa cretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my Voice fog that I will roar you as gently as any fucking Dóve; I will roar and 'twere any Nightingal.

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 be to play it in?

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Quin. Why, what you will.

Bot. I will discharge it in either your Straw.colour Beard, your Orange-tawny Beard, your Purple-in-grain Beard, or your French-crown-colour'd, Beard, your perfe& yellow.

Onin. 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 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 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 not.
Bot. We will meet, and there we may rehearse more ob-
scenely and courageously. Take pain, be perfe&, adieu.

Quin. At the Duke's Oak we meet.
Bot. Enough, hold or cut Bow-strings. [Excunt.

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Enter a Fairy at one Door, and Puck or Robin-goodfellow

at another.

Puck How Dover Spir, over Dale, through


, through

Over Park, over Pale, through Flood, through Fire, (Briar,
I do wander every where, swifter than the Moon's Sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen, to dew her Orbs upon the
The Cowslips tall her Pensioners be,

In their gold Coats Spots you sec,
Those be Rubies, Fairy favours,
In those Freckles live their Savours :
I must go seek fome Dew-Drops here,
And hang a Pearl in every Cowslip's Ear.
Farewel thou Lob of Spirits, I'll be gone,
Our Queen and all her Elves come here anon.
Puck. The King doth keep his Revels here to Night,


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Take heed the Queen come not within his Sight,
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
Because that she, as her Attendant, hath
A lovely Boy stol’n from an Indian King,
She never had so sweet a Changeling,
And jealous Oberon would have the Child
Knight of his Train, to trace the Forests wild;
But the per-force with-holds the loved Boy,
Crowns him with Flowers, and makes him all her Joy:
And now they never meet in Grove, or Green,
By Fountain clear, or spangled Star-light sheen,
But they do square, that all their Elves for fear
Creep into Acorn Cups, and hide them there.

Fai. Either I mistake your Shape and Making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavith Sprite
Callid Robin-goodfellow. Are you not he,
That fright the Maidens of the Villageree,
Skim Milk, and sometimes labour in the Quern,
And bootlefs make the breathlefs Huswife chern,
And sometime make the Drink to bear no Barme,
Miss-lead Night-wanderers, laughing at their Harm,
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good Luck.
Are not you he?

Puck. Thou speak’st aright;
I am that merry Wanderer of the Night:
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I a far and bean-fed Hörse beguile,
Neighing in likeness like a filly Foal:
And sometimes lurk I in a Gossip's Bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted Crab,
And when she drinks, again her Lips I bob,
And on her withered Dewlop pour the Ale.
The wiseft Aunt telling the laddest Tale,
Sometime for three-foot Stool mistaketh me,
Then slip I from her Bum, down topples The,
And Tailor cries, and falls into a Cough,
And then the whole Quire hold their Hips, and loffc,
And waxen in their Mirth, and neeze and swear,
A merrier Hour was never wasted there.
Butiroom, Fairy, here comes Oberon.

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