Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.

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Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the Duke hath dined. Get your apparel 35 together, good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look o'er his part; for the short and the long is, our play is preferr'd. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen; and let not him that plays the lion pare 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 to hear them say, it is a sweet comedy. No more words; away! go, away! Exeunt.

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ACT FIFTH

SCENE I

[Athens. The palace of Theseus.]

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords [and

Attendants].

Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.

The. More strange than true; I never may believe
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend

More than cool reason ever comprehends.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet

Are of imagination all compact.

One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
That is, the madman. The lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

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11

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to

heaven;

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen

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Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

Such tricks hath strong imagination,
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear!
Hip. But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigur'd so together,
More witnesseth than fancy's images,

And grows to something of great constancy;
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

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Enter lovers, Lysander, 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!

Lys.

More than to us

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Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed! The. Come now; what masques, what dances shall we

Phil.

have,

To wear away this long age of three hours
Between our after-supper and bed-time?
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.

Here, mighty Theseus.

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The. Say, what abridgement have you for this even

ing?

What masque? what music? How shall we beguile

The lazy time, if not with some delight?

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

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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.

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"The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,

Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage."
That is an old device"; and it was play'd
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

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"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 wondrous strange snow.

How shall we find the concord of this discord? 60 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 rehears'd, 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 labour'd 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.

The.

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 stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain,
To do you service.

I will hear that play;

For never anything can be amiss,

When simpleness and duty tender it.

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

[Exit Philostrate.]

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Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged,

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.