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You can endure the livery of a nun;
Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
The. Take time to pause: and, by the next new
(The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia;-And, Lysander, I have a widow aunt, a dowager
Thy crazed title to my certain right.
Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love; And what is mine my love shall render him; And she is mine; and all iny right of her I do estate unto Demetrius."
Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he,
And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
Why should not I then prosecute my right?
The. I must confess, that I have heard so much,
[Exeunt Thes. Hip. Ege. Dem. and train. Lys. How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
Lys. Ah me! for aught that ever I could read,
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years;
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs,
Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
she hath no child:
My good Lysander: I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow; By his best arrow with the golden head; By the simplicity of Venus' doves; By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves; And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, When the false Trojan under sail was seen; By all the vows that ever men have broke, In number more than ever women spoke ;In that same place thou hast appointed me, To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.
Lys. Keep promise, love; look, here comes Helena.
Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away? Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet
Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection move!
Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me.
Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. ble comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and
Hel. None, but your beauty; 'would that fault Thisby. were mine!
Her. Take comfort; he no more shall see my
Lysander and myself will fly this place.-
Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
[Exit. SCENE II.-The same. A room in a Cottage. Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, 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 scroll 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. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry.-Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll: Masters, spread your selves.
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 Py
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 condcle in some 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. "The raging rocks, "With shivering shocks, "Shall break the locks
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.
Quin. You must take Thisby on you.
Flu. What is Thisby a wandering knight?
Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will.
Bot. An I may h de 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. Robin Starveling, the tailor.
Star. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.-Tom Snout, the tinker.
Snout. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father;-Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part:and, I hope, here 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 I 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. An 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 that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us: but I will ag
Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and so grow to a point. Quin. Marry, our play is-The most lamenta- gravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you an' 'twere lany nightingale.
(3) As if.
Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus: for Call'd Robin Good-fellow: are you not he, Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man, as That fright the maidens of the villagery; one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely, Skim milk; and sometimes labour in the quern," gentleman-like man; therefore you must needs And bootless make the breathless housewife churn; play Pyramus. And sometime make the drink to bear no barm ; Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm: were I best to play it in? Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, Quin. Why, what you will, You do their work, and they shall have good luck : Bt. I will discharge it in either your straw-Are not you he? coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your Puck. Thou speak'st aright; parpl-n-grain beard, or your French-crown-co-I am that merry wanderer of the night. our beard, your perfect yellow. I jest to Oberon, and make him sinile, Quin. Soine of your French crowns have no hair When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, at all, and then you will play bare-faced.-But, Neighing in likeness of a filly foal: masters, here are your parts: and I am to entreat And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, you, request you, and desire you, to con them by In very likeness of a roasted crab;' to-morrow night: and meet me in the palace wood, And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, a mile without the town, by moon-light; there will And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. we rehearse for if we meet in the city, we shall The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, be dogg'd with company, and our devices known. Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me: In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties,' Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, such as our ay wants. I pray you, fail me not. And tailor cries, and falls into a cough; Bot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe, more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains; And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear be perfect; adieu. A merrier hour was never wasted there.But room, Faery, here comes Oberon.
Fai. And here my mistress:-'Would that he were gone!
Quin. At the duke's oak we meet.
SCENE I-A wood near Athens. Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another.
SCENE II-Enter Oberon, at one door, with his train, and Titania, at another, with hers.
Obe. Il met by moon-light, proud Titania.
Puck. How now, spirit! whither wander you?
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
In those freckles live their savours:
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite,
(1) Articles required in performing a play.
(4) A term of contempt.
Obe. Tarry, rash wanton; Am not I thy lord?
Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering
From Perigenia, whom he ravished?
And make him with fair Eglé break his faith,
Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy: