Hip. But all the ftory of the night told over, And all their minds transfigur'd fo together, More witneffeth than fancy's images,

And grows to fomething of great conftancy; 3 'Be't howfoever strange and admirable.

Enter Lyfander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!

Lyf. More than to us,

Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed!
The. Come now, what masks, what dances fhall we have,
To wear away this long age of three hours,
Between our after-fupper and bed-time?
Where is our ufual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? is there no play
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philoftrate.

Enter Philoftrate.

Phil. Here, mighty Thefeus, here.

The. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening? What mask? what mufick? how fhall we beguile

The lazy time, if not with fome delight?

Phil. There is a brief how many sports are ripe:

Make choice of which your Highnefs will fee firft.

The. The battel with the Centaurs, to be fung [Reads.

By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.

We'll none of that. That have I told my love,

In glory of my kinfman Hercules.

The riot of the tipfy Bacchanals,

[Reads.

Tearing the Thracian finger in their

rage.

That is an old device, and it was plaid

When I from Thebes came laft a conqueror.

The thrice three Mufes mourning for the death
Of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary.

[Reads.

That

That is fome fatyr keen and critical,
Not forting with a nuptial ceremony.
A tedicus brief fcene of young Pyramus,
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical? tedious and brief?

4

That is hot ice, and wond'rous + 'fcorching fnow;
How fhall we find the concord of this difcord?

5

[Reads.

Phil. A play 'it is, my lord, fome ten words long, Which is as brief as I have known a play;

But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,
Which makes it tedious: for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is:
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.

Which, when I ' 'faw't rehears'd,` I must confess
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The paffion of loud laughter never shed.

The. What are they that do play it?

Phil. Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,
Which never labour'd in their minds till now;
And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories
With this fame play against your nuptials.
The. And we will hear it.

Phil. No, my noble lord,

It is not for you. I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world,
Unless you can find fport in their intents,
Extremely ftretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain,
To do you fervice.

The. I will hear that play;"

For never any thing can be amifs,

When fimpleness and duty tender it.

Go, bring them in; and take your places, ladies.

[Exit Phil. Hip. I love not to fee wretchedness o'ercharg'd, And duty in his fervice perifhing.

The. Why, gentle fweet, you fhall fee no fuch thing.

VOL. I.

K

Hip

Hip. He fays, they can do nothing in this kind.

The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing. Our fport fhall be, to take what they mistake;

7

And what 'poor willing duty cannot do,

Noble refpect takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
/When I have feen them fhiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears,
And in conclufion dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, fweet,
Out of this filence yet I pick'd a welcome:
And in the modefty of fearful duty

I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Of fawcy and audacious eloquence.
Love therefore, and tongue-ty'd fimplicity
In least speak moft, to my capacity,

Enter Philoftrate.

Phil. So please your Grace, the prologue is addreft.
The. Let him approach.

SCENE II..

Enter Quince for the prologue.

[Flor, Trum.

Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will.
That you should think we come not to offend,
But with good will. To fhew our fimple skill,
That is the true beginning of our end.
Confider then, we come but in defpight.

We do not come as minding to content you,
Our true intent is: all for your delight,

We are not here: that you fhould here repent you, The actors are at hand; and by their fhow,

You fhall know all, that you are like to know.

The. This fellow doth not stand upon points.

7 poor duty, ...old edit. Theob, emend.

8 Where

Lyf.

Lyf. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt; he knows not the ftop. A good moral, my lord. It is not enough to speak, but to speak truė,

Hip. Indeed he hath play'd on his prologue, like a child on the recorder; a found, but not in government. The. His fpeech was like a tangled chain; nothing impair'd, but all diforder'd. Who is the next?

Enter Pyramus, and Thisbe, Wall, Moon-fhine,
and Lion, in dumb show.

Pro. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show,
But wonder on, 'till truth make all things plain.
This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
This beauteous lady, Thisby is certain.

This man, with lime and rough-caft, doth present
Wall, the vile wall, which did thefe lovers funder:
And through wall's chink, poor fouls, they are content
To whisper. At the which, let no man wonder.
This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
Prefenteth Moon-fhine: For, if you will know,
By moon-fhine did these lovers think no fcorn

To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
This grizly beaft, which Lion hight by name,
The trufty Thisby, coming firft by night,
Did fcare away, or rather did affright:
And as fhe fled, her mantle fhe let fall;
Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.
Anon comes Pyramus, fweet youth and tall,
And finds his trufty Thisby's mantle flain;
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast.
And Thisby, tarrying in the mulberry shade,
His dagger drew, and died. For all the reft,
Let Lion, Moon-fhine, Wall, and lovers twain,
At large difcourfe, while here they do remain.

[Exeunt all but Wall.

The. I wonder if the Lion be to fpeak.
K 2

Dem.

Dem. No wonder, my lord; one Lion may, when many affes do.

Wall. In this fame interlude it doth befal,
That I, one Snowt by name, prefent a Wall:
And fuch a wall, as I would have you think,
That had in it a crannied hole or chink;
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
Did whisper often very fecretly.

This lome, this rough-caft, and this ftone doth fhew,
That I am that fame wall; the truth is fo.

And this the cranny is, right and finister,

Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.

The. Would you defire lime and hair to speak better? Dem. It is the wittieft partition that ever I heard difcourse, my lord.

The. Pyramus draws near the wall: filence!

Enter Pyramus.

Pyr. O grim-look'd night! O night with hue fo black!
O night, which ever art when day is not!
O night, O night, alack, alack, alack,

I fear my Thisby's promife is forgot.
And thou, O wall, O fweet and lovely wall,

That ftands between her father's ground and mine,
Thou wall, O wall, O fweet and lovely wall,

Shew me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne. Thanks, courteous wall; Jove fhield thee well for this! But what fee I? no Thisby do I fee.

O wicked wall, through whom I fee no bliss,
Curst be thy ftones for thus deceiving me!

The. The wall, methinks, being fenfible, fhould curfe again.

Pyr. No, in truth, Sir, he fhould not. Deceiving me, is Thisby's cue; fhe is to enter, and I am to fpy her through the wall. You fhall fee it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder the comes.

Enter