University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Grand Doric Colonnade appertaining to Duke Theseus' Palace.
[March.]
Enter Theseus and Hippolita, with Attendants.
Thes.
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.

Thes.
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.
Away! (To Philostrate.)

[Exit Philos.
And thou, (to an Officer)
go seek the forester:
My Love shall hear the music of my hounds,
And shall confess, a cry more tuneable,
Was never halloo'd to, nor cheer'd with horn,
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly!

[Exit Officer.
Enter an Officer.
Officer.
My liege, Egeus, and his daughter Hermia,
Intreat an audience.

Thes.
Egeus! ever, ever welcome!

Officer.
And with them come, my liege, the Lords Lysander and Demetrius.

Thes.
Give all free entrance.

[Flourish without.]
Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius.
Egeus.
Happy be Theseus, our renowned Duke!

Thes.
Thanks, good Egeus; what's the news with thee?

Egeus.
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 man has witched the bosom of my child;
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,
To stubborn harshness; 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 be either to this gentleman,
Or to her death, according to our law.

Thes.
What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair maid.
To you your father should be as a god,
One, who compos'd your beauties—yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax
By him imprinted; and within his power
To leave the figure, or disfigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

Her.
So is Lysander.

Thes.
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 befal, if I refuse
To wed Demetrius?

Thes.
Either to die, 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 brave death, or can endure
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
And live a barren sister all your life?
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 Demetrius, to whose unwish'd yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

Thes.
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.

Egeus.
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 fortunes every way as fairly rank'd;
And, which is more than all, I'm lov'd of Hermia,
Why should 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.

Thes.
I must confess that I have heard so much—
Have heard Demetrius was betroth'd to
Helena, and 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.

[Flourish.]
[Exeunt all but 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 pow'r 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 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,
To do observance to the morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.

Her.
My good Lysander, I swear—
SONG—Hermia.—[Bishop.]

[Exeunt.

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.

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. 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.

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.

Star.

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

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, 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.

Snout.

Bot.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Wood. Moonlight.
Enter 2nd Fairy, meeting another Fairy.
4th Fairy.

How now, Spirit! Whither wander
you?

2nd Fairy.
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—2nd Fairy.—[Dr. Cooke, and Bishop.]
Farewell, thou wand'ring spirit! I'll begone;
Our Queen and all her elves come here anon.
But soft! who's this? [Looks out.]
Why, ay, is it not he,
That frights the maidens of the villagerie?
Who bootless makes the breathless housewife churn
Skim-milk, and sometimes labour in the quern;
And sometimes makes the drink to bear no barm,
Misleads night-wand'rers, laughing at their harm?
Those that “Hobgoblin” call him, and “sweet Puck,”
He does their work, and they shall have goodluck.

Enter Puck, or, Robin-Good-fellow.
Puck.
So, false Titania's elf!—

2nd Fairy.
And thou, false Oberon's.
I know 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 seat—down topples she,
And rails, or cries, and falls into a cough;
And then, the whole choir hold their hips, and loffe,
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear,
A merrier hour was never wasted there;
But, know, 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.

2nd Fairy.
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 withholds the changeling,
Tho' jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild.
But make room, fairy, here comes Oberon.

2nd Fairy.
And here my mistress: would that he were gone!

[A March.]
Enter, in procession, Oberon, King of the Fairies, at one Wing, with his Train, and the Queen at another, with hers.—Titania is in a Car. —Oberon in another Car.
Ober.
Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania!

Queen.
What, jealous Oberon? Fairies, skip hence; (as going.)

I have foresworn his bed and company.

Ober.
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 buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love,
To Theseus must be wedded; and you come
To give their bed joy and prosperity.

Ober.
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 Ægle, 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.

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

Queen.
Set your heart at rest,
The fairy land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a vot'ress of my order,
And in the spiced Indian air by night
Full often she hath gossip'd by my side;
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands,
Marking th' embarked traders of the flood,
When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive,
And grow all pregnant 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.

Ober.
Where is the youthful treasure?

Queen.
Still hid in India, far, far from
Oberon's power. Farewell!

Ober.
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.

Ober.
Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.

Queen.
Not for thy Fairy kingdom.

[March renewed.]
[Queen and Train, Exeunt.
Ober.
Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this grove,
Till I torment thee for this injury.
My gentle Puck, come hither; thou remember'st,
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious sounds,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song,
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's music.

Puck.
I remember.

Ober.
That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm'd! a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, throned by the west,
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quench'd in the chaste beam of the watery moon!
And the imperial vot'ress passed on,
In maiden meditation, fancy free—
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower,—
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wounds,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness!
Fetch me that flower,—the herb I shew'd thee once;
The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid,
Will make or 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.
Ober.
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 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.
Where is Lysander? Where is Hermia?
The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me!
Thou told'st me they had stolen to this wood.

Hel.
I did, Demetrius, and hop'd to have your thanks.

Dem.
My frowns, my scorn! Hence, Helena, pursue me not.

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?

Hel.
Neglect me,—spurn me—only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you!

Dem.
I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes.
SONG—Demetrius.—[Bishop.]
[Exit Demet.

Hel.
He seeks his Hermia, and she, injurious,
Most ungrateful maid, e'en she conspires against me!
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd,
The sister-vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us—Oh! and is all forgot?
All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence?
We Hermia, like two artificial Gods,
Created with our needles both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
Both warbling of one song—both in one key—
As if our hands, our hearts, voices, and minds
Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition!
And now!—But where's Demetrius?—Still I
Must follow—still reverse the fabled chase—
Apollo flies,—but Daphne holds the race!

[Exit.
Ober.
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 flower there? Welcome, wanderer!

Puck.
Ay, there it is.

Ober.
I pray thee, give it me,
I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;
There sleeps Titania some times 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—for when he awakes,
The first he sees, the first his love partakes.
Go, and remember—Thou shalt know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath on.

Puck.
By his Athenian garments?

Ober.
Ay; and look you meet me ere the first cock crow.

Puck.
Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.

Ober.
Now with all speed to charm Titania.

INVOCATION—Oberon.—[Bishop.]
Spirits, advance! your nightly pastimes leave,
For proud Titania doth her lord deceive.
Spirits, advance! through air and ocean move!
'Tis Oberon calls you, to assert his love.

Enter a Troop of Fairies.
AIR—1st Fairy.—[Bishop.]
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.

QUARTETTO AND CHORUS.—[Dr. Cooke.]
Trip away, trip away!
Make no stay,
Meet we all by break of day.
[Bishop.]
We follow, follow thee,
We Fairy Elves that be!