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No, no, I am as ugly as a Bear;

For Beafts that meet me run away for fear;
Therefore no marvel, tho' Demetrius
Do as a Monster, fly my Prefence thus.
What wicked and diffembling Glafs of mine,
Made me compare with Hermia's fphery Eyn?
But who is here? Lyfander on the Ground:
Dead or afleep? I fee no Blood, no Wound:
Lyfander, if you live, good Sir awake.

Lyf. And run thro' Fire I will for thy sweet fake.
[Waking

Trafparent Helena, Nature here fhews Art,
That through thy Bofom makes me fee thy Heart.
Where is Demetrius? Oh how fit a Word
Is that vile Name, to perifh on my Sword?

Hel. Do not fay fo, Lyfander, fay not fo;
What tho' he love your Hermia? Lord, what tho'?
Yet Hermia ftill loves you; then be content.

Lyf. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent
The tedious Minutes I with her have spent;
Not Hermia, but Helena now I love:

Who will not change a Raven for a Dove?
The Will of Man is by his Reafon fway'd,
And Reason fays you are the worthier Maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their Season;
So I being young, 'till now ripe not to Reafon;
And touching now the Point of human Skill,
Reafon 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 deferve this Scorn?
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young Man,
That I did never, no nor never can

Deferve a fweet Look from Demetrius's Eye,
But you muft flout my Infufficiency?

Good troth you do me wrong, good footh you do,
In fuch difdainful manner me to woo:
But fare you well. Perforce I must confefs,
I thought you Lord of more true Gentleness:

Oh,

Oh, that a Lady of one Man refus'd,

Should of another therefore be abus'd.

And never may'ft thou come Lysander near;

Lyf. She fees not Hermia, Hermia fleep thou there,

For as a Surfeit of the fweeteft Things,
The deepest loathing to a Stomach brings;
Or as the Herefies that Men do leave,
Are hated moft of thofe they did deceive;
So thou, my Surfeit and my Herefie,
Of all be hated, but the most of me;
And all my Powers addrefs, your Love and might,
To honour Helen, and to be her Knight.

Her. Help me, Lyfander, help me, do thy best
To pluck this crawling Serpent from my Breaft
Ay me, for Pity, what a Dream was here?
Lyfander look, how I do quake with Fear;
Me-thought a Serpent eat my Heart away,
And yet fate fmiling at his cruel Prey:
Lyfander, what remov'd? Lyfander, Lord,
What out of hearing, gone? No found, no word?
Alack where are you? Speak, and if
you hear,
Speak of all Loves; I fwound almost with Fear,
No, then I well perceive you are not nigh,
Either Death or you I'll find immediately.

ACT III. SCENE I.

[Exil

[Exit.

Exit.

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snowt and Starveling, The Queen of Fairies lying afleep.

Bot.

·A

RE we all met?

Quin. Pat, pat, and here's a marvellous conveni ent Place for our Rehearfal. This green Plat fhall be our Stage, this Hauthorn brake our tyring Houfe, and we will do it in Action, as we will do it before the Duke,

Bot. Peter Quince.

Quin. What fay'ft thou Bully Bottom?

Bot. There are Things in this Comedy of Piramus and Thisby, that will never please. First, Piramus must draw a

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Sword

Sword to kill himself, which the Ladies cannot abide. How anfwer, you that?

Snout. Berlaken, a parlous Fear.

Star. 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 feem to fay, We will do no harm with our Swords, and that Piramus is not kill'd indeed; and for the more better Affurance, tell them, that I Pyramus am not Pyramus,but Bottom the Weaver; this will put them out of fear.

Quin. Well, we will have fuch a Prologue, and it fhall 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 afeard of the Lion?
Star. I fear it, I promise you.

Bot. Mafters, you ought to confider with your felves; to bring in, God fhield us, a Lion among Ladies, is a moft dreadful Thing; for there is not a more fearful wild Fowl than your Lion living; and we ought to look to it.

Snowt. Therefore another Prologue muft tell he is not a Lion.

Bot. Nay, you must name his Name, and half his Face must be feen through the Lion's Neck, and he himself must fpeak through, faying thus, or to the fame defect; Ladies, or fair Ladies, I would with 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 fuch 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.

Quix. Well, it shall be fo; but there is two hard Things, that is, to bring the Moon-light into a Chamber; for you know Pyramus and Thisby meet by Moon-light.

Snug. Doth the Moon fhine that Night we play our Play? Bot. A Calender, a Calender, look in the Almanack; find our Moon-hine, find out Moon-fhine.

Quin Yes, it doth fhine that Night.

Bot. Why then may you leave a Cafement of the great

Chamber

Chamber Window, where we play, open, and the Moon may

fhine in at the Cafement.

Quin. Ay, or elfe one must come in with a Bufh of Thorns and a Lanthorn, and fay he comes to disfigure, or to prefent the Perfon of Moonshine; then there is another thing, we must have a Wall in the great Chamber, for Pyramus and Thisby, fays the Story, did talk through the Chink of a Wall. Snug. You can never bring in a Wall. What fay you

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Bottom?

Bot. Some Man or other muft prefent Wall, and let him have fome Plafter, or fome Lome, or fome Rough-caft about him, to fignify Wall, or let him hold his Fingers thus; and through the Cranny fhall Pyramus and Thisby whisper.

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, fit down every Mother's Son, and rehearse your Parts. Pyramus you begin; when you have spoken your Speech enter into that Brake, and fo every one according to his Cue.

Enter Puck.

Puck. What hempen Home-fpuns have we fwaggering here So near the Cradle of the Fairy Queen?

What, a Play toward? I'll be an Auditor;

An Actor too perhaps, if I fee Caufe.

Quin. Speak Pyramus; Thisby ftand forth.

Pyr. Thisby, the Flowers of odious Savour's fweet.
Quin. Odours, Odours.

Pyr. Qdours favors fweet,

So that thy Breath, my deareft Thisby dear,

But hark, a Voice; ftay thou but here a while,

And by and by I will to thee appear.

Puck. A ftranger Pyramus than e'er plaid here.
This. Muft I fpeak now?

[Exit Pyr.

Quin. Ay marry muft you; for you must under ftand he goes but to fee a Noife that he heard, and is to come again. Thif. Moft radiant Pyramus, moft lilly white of Hue, Of Colour like the red Rofe on triumphant Bryer, Moft brisky Juvenal, and eke moft lovely Jew, As true as trueft Horfe, 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,

3

once, Cues and all. Pyramus enter, your Cue is paft; it is never tire.

Enter Pyramus.

This. O, as true as trueft Horfe, that yet would never tire. Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine. Quin. O monftrous! O ftrange! We are haunted; pray Matters, fly Masters, help. [The Clowns Exeunt. Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a Round, Through Bog, through Bufh, through Brake, through Bryer; Semetimes a Horfe I'll be, fometimes a Hound,

A Hog, a headlefs Bear, fometime a Fire,

And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and rore and burn,
Like Horfe, Hound, Hog, Bear, Fire, at every turn. [Exit.
Enter Bottom with an Afs Head.

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Bot. Why do they run away? This is a Knavery of them to make me afeard.

Enter Snowt.

Snowt. O Bottom, thou art chang'd; what do I fee on thee?

Bot What do you fee? You fee an Afs-head of your own, do you?

Enter Quince.

Quin. Blefs thee Bottom, bless thee, thou art tranflated,

[Exit.

Bot. I fee their Knavery, this is to make an Afs of me, to fright me if they could; but I will not ftir from this Place, do what they can; I will walk up and down here, and will fing that they hall hear I am not afraid.

The Woofe! Cock, fo black of hue,

With Orenge-tawny Bill,

The Throftle will his Note fo true.

The Wren and little Quill.

Queen. What Angel wakes me from my flowry Bed?

Bot. The Finch, the Sparrow, and the Lark,

The plain-fong Cuckow gray,

Whofe Note full many a Man doth mark,

And dares not answer nay,

[Waking.

For, indeed, who would fet his Wit to fo foolish a Bird? Who would give a Bird the Lye, tho' he cry Cuckow neyer fo?

Queen

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