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Her. O hell! to chuse love by another's eye!
Lyf. Or if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or fickness did lay fiege to it;
Making it momentary as a found,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That (in a spleen) unfolds both heav'n 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 confufion.

Her. If then true lovers have been ever croft,

It stands as an edict in destiny:
Then let us teach our tryal patience;

Because it is a customary crofs,
As due to love, as thoughts and dreams and fighs,
Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers!

Lyf. A good perfuafion; therefore hear me, Hermia:

I have a widow-aunt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child;
From Athens is her house remov'd seven leagues,
And she respects me as her only fon.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee,
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot purfue us. If thou lov'st me then,
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night
And in the wood, a league without the town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena
To do observance to the morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.

Her. My good Lysander,
I fwear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head,
By the fimplicity of Venus' doves,
By that which knitteth fouls, and profpers loves,
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage Queen,
When the false Trojan under fail was seen;
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
In number more than ever women spoke;
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

Lyf

Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena,
SCENE III. Enter Helena.

Her. God speed fair Helena! whither away?
Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay,
Demetrius loves you, fair; O happy fair!
Your eyes are load-stars, and your tongue's sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
When wheat is green, when haw-thern buds appear.
Sickness is catching: oh, were favour so,
Your's 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.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I'd give to be to you tranflated.
O teach me how you look, and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

[skill

Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
Hel. Oh that your frowns would teach my smiles fuch
Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love.
Hel. Oh that my pray'rs could fuch affection move!
Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me.
Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me.
Her. His fault, oh Helena, is none of mine.

Hel. None but your beauty, would that fault were mine!
Her. Take comfort; he no more shall fee my face,

Lyfander and myself will fly this place.
Before the time I did Lyfander see,
Seem'd Athens like a paradife to me.
O then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn'd a heaven into hell?

Lyf. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold;
To-morrow night, when Phæbe doth behold
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
(A time that lovers flights doth still conceal)
Through Athens' gate have we devis'd to steal.
Her. And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsels sweet;
There my Lyfander and myself shall meet,

And

T

And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewel, sweet play-fellow; pray thou for us,
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
Keep word, Lyfander, we must starve our fight
From lovers' food, 'till morrow deep midnight. [Ex. Her.
Lyf. I will, my Hermia. Helena, adieu;
As you on him, Demetrius doat on you! [Exit Lyfander,
Hel. How happy some, o'er other fome, can be !

Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not fo:
He will not know, what all but he do know.
And as he errs, doating on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities.
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity:
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind :
Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste;
Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
And therefore is love faid to be a child,
Because in choice he often is beguil'd.
As waggish boys themselves in game forswear,
So the boy Love is perjur'd ev'ry where.
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,
He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine;
And when this hail fome heat from Hermia felt,
So he diffolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt.
I will go tell him of 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 expence.
But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
To have his fight thither, and back again.
SCENE IV.

[Exit.

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snowt, and Starveling.

Quin. Is all our company here?

But. You were best to call them generally, man by

man, according to the scrip.

Quin. Here is the scrowl of every man's name, which

is

is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke and the Dutchess, on his weddingday at night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, fay what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and fo grow on to a point.

Quin. Marry, our play is the most lamentable comedy and moft cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby. Bot. A very good piece of work I affure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scrowl. Masters, spread yourselves.

Quin. Anfwer 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 moft gallantly for love. 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 reft: - 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 the raging rocks, and shivering shocks shall break the locks of prison-gates and Phibbus carr shall shine from far, and make and mar the foolish fates * This was lofty. Now name the reft 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. You must take Thisby on you.
Flu. What is Thisby, a wandring knight?
Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

Flu. Nay faith let not me play a woman, I have a

beard coming.

Quin. That's all one, you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will.

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too; I'll speak in a monstrous little voice, Thisby, Thisby; ah, Pyramus, my lover dear, thy Thisby dear, and lady dear.

* This was probably a piece of nonfenfical bombaft taken out of fome

foolish play known at that time.

Quin. No, no, you must play Pyramus; and Flute, you, Thisby. Bot. Well, proceed.

Quin. Robin Starveling the taylor.

Star. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.

Tom Snowt the tinker.

Snowt. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father; Snug the joiner, you, the lion's part; I hope there is a play fitted.

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am flow of study.

Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

Bot. Let me play the lion too, I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me. I will roar, that I will make the Duke say, let him rear again, let him roar again.

Quin. If you should do it too terribly, you would fright the dutchess and the ladies, that they would shriek, and that were enough to hang us all.

All. That would hang us every mother's fon.

Bot. I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more difcretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any fucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet-fac'd man, a proper man as one shall fee in a summer's day; a most lovely gentleman-like man: therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in?

Quin. Why, what you will.

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour'd beard, your perfect yellow.

Quin. Some of your French-crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play bare-fac'd. But, masters, here are your parts, and I am to intreat you, request you, and defire you to con them by to-morrow night; and meet me in VOL. I,

H

the

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