 Dramatis Personae of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Theseus, Duke of Athens, played by Mark Smith. Aegeus, father to Hermia, read by John Leader Bloomington, Illinois. Lysander, in love with Hermia, read by M.B. Demetrius, in love with Hermia, read by David O'Connell. Philistrate, master of the revels to Theseus, read by Philippa Jevons, London. Quintz, a carpenter, read by Brian Edwards, Queensland, Australia. Snug, read by Elizabeth Clatt. The part of bottom, read by Simon Taylor. Rattus Flute, read by David Nicholl. Sinout, a tinker, read by John Leader Bloomington, Illinois. Starvelling, a tailor, read by Jessica Miller, Australia. Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus, read by Corrie Samuel. Hermia, daughter to Aegeus, in love with Lysander, read by Laurie Ann Walden. Helena, in love with Demetrius, read by Rosalind Wills of Silver Spring, Maryland. The part of Oberon, read by Father Xyle. The part of Titania, read by Deborah Irving. Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, performed by Karen Savage. Pace Blossom, a fairy, read by Larissa Jaworsky, Brisbane, Australia. Cobweb, a fairy, read by Charlene V. Smith. Moth, read by Alana Jordan, United States. Mustard Seed, a fairy, read by Jamie Asher. Stage Direction, read by Paul Williams. End of Dramatas Personae. Act I of A Midsummer Night's Dream. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Midsummer Night's Dream, by William Shakespeare. Act I, Scene I. Athens, the Palace of Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Filistrate, and Attendance. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draws on a pace. Four happy days bring in another moon. But, oh, me thinks, 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. Four days will quickly steep themselves in night. Four nights will quickly dream away the time. And then the moon, like to a silver bow, new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities. Go, Filistrate, stir up the Athenian youth to merrimance. Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth. Turn melancholy forth to funerals. The pale companion is not for our pomp. Exit, Filistrate. Hippolyta, I wooed 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 reveling. Enter Igeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. Happy Theseus, our renowned Duke. Thanks, good Igeus. What's the news with thee? 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 hath bewitched the bosom of my child. Thou, thou Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, and interchanged love-tokens with my child. Thou hast, by moonlight, at her window-song, with thaining voice versus of thaining love, and stolen the impression of her fantasy, with bracelets of thy hair, rings, gods, conceits, gnats, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats, messengers of strong prevailment in unhardened youth. With cunning hast thou filched my daughter's heart, turned her obedience, which is due to me, to stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke, be it so she will not hear 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, immediately provided in that case. What say you, Hermia? Be advised, fair maid, to you your father should be as a god, one that composed your beauties, yea, and one to whom you are but a form and wax by him imprinted, and within his power to leave the figure or disfigure it. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. So is Lysander. In himself he is, but in this kind, wanting your father's voice, the other must be held the worthier. I would, my father, looked but with my eyes. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. God, do entreat your grace to pardon me. I know not by what power I am made bold, nor how it may concern my modesty in such a presence here to plead my thoughts. But I beseech your grace that I may know the worst that may befall me in this case, if I refuse to wed Demetrius. Either to die the death, or to abjure forever the society of men. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires. Know of your youth. Examine well your blood. Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, you can endure the livery of Onan. For I, to be in shady cloister-mude, to live a barren sister all your life, chanting faint hymns to the cold, fruitless moon, thrice-blessed they that master sow their blood, to undergo such maiden pilgrimage. But earthly are happy as the rose distilled, than that which withering on the virgin thorn grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord. ere I will yield my virgin patent up unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke my soul consents not to give sovereignty. Take time to pause, and by the next new moon, the sealing day betwixt my love and thee, for everlasting bond of fellowship, upon that day either prepare to die for disobedience to your father's will, or else to wed Demetrius, as he would, or on Diana's altar to protest for I, austerity, and single life. Relent, sweet Hermia. Lysander, yield thy crazed title to my certain right. You have her father's love, Demetrius. Let me have Hermia's. Do you marry him? Scornful Lysander, true! He hath my love, and what is mine my love shall render him. And she is mine, and all my right of her I do a state unto Demetrius. I am, my lord, as well-derived as he, as well-possessed. My love is more than his, my fortunes every way as fairly ranked, if not with advantage as Demetrius. And which is more than all these boasts can be, I am beloved of beauteous Hermia. Why should not I then prosecute my right? Demetrius, all about to his head, made love to Neeter's daughter Helena, and won her soul, and she, sweet lady, dotes, devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry upon this spotted and inconstant man. I must confess that I have heard so much, and with Demetrius thought to 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, which by no means we may extenuate, to death, or to vow of single life. Come, my Hippolyta, what cheer my love! Demetrius and Egeus, go along. I must employ you in some business against our nuptial, and confer with you of something nearly that concerns yourselves. With duty and desire we follow you. Exuant all but Lysander and Hermia. How now, my love, why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast? The like for want of rain, which I could well beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. I, me, for ought that I could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth, but either it was different in blood. O cross, too high to be enthralled to low. Or else misgraphed in respective years. O spite, too old to be engaged to young. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends. O hell to choose love by another's eyes. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, war, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, making it momentaneous as sound, swift as a shadow, short as any dream. Brief as the lightning in the collied night that in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth, and ere a man hath power to say, Behold, the jaws of darkness do devour it up. So quick bright things come to confusion. If then true lovers have been ever crossed, it stands as an edict in destiny. Then let us teach our trial patience, because it is a customary cross, as due to love is thoughts and dreams and sighs, wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers. A good persuasion! Therefore hear me, Hermia. I have a widow aunt, a dowager of great revenue, and she hath no child. From Athens is her house remote, seven leagues. And she respects me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee. And to that place the sharp Athenian law cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me, then, steal forth thy father's house tomorrow night, and in the wood a league without the town, where I didn't meet thee once with Helena, to do observance to a morn of May, there will I stay for thee. 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 knitted souls and prosperous loves, and by that fire which burned the Carthage Queen when the false Troyan under sail was seen, by all the vows that ever men have broke, and number more than ever women spoke. In that same place thou hast appointed me, tomorrow truly will I meet with thee. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena. Enter Helena. Godspeed, fair Helena, wither away. Call you me fair. That fair again on say, Demetrius loves your fair. Oh, happy fair! Your eyes are lodestars, and your tongue sweet air, more tunable than lark to Shepherd's ear, when wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. Sickness is catching. Oh, werefavor so, yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go. My ears should catch your voice, my eye your eye, my tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. Were the world mine, Demetrius, being baited, the rest I'd give to you to be translated. Oh, teach me how you look, and with what art you sway the motion of Demetrius's heart. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. Oh, that your frowns would teach my smile such skill. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. Oh, that my prayers could such affection move. The more I hate, the more he follows me. The more I love, the more he hateeth me. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. None but your beauty, would that fault were mine. Take comfort, he no more shall see my face. Lysander and myself will fly this place. Before the time I did Lysander see, seemed Athens as a paradise to me. Oh, then what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turned a heaven unto a hell. Helen, to you are minds we will unfold. Tomorrow night, when Phoebe doth behold her silver visage in the watery glass, decking with liquid pearl ablated grass, a time that lovers' flights thus still conceal, through Athens' gates have we devised to steal. And in the wood, who are often you and I, upon faint primrose beds were want to lie, emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, there my Lysander and myself shall meet. And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, to seek new friends and stranger companies. Farewell, sweet playfellow, pray thou for us, and good luck grant thee thy Demetrius. Keep word, Lysander, we must starve our sight from lovers' food till tomorrow deep midnight. I will, my Hermia. Exit Hermia. Helena, adieu, as you on him Demetrius doed on you. Exit. How happy some or other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so. He will not know what all but he do know, and as he heirs doting on Hermia's eyes, so I, admiring of his qualities, things base and vile folding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged cupid, painted blind, nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste, wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste, and therefore is love said to be a child, because in choice he is so oft beguiled, as waggish boys in games themselves foreswear, so the boy love is perjured everywhere. For ere Demetrius looked on Hermia's eye, he hailed down oaths that he was only mine, and when this hailsome heat from Hermia felt so he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt. I will go tell him a 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 expense. But herein mean I to enrich my pain, to have his sight thither and back again. Exit. Scene 2. Athens. Quince's house. Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starvelling. It's all our company here. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrap. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit for Athens to play in our interlude, before the Duke and the Duchess, on his wedding day at night. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on, then read the names of the actors, and so grow to a point. Mary, our play, is the most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pirmus and Thisby. A very good piece of work I assure you, Anna Mary. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves. Answer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the Weaver. Ready. Name what part I am for and proceed. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pirmus. What is Pirmus? A lover or a tyrant? A lover that kills himself, most gallant for love. Oh, that will ask some tears in the trooper farming of it. If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes. I will move storms. I will condole in some measure to the rest. Yet my chief humour is for a tyrant. I could play Hercules rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. The raging rocks and shivering shocks shall break the locks of prison gates. And Phibos' car shall shine from far and make and mar the foolish fates. Oh, this was lofty. Now, name the rest of the players. This is Hercules' vein, a tyrant's vein. A lover is more condoling. Francis Flute, the Bellows Mender. Here, Peter Quince. Flute, you must take Thisby on you. What is Thisby? A wandering knight? It is the lady that Pirmus must love. Oh, nay, face, let me not play a woman. I have a beard coming. That's all one. You shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will. And I may hide my face. Let me play Thisby, too. I'll speak in a monstrous little voice. Thisny. Thisny. Ah, Pirmus, lover there, Thisby there, and lady there. No, no, you must play Pirmus, and Flute, you, Thisby. Wow. Proceed. Robin Starveling, the tailor. Here, Peter Quince. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother. Tom Snout, the tinker. Here, Peter Quince. You, Pirmus' father, and myself, Thisby's father. Snug the joiner, you, the lion's part, and I hope here is the play fitted. Have you the lion's part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. Let me play the lion, too. I will... Thou will do any man's art good to ear me. I will... Rrrrrrrrrrrrr. Thou will make the juke say, Let him roar again, let him roar again. And you should do it too terribly. You would fright the duchess and the ladies that they would shriek, that were enough to hang us all. That would hang us, every mother's son. That would hang us, every mother's son. I grant, you friend, if you should frighten the ladies out of their wares, 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, and to where any nightingale growl. You can play no part but Pirmus, for Pirmus is a sweet-faced man, a proper man as one shall see in a summer's day, a most lovely gentleman-like man, therefore you must need to play Pirmus. Well, I will undertake it. What beard would I best to play it in? Why, what you will. I will just charge it in either your straw-coloured beard, your orange-tarny beard, your purple-ingrained beard, or your French crown-coloured beard. You're a perfect yellow. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play bare-faced. But masters, here are your parts, and I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you to con them by tomorrow 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 dogged with company, and an advice is known. In the meantime, I will draw a bill of properties such as I play once. I pray you, fail me not. We will meet. And there we may rehearse most obscenely and courageously. Take pains. Be perfect. Adieu. At the duke's oak we meet. Enough. Old. Or cup-bow strings. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare. Act II. Scene I. A Wood near Athens. Enter from opposite sides, a fairy and a puck. How now, spirit, with a wonder you? Over hill, over dale, through bush, through briar, over park, over pale, through flood, through fire. I do wonder everywhere, swifter than the monosphere. And I serve the fairy queen to dew her orbs upon the green. The cow slips tall, her pensioners be, in their gold coats spots, you see. Those be rubies, fairy favours. In those freckles live their savers. I must go, seek some dew drops here, and hang a pearl in every cow slip's ear. Farewell, thou lob of spirit, I'll be gone, our queen and all our elves come here and on. The king doth keep his rebels here to-night. Take heed, the queen, come not within his sight, for Oberon is passing fel and wroth, because she, as her attendant, hath a lovely boy stolen from an Indian king. She never had so sweet a changeling, and jealous Oberon would have the child-night of his train to trace the forest's wild. But she, perforce withholds the loved boy, crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy, and now they never meet in grove or green by founting clear or spangled starlight sheen, but they do square that all their elves for fear creep into acorn cups and hide them there. Either I mistake your shape in making quite, or else you are that shrewd and navish sprite called Robin Goodfeller. Are you not he that frightens the maids of the villagerie? Skim milk can sometimes labour in the cairn, and bootless make the breathless housewife churn, and sometimes make the drink to bear no balm, mislead night wanderers laughing at their harm. Those that hobgoblin call you in sweet puck, you do their work, and they shall have good luck. Are not you he? Thou speaks the right. I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile when I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile neighing in likeness of a filly foal, and sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl in very likeness of a roasted crab, and when she drinks against her lips-eyed bob and on her with a doulap pour the ale. The wisest aren't telling the saddest tale, sometimes the three-foot stool mistake of me, then slip I from her bum down-topple she, and tailor cries and falls into a cough, and then the whole choir hold their hips and laugh, waxing in their mirth and knees and swear, and merry hour was never wasted there. But room-fairy, here comes Oberon. And here, my mistress, would that he were gone? Enter from one side Oberon with his train, from the other Titania with hers. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. What jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence. I have foresworn his bed and company. Terry Rashwanton, am not I thy lord? Then I must be thy lady. But I know, when thou hast stolen away from fairy-land, and in the shape of Corinth's sattled ay, playing on pipes of corn and versing love to amorous villada, why art thou here come from the farthest step of India? But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, your buskined mistress and your warrior love, Tuthesius must be wedded, and you come to give their bed joy and prosperity. How can't thou thus for shame, Titania, glance at my credit with Hippolyta, knowing I know thy love to Tuthesius? Dits thou not lead him through the glimmering night from Perigenia, whom he ravished, and make him with fair eagle, break his faith with Iriadne and Antioopa? These are the forgeries of jealousy, and never, since the middle summer spring, met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, by pavid fountain, or by rushy brook, or in the beached margin of the sea, to dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, but with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport. Therefore the winds piping to us in vain, as in revenge, have sucked up from the sea contagious fogs, which falling in the land have every pelting river made so proud, that they have over-born their continents. The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain, the plowman lost his sweat, and the green corn hath rotted ere his youth attained a beard. The fold stands empty in the drowned field, the crows are fatted with the murrian flock, the nine men's morris is filled up with mud, and the quaint mazes in the wanton green for lack of tread are undistinguishable. The human mortals want their winter here. No knight is now with him or carol blessed. Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, pale in her anger, washes all the air, that rheumatic diseases do abound. And thorough this distemperature we see, the season's altar, hoary-headed frosts, far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, and on old hyam's thin and icy crown, an odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds, is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, the childing autumn, angry winter, change their wanted liveries, and the mazed world, by their increase, now knows not which is which. And this same progeny of evils comes from our debate, from our dissension. We are their parents and original. 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. Set your heart at rest. Maryland buys not the child of me. His mother was a voteress of my order, and, in the spiced indian air by night, full often hath she gossiped by my side, and sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, marking the embarked traders on the flood, when we have laughed to see the sails conceive and grow big-bellied with the wanton wind, which she, with pretty and with swimming-gate following, her womb then rich with my young squire, would imitate and sail upon the land to fetch me trifles and return again as from a voyage rich with merchandise. But she, being mortal, of that boy did die, and for her sake do I rear up her boy, and for her sake I will not part with him. How long within this wood intend you stay? Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. If you will patiently dance in our round and see our moonlight revels, go with us. If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. Not for thy fairy kingdom, fair is a way, we shall chide downright if I longer stay. Exit Titania with her train. Well go thy way, thou shalt not from this grove till I torment thee for this injury. My gentle puck, come hither! Thou rememberest since once I sat upon a promontory and heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath that the rude sea grew civil at her song, and certain stars shot madly from their spheres to hear the sea-maid's music. I remember. That very time I saw, but thou quits not, flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all armed. A certain aim he took at a fair vestal throne by the west, and loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, as it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon, and the imperial voterous pass on in maiden meditation fancy free. Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell. It fell upon a little western flower, before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, and maidens call it love-in-idleness. Fetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once. The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid will make or man or woman madly dot upon the next-live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again ere the Leviathan can swim a league. I'll put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes. Exit. Having once this juice, I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, and drop the liquor of it in her eyes. The next thing then she waking looks upon, be it on lion, bear or wolf or bull, on meddling monkey or on busy ape, pursue it with the soul of love. And ere I take this charm from off 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 overhear their conference. Enter Demetrius, Helena, following him. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander in fair Hermia? I'll slay, and the other slayeth me. Thou toldest me they were stolen unto this wood, and here am I, and wode within this wood, because I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant, but yet you draw not iron, for my heart is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, and I shall have no power to follow you. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair? Or rather, do I not, in plainest truth, tell you I do not, nor I cannot love you? And even for that do I love you the more. I am your spaniel, and Demetrius, the more you beat me, I will fawn on you. Use me, but as your spaniel. Spurn me, strike me, neglect me, lose me, only give me leave unworthy as I am to follow you. What worser place can I beg in your love, and yet a place of high respect with me than to be used as you use your dog? Tent not too much the hatred of my spirit, for I am sick when I do look on thee. And I am sick when I look not on you. You do impeach your modesty too much. To leave the city and commit yourself into the hands of one that loves you not? To trust the opportunity of night in the ill council of a desert place with the rich worth of your virginity? Your virtue is my privilege, for that it is not night when I do see your face. Therefore I think I am not in the night, nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, for you in my respect are all the world. Then how can it be said I am alone when all the world is here to look on me? I'll run from thee and hide me in the breaks, and leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed. Apollo flies and Daphne holds the chase. The dove pursues the griffon. The mild hind makes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed when cowardice pursues and valor flies. I will not say thy questions. Let me go, or if thou follow me, do not believe, but I shall do thee mischief in the wood. I, in the temple, in the town, the field you do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius, your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex. We cannot fight for love as men may do. We should be wooed and were not made to woo. Exit Demetrius. I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell to die upon the hand I love so well. Exit. Fare thee well, nymph, ere he do leave this grove. Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. Re-enter Puck. Has thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer! Aye, there it is. I pray thee, give it me. I know a bank where the wild time blows, where oxlips and the knotting violet grows, quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk roses and with elegantine. There sleeps Titania some time of the night, lulled in these flowers with dances and delight, and there the snake throws her enameled skin weed-wide enough to wrap a fairy in. 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 aspires may be the lady. Thou shalt know the man by the Athenian garments he hath on. Effect it with some care that he may prove more fond of her than she upon her love. And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so. Exeunt. Scene two. Another part of the wood. Enter Titania with her train. Come! Now a roundlin' of fairy-song. Then, for the third part of a minute, hence, some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds, some more with rare mice for their leaven wings to make my small elf's coats, and some keep back the clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders at our quaint spirits. Sing me now a sleep, then to your offices, and let me rest. You spotted snakes with double tongues, Thorny hedgehogs be not seen. Moots and blind worms do know our fairy queen. Fear the male with melody. Sing me now a sweet lullaby. Never harm a cell or charm. Come, lullaby. So goodnight with lullaby. Inside us, oh my dear, there's two long legs in the sense. Beaches like a brooch out here. What will they do? Feel the male with melody. Sing me now a sweet lullaby. Hence away, now all is well, one aloof stands sentinel. Exiant fairies. Titania sleeps. Enter Oberon and squeezes the flower on Titania's eyelids. What thou seest when thou dost wake? Do it for thy true love-take, love and languish for his sake, be it ounce or cat or bear, part or bore with bristled hair in thy eye that shall appear, when thou wakeest it is thy deer. Wake when some vile thing is near. Exit. Enter Lysander and Hermia. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood, and to speak truth I have forgot her way. We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, and terry for the comfort of the day. Be it so, Lysander, find you out of bed, for eye upon this bank will rest my head. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both, one heart, one bed, two bosoms and one truth. Nay, good Lysander, for my sake, my dear, lie further off yet. Do not lie so near. O, take the sense, sweet of my innocence. Love takes the meaning in love's conference. I mean that my heart unto yours is knit, so that but one heart we can make of it. Two bosoms interchained with an oath, so then two bosoms and a single truth. Then by your side no bedroom me deny, for lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. Lysander riddles very prettily. Now much be shrew my manners and my pride, if Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. But gentle friend, for love and courtesy, lie further off. In human modesty such separation as may well be said becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid. So far be distant, and good night, sweet friend. Thy love ne'er alter, till by sweet life end. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer say I, and then end life when I end loyalty. Here is my bed. Sleep give thee all his rest. With half that wish the wishers' eyes be pressed. They sleep, and her puck. Through the forest have I gone, but Athenian found I none on whose eyes might approve this flower's force in stirring love. Night and silence. Who is here? Weeds of Athens, he doth wear. This is he my master said despised the Athenian maid, and here the maiden sleeping sound on the dank and dirty ground. Pretty soul, she dost not lie near this lack love, this kill-courtesy. Churl upon thy eyes I throw all the power this charm doth owe. And now wakest let love forbid sleep his seat on thy eyelid. So awake when I am gone, for I must now to Oberon. Exit. Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. Oh, wilt thou darkling leave me, do not so. Stay on thy peril, I alone will go. Exit. Oh, I am out of breath in this fond chase. The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is Hermia, where so rare she lies, for she hath blessed and attractive eyes. How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears, if so my eyes are often awash than hers. No, no, I am as ugly as a bear, for beasts that meet me run away for fear. Therefore no marvel, though Demetrius do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. What wicked and dissembling glass of mine made me compare with Hermia's spherey eye. But who is here? Lysander on the ground. Dead or asleep, I see no blood, no wound. Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. And run through fire, I will, for thy sweet sake. Transparent Helena, nature shows art that through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius? Oh, how fit a word is that vile name to perish on my sword. Do not say so, Lysander, say not so. What, though he love your Hermia, lord, what though? Yet Hermia still loves you, then be content. Content with Hermia? No, I do repent the tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia, but Helena I love. Who will not change a raven for a dove? The will of man is by his reason, suede, and reason says you are the worthier maid. Things growing are not ripe until their season, so I, being young till now, ripe not to reason, and touching now the point of human skill, reason becomes the marshal to my will and leads me to your eyes. Where I, or, look, love stories written in Love's richest book. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? It's not enough, it's not enough, young man, that I did never, no, nor never can, deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye. But you must flout my insufficiency. Good truth you do me wrong, good soothe you do. In such a disdainful manner me to woo. Fare you well, preforce, I must confess, I thought you, lord, of more true gentleness. Oh, that a lady of one man refuse, should of another therefore be abused. Exit. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there, and never mayest thou come lie Sander near, for as a surfeit of the sweetest things the deepest loathing to the stomach brings, or as tie heresies that men do leave and most of those they did deceive, so thou my surfeit and my heresy of all be hated, but the most of me. And all my powers address your love and might to honour Helen and to be her knight. Exit. Help me, Lysander, help me, do thy best to plot this crawling serpent from my breast. I'm me for pity what a dream was here. Lysander, look how I did quake with fear. Me thought a serpent eat my heart away, and you sat smiling at his cruel prey. Lysander. What, removed? Lysander, lord! What, out of hearing? Gone? No sound? No word? Alak, where are you? Speak, and if you hear, speak of all loves. Almost with fear. No? Then I well perceive you are not nigh, either death or you, I'll find immediately. Exit. End of Act Two of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act Three of A Midsummer Night's Dream. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare. Act Three. Scene One. The Wood. Titania lying asleep. Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Are we all Matt? Pat, Pat. And here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage. This hall-thorn break our tiring house, and we will do it in action as we will do it before the Duke. Peter Quince. What sayest thou, bully Bottom? There are things in this comedy of Pirmas and Thisby that we'll never please. First, Pirmas must draw a sword to kill himself, which the ladies cannot abide. I won't see you that. Bayer Lakin. A Parless Fear. I believe we must leave the killing out when all is done. Not a whit. I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pirmas is not killed indeed, and, for the more better assurance, tell them that I, Pirmas, am not Pirmas, but Bottom the Weaver. This will put them out of fear. Well, we will have such a prologue, and it shall be written in eight and six. No, make it two more. Let it be written in eight and eight. Will not the ladies be a fear of the lion? I fear it, I promise you. Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves to bring in God shield us. A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing, for there is not a more fearful wildfowl than your lion living, and we ought to look to it. Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck, and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or the same defect, ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish you, or I would request you, or I would entreat 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 such 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. Well, it shall be so, but there is two hard things. That is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber, for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight. Doth the moon shine that night we play our play? A calendar, a calendar, look in the almanac, find out moonshine, find out moonshine. Yes, it doth shine that night. Why, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber window where we play? Open, and the moon may shine in at the casement. I, or else one, must come in with a bush of thorns and a land-horn, and say he comes to disfigure or to present the person of moonshine. Then there is another thing. We must have a wall in the great chamber, for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did talk through the chink of a wall. You can never bring in a wall? What say you, Barton? Some man or other must present wall, and let him have some plaster or some loam or some roughcast about him to signify wall, and let him hold his fingers thus. And through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper. If that may be, then all is well. Come sit down every mother's son and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin. When you have spoken your speech, enter into that break and so every one according to his cue. Enter Puck, behind. What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here so near the cradle of the fairy queen? What a play toward. I'll be an auditor, an actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth. Thisby, the flowers of odious savers sweet. Odors, odors. Odors, savers sweet. So hath by breath my dearest Thisby dare. But hark, a voice. Stay thou but here awhile and by and by I wilt of thee appear. Exit. A stranger Pyramus an air-played here. Exit. Must I speak now? I, Mary, must you, for you must understand he goes but to see a noise that he heard and is to come again. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, of colour like the red rose on tram for briar, most brisky juvenile and eag, most lovely dew, as true as true as horse and never yet would tire, I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb. Ninny's tomb, man. Why, you must not speak that yet. Let your answers to Pyramus. You speak all your parts at once, cues and all. Pyramus, enter. The cue is passed. It is never tire. Oh! As true as true is horse that yet would never tire. Re-enter puck and bottom with an ass's head. If I were fair, this be. I were only thine. Oh, monstrous, oh, strange. We are haunted. Pray, masters, fly, masters, help. Exit. Quince. Snug. Snout and Starveling. I'll follow you. I'll lead you about a round through bog, through bush, through break, through briar, some time a horse I'll be, some time a hound, a hog, a headless bear, some time a fire, and nay and bark and grunt and roar and burn, like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire at every turn. Exit. Why do they run away? This is a navery of them that make me a feared. Re-enter snout. Oh, bottom! Thou art changed. What do I see on thee? What do you see? You see an ass head of your own, do you? Exit. Snout. Re-enter Quince. Bless thee, bottom. Bless thee. Thou art translated. Exit. I see their navery. This is to make an ass of me, to fright me if they could. But I will not stir from this place. Do what they can. I will walk up and down here, and I will sink, that they shall err. I am not afraid. Cough. Cough. The howls'll cock so black a few, with our inch-tarny bell, the thros'll with his nose so true, the ran with little co-well. Cough. What angel wakes me from my flowery bed? The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, the plainsong cuckoo-grey, whose note full many a man doth mark, and dares not answer, for indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird, who would give a bird the lie, though he cry, cuckoo, never sow. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. My ne'er is much enamoured of thy note. So is mine I, and thrall it to thy shape. And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me on the first view to say, to swear I love thee. He thinks, mistress, you shall have little reason for that. And yet, to say the truth, reason and love, keep little company together in our days. The more of the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them friends, nay, I can gleek up on occasion. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. Not so neither. But if I had wet enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. Out of this wood do not desire to go. Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or know. I am a spirit of no common rate. The summer still doth tend upon my state, and I do love thee. Therefore go with me. I'll give thee fairries to attend on thee, and they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, and sing while thou on pressing flowers dost sleep. And I will purge thy mortal grossness so that thou shalt like an airy spirit go. Peace blossom, cobweb, moth and mustard seed. Enter peace blossom, cobweb, moth and mustard seed. Ready. And I. And I. And I. And I. Where shall we go? Be kind and courteous to this gentleman. Hop in his walks and gamble in his eyes. Feed him with apricots and jubres, with purple grapes, green figs and mulberries. The honey-bag steal from the humble bees, and for night tapers crop their wax and thighs and light them at the fiery glowworm's eyes to have my love to bed and to arise, and pluck the wings from painted butterflies to fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes, nod to him elves and do him courtesies. Hail, mortal! Hail! Hail! Hail! I cry your worship's mercy hurrayly. I beseech your worship's name. Cobweb. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good master cobweb. If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. Your name, honest gentleman? Peace blossom. I pray you. Commend me to mistress squash your mother and a master priest guard your father. Good master peace blossom. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, too. Your name, I beseech you, sir. Mustard seed. Good master mustard seed. I know your patience well. That same cowardly giant-like arch-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I promise you your kindred had made my eyes water rare now. I desire you of more acquaintance, good master mustard seed. Come, wait upon him. Lead him to my bower. The moon, me thinks, looks with a watery eye, and when she weeps, weeps every little flower, lamenting some enforced chastity. Tie up my love's tongue. Bring him silently. Exeunt. Scene two. Another part of the wood. Enter Oberon. I wonder if Titania be awaked. Then, what it was that next came in her eye, which she must dot on in extremity. Enter Puck. Here's my messenger. How now, mad spirit, what night-rule now about this haunted grove? My mistress with a monster is in love. Near to her close and consecrated bower, while she was in her dull and sleeping hour, a crew of patches, rude mechanicals, that work for bread upon Athenian stalls, were met together to rehearse a play intended for the great Theseus's nuptial day. The shallowest thick skin of that barren sword, who Pyramus presented, and entered in a break. When I did him at this advantage take, an ass's knoll I fixed on his head. Anon his thisby must be answered, and forth my mimic comes. When they him spy as wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, or russid-pated troughs, many in sort, rising and coring at the gun's report, sever themselves and madly sweep the sky, so at his sight away his fellows fly, and at our stamp here o'er and o'er one falls, he murder cries and help from Athen's calls. Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong, made senseless things begin to do them wrong, for briars and thorns at their apparel snatch, some sleeves, some hats, from yield as all things catch. I led them on in this distracted fear, and left sweet Pyramus translated there. When in that moment, so it came to pass, Titania waked, and straight away loved an ass. This falls out better than I could devise, but hast thou yet latched the Athenian's eyes with the love-juice as I did bid they do? I took him sleeping, that is finished too, and the Athenian woman by his side, that when he waked of force she must be eyed. Enter Hermia and Demetrius. Stand close, this is the same Athenian. This is the woman, but not this the man. Oh, why rebuke you him that loves you so? Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse, for thou I fear hast given me cause to curse. If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep and kill me too. The sun was not so true unto the day as he to me. Would he have stolen away from sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon this whole earth may be bored, and that the moon may through the center creep, and so displease her brother's noontide with antipodes. It cannot be but thou hast murdered him. So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. So should the murdered look, and so should I. Pierce through the heart with your stern cruelty. Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear as yonder venus in her glimmering sphere. What's this to my Lysander? Where is he? Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? I had rather give his carcass to my hounds. Out, dog! Out, cur! Out, drivest me past the bounds of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then? Henceforth be never numbered among men. Oh, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake. Dursed thou have looked upon him, being awake, and hast thou killed him sleeping? Oh, brave touch! Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? An adder did it, for with a doubler tongue, then thine thou serpent never adder stung. You spend your passion on a mis-prized mood. I am not guilty of Lysander's blood, nor is he dead for ought that I can tell. I pray thee, tell me then, that he is well. And if I could, what should I get therefor? A privilege never to see me more, and from thy hated presence part I so. See me no more, whether he be dead or no. Exit. There is no following her in this fierce vein. Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow, for debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe. Which now in some slight measure it will pay, if for his tender here I make some stay. Lies down and sleeps. What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite and laid the love-juice on some true love's sight. A thy mis-prison must perforce ensue some true love turned, and not a false turn true. Then fate or rules that one man holding trove a million fail confounding oath on oath. About the wood go swifter than the wind, and Helena of Athens look thou find, all fancy sick she is, and pale of cheer, with sighs of love that cost the fresh blood dear. By some illusions see thou bring her here, I'll charm his eyes against she do appear. I go, I go, look how I go, swifter than arrow from the tortoise bow. Exit. Flower of this purple dye, hit with cupid's archery, sink in apple of his eye. When his love he doth aspire, let her shine as gloriously as the Venus of the sky, when thou wakest, if she be by, beg of her for remedy. Re-enter Puck. Captain of our ferry-band, Helena is here at hand, and the youth mistook by me, pleading for a lover's fee. Shall we there fond pageancy? Lord, what fools these mortals be! Stand aside. The noise they make will cause Demetrius to awake. Then will two at once woo one, that must need be sport alone, and those things do best please me that befall preposterously. Enter Lysander and Helena. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears? Look, when I vow I weep, and vows so borne in their nativity all truth appears. How could these things in me seem scorn to you, bearing the badge of faith to prove them true? You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, oh devilish holy fray, these vows are hermias. Will you give her ore? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh. Your vows to her and me put in two scales will even weigh, and both as light as tails. I had no judgment when to her I swore. Nor none in my mind now you give her ore. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. Oh, Helena. Goddess, nymph, perfect divine. To what my love shall I compare thine eye? Crystal is muddy. Oh, how ripe in show thy lips those kissing cherries tempting grow, that pure congealed white high tar snow fanned with the eastern wind turns to a crow and thou holds up thy hand. Oh, let me kiss this princess of pure white, this seal of bliss. Oh, spite, oh, hell, I see you all are bent to set against me for your merriment. If you were civil in new courtesy, you would not do me this much injury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, but you must join in souls to mock me too? If you were men as men you are in show, you would not use a gentle lady so. To vowel and swear and super praise my parts when I am sure you hate me with your hearts. You both are rivals and love Hermia, and now both rivals to mock Helena, a trim exploit, a manly enterprise to conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes with your derision. None of noble sort would so offend a virgin and extort a poor soul's patience all to make you sport. You are unkind, Demetrius. Be not so, for you love Hermia. This you know I, though. And here, with all good will, with all my heart in Hermia's love, I yield you up my part, and yours of Helena to me bequeath whom I do love and will do till my death. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. Lysander, keep thy Hermia. I will none. If ere I loved her all that love is gone. My heart to her but as guestwise sojourned. And now to Helen is it home returned. There to remain. Helen, it is not so. Despair is not the faith thou dost not know. Lest to thy peril thou abideth dear. Look where thy love comes. Yonder is thy dear. Reenter Hermia. Dark night that from the eye his function takes, the ear more quick of apprehension makes. Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, it pays the hearing double recompense. Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found. Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. But why, unkindly, didst thou leave me so? Why should he stay whom love doth press to go? What love could press Lysander from my side? Lysander's love that would not let him bide, fair Helena, who more engilds the night than all you fiery o's and eyes of light. Why seeks thou me? Could not this make thee know, the hate I bear thee made me leave thee so? You speak not as you think. It cannot be. Lo, she is one of this confederacy. Now I perceive they have conjoined all three to fashion this false sport in spite of me. Injurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid, have you conspired? Have you with these contrived to bait me with this foul derision? Is all the counsel that we too have shared the sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent when we have chid the hasty footed time for parting us? All, is it all forgot? All school day's friendship, childhood innocence. We, Hermia, like two artificial gods have with our needles created 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 sides, voices, and minds had been incorporate. So we grow together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet a union in partition. Two lovely berries molded on one stem, so with two seeming bodies but one heart. Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, do but to one and crown it with one crest. And will you rent our ancient love asunder to join with men in scorning your poor friend? It is not friendly, it is not maidenly. Our sex as well as I may chide you for it, though I alone do feel the injury. I am amazed at your passionate words. I scorn you not. It seems that you scorn me. Have you not set Lysander as in scorn to follow me and praise my eyes and face, and made your other love Demetrius, who even but now did spurn me with his foot, to call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare, precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this to her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander deny your love so rich within his soul and tender me for sooth, affection? But by your setting on, but by your consent? What, though I be not so in grace as you, so hung upon with love so fortunate, but miserable most to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise. I understand not what you mean by this. I do persevere, counterfeit, sad looks, make mouths upon me when I turn my back, wink at each other, hold the sweet jest up. This sport well carried shall be chronicled. If you have any pity, grace or manners you would not make me such an argument. But fare you well, it is partly my own fault, which death or absence soon shall remedy. Stay, gentle Helena, hear my excuse, my love, my life, my soul, fare Helena. Oh, excellent! Sweet, do not scorn her so. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat. Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers. Helen, I love thee. By my life I do. I swear by that which I will lose for thee to prove him false that says I love thee not. I say I love thee more than he can do. If thou say so withdraw and prove it too. Quick, come. Lysander, where to tens all this? Away, you ifeope. No, no, he'll seem to break loose. Take on as you would follow. But yet come not. You are a tame man. Go. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr. While thing let loose, or I will shake thee from me like a serpent. Why are you grown so rude? What changes this? Sweet love? Thy love? Out, tawny totter, out. Out, loathed medicine, hated potion, hence. Do you not jest? Yes, sooth, and so do you. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. I would I had your bond, for I perceive a weak bond holds you. I'll not trust your word. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead? Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. What, can you do me greater harm than hate? Hate me? Wherefore? O me, what news my love? Am I not Hermia, or not you Lysander? I am as fair now as I was erewhile. Since night you loved me, yet since night you left me. Why, then you left me? O the gods forbid, in earnest shall I say. I buy my life, and never did desire to see thee more. Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt. Be certain nothing truer, tis no jest, that I do hate thee and love Helena. O me, you juggler, you cankerblossom, you thief of love. What, have you come by night and stolen my love's heart from him? Fine, if faith, have you no modesty, no maiden's shame, no touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear impatient answers from my gentle tongue? Fie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you! Puppet? Why so? Aye, that way goes the game. I perceive that she hath made compare between our statures. She hath urged her height, and with her personage, her tall personage, her height, foresooth, she hath prevailed with him. Are you grown so high in his esteem, because I am so dwarfish and so low? How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak, how low am I? I am not yet so low, but that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, let her not hurt me. I was never cursed, I have no gift at all in shruishness. I am a right maid for my cowardice, let her not strike me. You perhaps may think, because she is something lower than myself, that I can match her. Lower, hark, again. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. I evermore did love you, Hermia. Did ever keep your counsels never wronged you, save that in love unto Demetrius I told him of your stealth unto this wood. He followed you, for love I followed him, but he hath chid me hence, and threatened me to strike me. Spurned me, nay, to kill me, too, and now, so you will let me quiet go, to Athens will I bear my folly back, and follow you no further. Let me go, you see how simple and how fond I am. Why, get you gone, who is it that hinders you? A foolish heart that I leave here behind. What, with Lysander? With Demetrius. Be not afraid, she shall not harm thee, Helena. No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part. Oh, when she is angry, she is keen and shrewd. She was a vixen when she went to school, and though she be but little, she is fierce. Little again, nothing but low and little. Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? Let me come to her. Get you gone, you dwarf, you minimus of hindering not-grass-made. You bead, you acorn. You are too officious in her behalf that scorns your services. Let her alone. Speak not of Helena. Take not her part. For if thou dost intend never so little show of love to her, thou shalt abide. Now she holds me not. Now follow if thou daresst to try whose right of thine or mine is most in Helena. Follow. Nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by Joel. Exiant Lysander and Demetrius. You, mistress, all this coil is long of you. Nay, go not back. I will not trust you, I, nor longer stay in your cursed company. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray. My legs are longer, though, to run away. Exit. I am amazed, and know not what to say. Exit. This is thy negligence. Still thou mistakeest, or else commitest thy neighbouries willfully. Believe me, King of Shadows, I mistook. Did not you tell me I should know the man by the Athenian garment he had on? And so far blameless proved my enterprise that I have nointed in Athenian's eyes. And so far am I glad it so did sort, as this their jangling I esteem as sport. Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight? Hy thee, therefore, Robin? Or cast the night? Harry Welkin cover thou anon with drooping fog as black as acoron, and lead these testy rivals so astray, as one come not within another's way. Like to Lysander, sometime frame thy tongue, then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong. And sometime rail thou like Demetrius, and from each other look thou lead them thus, till o'er their brows death counter-fitting sleep, with leaden legs and baddy wings doth creep. Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye, whose liquor hath this virtuous property, to take from thence all error with his might, and make his eyeballs roll with wanted sight. When they next wake, all this derision shall seem a dream and fruitless vision. And back to Athen shall the lovers wend, with league whose date till death shall never end. While's I in this affair, to thee employ, I'll to my queen and beg her Indian boy. And then I will, her charming eye release, from monster's view, and all things shall be peace. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, for night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, and Yonder shines aurora's harbinger, at whose approach ghosts wandering here and there, troop home to churchyards, damned spirits all that in crossways and floods have burial, all ready to their wormy beds are gone, for fearless day should look their shames upon. They willfully themselves exile from light, and must for I consort with black-browed night. But we are spirits of another sort. I with the morning's love have off-made sport, and like a forester the groves may tread, even till the eastern gate, all fiery red, opening a Neptune with fair-blessed beams, turns into yellow-gold his salt-green streams. But notwithstanding haste, make no delay, we may effect this business yet ere day. Exit. Up and down, up and down, I will lead them up and down. I am feared and filled in town, goblin lead them up and down. Here comes one. Re-enter Lysander. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now. Here, villain, drawn and ready, where art thou? I will be with thee straight. Follow me, then, to plainer ground. Exit Lysander as following the voice. Re-enter Demetrius. Lysander, speak again. Thou run away, thou coward art thou fled? Speak. In some bush, where dost thou hide thy head? Thou, coward, art thou bragging to the stars, telling the bushes that thou looks for wars? And wilt not come? Come, re-creant, come thou child, I'll whip thee with a rod. He is defiled that draws a sword on thee. Yay, art thou there? Follow my voice. We'll try no manhood here. Exit. Re-enter Lysander. He goes before me and still dares me on. When I come where he calls, then he's gone. The villain is much lighter healed than I. I followed fast, but faster did he fly. That fallen am I in dark uneven way, and here will rest me. Lysander. Come, thou gentle day, forth but once thou show me thy gray light. I'll find Demetrius and revenge this swight. Sleeps. Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. Oh, coward, why comes thou not? Abide me if thou darest, for well I woth. Thou runnest before me, shifting every place, and darest not stand nor look me in the face. Where art thou now? Come hither, I am here. Nay, then, thou mockest me. Thou shalt buy this deer, if ever I thine face by daylight see. Thou go thine way. The faintness constraineth me to measure out my length on this cold bed. My day's approach look to be visited. Lysander and Sleeps. Re-enter Helena. Oh weary night, oh long and tedious night, abate thy hour. Shine comforts from the east that I may back to Athens by daylight, the seas that my poor company detest, and sleep that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, steal me away from mine own company. Lysander and Sleeps. Yet but three, come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Here she comes, cursed and sad. Cupid is a navish lad, thus to make poor females mad. Re-enter Hermia. Never so weary, never so in woe, but dabbled with the dew and torn with briars. I can no further crawl, no further go. My legs can keep no pace with my desires. Here will I rest me till the break of day. Heaven's shield, Lysander, if they mean a fray. Lysander and Sleeps. On the ground sleep sound. I'll apply to your eye gentle lover remedy. Squeezing the juice on Lysander's eyes. When thou wakest, thou takes true delight in the sight of thy former lady's eye, and the country proverb known that every man should take his own, in your waking shall be shown. Jack shall have Jill, naught shall go ill. The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well. Exit. Scene one. The same. Lysander, Demetrius, Helena, and Hermia lying asleep. Enter Titania, and Bottom, Peasblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustard Seed, and other fairies attending. Oberon behind unseen. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, while I thy amiable cheeks do coy, and stick musk roses in thy sleek smooth head, and kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. Where's Peasblossom? Ready. Scratch my head, Peasblossom. Where's Moonshure Cobweb? Ready. Moonshure Cobweb. Good Moonshure. Get you your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-ipped humble bee, on the top of a thistle, and good Moonshure. Bring me the honey-bag. Do not fright yourself too much in the action, Moonshure, and good Moonshure. Have a care of the honey-bag right now. I would be loath to have you overflown with the honey-bag, Signure. Where's Moonshure and Mustard Seed? Ready. Give me your neef, Moonshure and Mustard Seed. Pray you, leave your cursey, Good Moonshure. What's your will? Nothing, Good Moonshure. But, well, cavalry Cobweb to scratch. I must of the barbers, Moonshure. For me things are a marvellous airy about the face, and I'm such a tender-ass, if my air do but tickle me, I must scratch. What? Wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love? I have a reasonable good air in music. Let's have the tongues and the bones. Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat? Truly, a peck of pravinder. I could, Moonshure, good dry oats. Me thinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay. Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek the squirrel's horde and fetch the new nuts. I'd rather have a hand full of two of droid peas. But I pray you, let none of your people stir me. I will have an exposition of sleep come upon me. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. There is, be gone, and be always away. Exiant fairies. So doth the wood-bine, the sweet honey-suckle gently entwist. The female ivy so en-rings the barky fingers of the elm. Oh, how I love thee, how I dot on thee! They sleep. Enter Puck. Welcome, good robin. Advancing. Seeest thou this sweet sight? Her dotage now I do begin to pity, for meeting her of late behind the wood, seeking sweet favors from this hateful fool, I did up-brade her and fall out with her, for she, his hairy temples then, had rounded with a coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers. And that same dew, which some time on the buds was want to swell like round and orient pearls, stood now within the pretty flowered's eyes, like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. When I had at my pleasure taunted her, and she in mild terms begged my patience, I then did ask of her, her changeling child, which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent to bear him to my bower in fairy-land. And now I have the boy. I will undo this hateful imperfection of her eyes. And, gentle puck, take this transformant scalp from off the head of this Athenian swan, that he awaking when the other dew may all to Athens back again repair, and think no more of this night's accidents, but as the fierce vexation of a dream. But first I will release the fairy queen. Be as thou must want to be, see as thou must want to see, Diane's bud or cupid's flower, hath such force and blessed power. Now my Titania wake you, my sweet queen. My Oberon, what visions have I seen? Me thought I was enamored of an ass. There lies your love. How came these things to pass? Oh, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now! Silence a while. Robin, take off this head. Titania music call, and strike more dead than common sleep of all these five descents. Music ho! Music such as charmeth sleep. Music still. Now when thou wakest with thine own fool's eyes, peep. Sound music! Come, my queen, take hands with me, and rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. Now thou and I are new and amity, and will to-morrow midnight solemnly dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly, and bless it to all fair prosperity. There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be wedded with Theseus all in jollity. Fairy king, attend and mark. I do hear the morning lark. Then, my queen, in silence sad, trip we after the nightshade. We the globe can compass soon swifter than the wandering moon. Come, my lord, and in our flight tell me how it came this night that I sleeping here was found with these mortals on the ground. Exiant, horns winded within. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Aegeus, and Trane. Go, one of you, find out the Forester, for now our observation is performed, and since we have the Varward of the day, my love shall hear the music of my hounds-ung couple in the western valley. Let them go. Dispatch, I say, and find the Forester. Exit and attendant. We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, and mark the musical confusion of hounds and echo in conjunction. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, when in a wood of creed they bade the bear, with hounds of sparta. Never did I hear such gallant chiding. For besides the groves, the skies, the fountains, every region near seemed all one mutual cry. I never heard so musical a discord, such sweet thunder. My hounds are bred out of the spartan kind, so fluid, so sanded, and their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew. Grook need, and dew lapped like the salient bulls, slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth like bells, each under each. A cry more tunable was never hollered to, nor cheered with horn in creed, in sparta, nor in Thessaly. Judge what you hear. But soft, what nymphs are these? My lord, this is my daughter here asleep, and this, Lysander, this Demetrius is, this Helena, old Nidar's Helena. I wonder of their being here together. No doubt they rose up early to observe the right of May, and hearing our intent came hearing grace our solemnity. But speak, Aegeus, is not this the day that Hermia should give answer of her choice? It is, my lord. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. Horns and shout within. Lysander, Demetrius, Helena, and Hermia, wake and start up. Good-morrow, friends. St. Valentine is past. Begin these wood-birds but a couple now. Pardon, my lord. I pray you all, stand up. I know you two are rival enemies. How comes this gentle concord in the world that hatred is so far from jealousy to sleep by hate and fear no enmity? My lord, I shall reply amazedly, half-sleep, half-waking, but as yet I swear I cannot truly say how I came here. But as I think, for truly would I speak, and now do I bethink me so it is, I came with Hermia hither. Our intent was to be gone from Athens where we might without the peril of the Athenian law. Enough, enough, my lord, you have enough. I beg the law, the law upon his head. They would have stolen away. They would, Demetrius, thereby to have defeated you and me. You of your wife and me of my consent, of my consent that she should be your wife. My lord, Fair Helen told me of their stealth, of this their purpose hither to this wood, and I in fury hither followed them, Fair Helen un-fancy following me. But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, but by some power it is. My love to Hermia melted as the snow, seems to me now as the remembrance of an idle god which in my childhood I did dot upon. And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, the object, and the pleasure of mine I, is only Helena. To her my lord was I betrothed ere I saw Hermia. But, like in sickness, did I load this food, but as in health, come to my natural taste. Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, and will forevermore be true to it. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met. Of this discourse we more will hear anon. Aegis, I will over-bear your will, for in the temple by and by with us these couples shall eternally be knit, and for the morning now is something worn, our purpose-tunting shall be set aside. Away with us to Athens, three and three, we'll hold a feast in great solemnity. Come, Hippolyta. Exiant, Theseus, Hippolyta, Aegis, and Trane. These things seem small and undistinguishable. Methinks I see these things with parted eye when everything seems double. So, Methinks, and I have found Demetrius like a jewel, mine own, and not my own. Are you sure that we are awake? It seems to me that yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think the duke was here and bid us follow him? Yea, and my father. And Hippolyta. And he did bid us follow to the temple. Why, then, we are awake. Let's follow him, and by the way let us recount our dreams. Exiant, Awaking. Well, when my cute comes, call me and I will answer. My next is Most Bear Pyramus. Hey Ho! Peter Quinns. Flute the bellows, Mender. Slant the tinker. Starvelin! Got to my life. Stolen hands and left me asleep. I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream past the wit of man and say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if you go about to expound this dream. Me thought I was... There is no man can tell what. Me thought I was... And me thought I had. A man is but a patched fool if he will have to say what me thought I had. The eye of man hath not heard. The ear of man hath not seen. Man's hand is not able to taste his tongue to conceive, nor is out to report what my dream was. I will get Peter Quinns to write a ballad of this dream. It shall be called... Bottom's Dream. Because it hath no bottom. And I will sing it in the latter end of a play. Before the juke. Per adventure. To make it the more gracious. I shall sing it at her death. Huh. Exit. Scene 2. Athens. Quinns's house. Enter Quinns, Flute, Snout and Starvelin. Have you sent to Bottom's house? Is he come home yet? He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported. If he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, does it? It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he. No. He hath simply the best wheat of any handicraft man in Athens. Yea, and the best person too. And he is a very Pyramor for a sweet voice. You must say Paragon? A Pyramor is... God bless us. A thing of naught. Enter Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple. And there is two or three lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward we had all been made men. Oh sweet bully Bottom. Thus have he lost sixpence a day during his life. He could not have escaped sixpence a day. And the duke had not given him sixpence a day to play in Pyramus. I will be hanged. He would have deserved it. Sixpence a day in Pyramus or nothing. Enter Bottom. Where are these lads? Where are these hearts? Bottom, almost courageous day. Almost happier. Masters, I am to discourse wonders. But ask me not. For if I tell you I am no true Athenian. Oh, I will tell you everything right as it fell out. Let us hear sweet Bottom. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is that the duke hath died. Get your apparel together. Good strings to your birds. New ribbons to your pumps. Meet presently at the palace. Every man look over his part. For the short and the long is. Our play is preferred. In any case, let this be have clean linen. And let not him that plays the lion pair his nails. For they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic. For we are to utter sweet breath. And I do not doubt but aware them say it is a sweet comedy. No more words. Away! Go! Away!