Her. O hell! to chuse love by another's eye! Her. If then true lovers have been ever croft, It stands as an edict in destiny: Because it is a customary crofs, Lyf. A good perfuafion; therefore hear me, Hermia: I have a widow-aunt, a dowager Her. My good Lysander, Lyf Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena, Her. God speed fair Helena! whither away? [skill Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. Hel. None but your beauty, would that fault were mine! Lyfander and myself will fly this place. Lyf. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold; And T And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. [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. 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 |