Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philostrate.

Phil.

Here, mighty Theseus.

The. Say, what abridgment have you for this

evening?

What masque? what music?

beguile

How shall we

The lazy time, if not with some delight?

Phil. There is a brief how many sports are ripe ; Make choice of which your highness will see first. [Giving a paper.

The. [Reads.] The battle with the Centaurs, to

be sung

By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.'

We'll none of that: that have I told my love,
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.

"The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,

Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.'
That is an old device; and it was played
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
"The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
Of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary.'
That is some satire, keen and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.

'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus,
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.'
Merry and tragical! Tedious and brief!
That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?

Phil. A play there is, my lord, some 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 saw rehearsed, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.

The. What are they that do play it?

Phil. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here,

Which never laboured in their minds till now,

And now have toiled their unbreathed memories With this same play against your nuptial.

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 sport in their intents,

Extremely stretched and conned with cruel pain, you service.

To do

The.

I will hear that play :

For never anything can be amiss

When simpleness and duty tender it.

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

[Exit PHILOSTRATE

Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'er

charged,

And duty in his service perishing.

The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such

thing.

Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for

nothing.

Our sport shall be to take what they mistake:
And what poor duty cannot do,

Noble respect takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposéd
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practised accent in their fears,
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,

ΙΟΙ

Out of this silence yet I picked a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty

I read as much as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity,
In least speak most, to my capacity.

Re-enter PHILOSTRATE

Phil. So please your grace, the Prologue is addrest.

The. Let him approach. [Flourish of Trumpets.

Enter the Prologue

Prol. If we offend, it is with our good will. That you should think, we come not to offend, But with good will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.

Consider then, we come but in despite.

We do not come as minding to content you,

Our true intent is.

We are not here.

you,

All for your delight,

That you should here repent

The actors are at hand; and, by their show,
You shall know all that you are like to know.'
The. This fellow doth not stand upon points.
Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt;

he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true.

Hip. Indeed, he hath played on this prologue like a child on a recorder; a sound, but not in government.

The. His speech was like a tangled chain ;
Nothing impaired, but all disordered.-
Who is next?

Enter PYRAMUS and THISBE, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion, as in dumb-show

Prol. '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 Thisbe is, certain.

This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers

sunder;

And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are

content

To whisper, at the which let no man wonder.

This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will know.