Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such fhaping fantafies, that apprehend One fees more devils than vaft hell can hold; The madman. While the lover, all as frantick, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt. The poet's eye; in a fine frenzy rowling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heav'n; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Such tricks hath strong imagination, That if he would but apprehend fome joy, How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear? HIP. But all the story of the night told over, And grows to fomething of great constancy, Enter Lyfander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. Lys. More than to us, Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed. THE. Come now, what masks, what dances fhall we have, To wear away this long age of three hours, Enter Philoftrate. PHILOST. Here, mighty Thefeus. THE. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening? What mask? what musick? how fhall we beguile The lazy time, if not with fome delight! PHILOST. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe: Make choice of which your highness will fee first. [Giving a paper. THE. [reads.] The battle with the Centaurs, to be fung by an Athenian eunuch to the harp." We'll none of that. That I have told my love, In glory of my kinfman Hercules. "The riot of the tipfy Bacchanals, "Tearing the Thracian finger in their rage.' That is an old device; and it was play'd, When I from Thebes came laft a conqueror. "The thrice three mufes mourning for the death A tedious brief fcene of young Pyramus, PHILOST. A play there is, my lord, fome 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 faw rehears'd, I must confess, Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears The paffion of loud laughter never shed. THE. What are they, that do play it? PHILOST. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here, Which never labour'd in their minds till now; And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories With this same play, against your nuptials. THE. And we will hear it. PHILOST. No, my noble lord, It is not for you. I have heard it over, THE. I will hear that play: For never any thing can be amifs, When fimpleness and duty tender it. Go, bring them in, and take your places, ladies. [Exit Phil. HIP. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd, And duty in his service perishing. THE. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. THE. The kinder we to give them thanks for nothing. And what poor duty cannot do, Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. I read as much, as from the rattling tongue Enter Philoftrate. PHILOST. So please your grace, the prologue is addreft. THE. Let him approach. [Flour. Trum. SCENE II.. Enter Quince, for the Prologue. PROL. If we offend, it is with our good will.→ We do not come, as minding to content you-- Our true intent is, We are not here, all for your delight, that you should here repent you, The actors are at hand;-and by their fhow, You fhall 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 ftop. A good moral, my lord. It Is not enough to speak, but to speak true. HIP. Indeed he hath play'd on his prologue, like a child on the recorder; a found, but not in government. THE. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impair'd, but all disorder'd. Who is the next? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion, as in dumb fhew. PROL. Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show, This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present And finds his trufty Thisby's mantle flain; |