Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love? I must employ you in some business [Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia. Lys. How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast? Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could well 130 Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. Lys. Ay me! for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth; Her. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low. 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, So quick bright things come to confusion. Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, It stands as an edict in destiny: Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross, As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers. -- Lys. A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia. 140 150 I have a widow aunt, a dowager Of great revenue, and she hath no child: From Athens is her house remote seven leagues; There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee; Cannot pursue us. There will I stay for thee. Her. 160 My good Lysander! 170 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, Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena. Enter HELENA. Her. God speed fair Helena! whither away? Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Your eyes are lede-stars; and your tongue's sweet air When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 180 Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 190 O, teach me how you look, and with what art Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. Hel. O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill! 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. 200 Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. Lysander and myself will fly this place. O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: 210 220 Lys. I will, my Hermia. [Exit Herm.] Helena, adieu : As you on him, Demetrius dote on you! Hel. How happy some o'er other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. [Exit. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity: Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; 230 240 250 [Exit. SCENE II. Athens. QUINCE's house. Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and 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 the duchess, on his wedding-day at night. Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors, and so grow to a point. ΙΟ Quin. Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby. 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 yourselves. 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 Pyramus. Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant? Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love. 20 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 condole in some measure. To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. This was lofty! The raging rocks And shivering shocks Shall break the locks Of prison gates; And Phibbus' car Shall shine from far And make and mar The foolish Fates. 30 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. Flu. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. Flute, you must take Thisby on you. Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 40 Flu. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I have a beard coming. |