 | A Midsummer Night's Dream |  |
SCENE II.
A Room in Quince's House.Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, 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 Duchess, 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.
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. 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.
“With shivering shocks,
“Shall break the locks
“Of prison gates;
“And Phibbus' car
“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.
Flute.
Here, Peter Quince.
Quin.
Flute, you must take Thisby on you.
Flute.
What is Thisby, a wandering knight?
Quin.
It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
Flute.
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.
Robert Starveling, the tailor.
Here, Peter Quince.
Quin.
Robert Starveling, you must play Thisby's
mother.—Tom Snout, the tinker.
Snout.
Here, Peter Quince.
Quin.
You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's
father, and Prologue; 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 it 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 Duchess 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.
I will; but what beard were I best to
discharge it in? 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.
Discharge it in your own—a red beard!
but, masters, here are your parts, and I am to
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, and if King Theseus don't prefer on
us all sixpence a day, I'll be hang'd, we deserve
it.—Exit omnes—Adieu!
Quin.
At the Duke's oak we meet.
Bot.
Aye; but hold ye, hold ye, neighbours;
are your voices in order, and your tunes ready?
Quin.
Aye, aye, nothing goes down so well as a
little of your long quaver.
Bot.
Therefore let's be in our airs, and rehearse
our Epilogue. Clear up your pipes! are you
all ready?
All.
Aye, aye.
Bot.
Now make your reverency, and begin.
SONG—For Epilogue.—[Arne.]
Quin.
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?
Snout.
Like other poets here of Greece,
May think all swans, that are but geese,
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.
Bot.
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.
[Exeunt.
| A Midsummer Night's Dream | |