Pard, or boare with briftled haire, When thou wak'ft, it is thy deare, Wake when some vile thing is neere. Enter Lyfander and Hermia. Lyf. Faire loue, you faint with wandring in the woods, And to fpeake troth I haue forgot our way: Wee'l reft vs Hermia, if you thinke it good, Her. Be it fo Lyfander; finde you out a bed, Lyf. One turffe fhall ferue as pillow for vs both, Lys. O take the fence sweete, of my innocence, So that but one heart we can make of it. Her. Lyfander riddles very prettily; Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, Becomes a vertuous batchellor, and a maide, So farre be distant, and good night sweet friend; Lyf. Amen, amen, to that faire praier, say I, And then end life, when I end loialty : Heere is my bed, fleepe giue thee all his reft. Her. With halfe that wifh, the wishers eyes be prest. Enter Pucke. Puck. Through the forreft haue I gone, But Athenian finde I none, On whofe eies I might approue This flowers force in ftirring loue. Night and filence: who is heere? All the power this charme doth owe: So awake when I am gone: For I must now to Oberon. Enter Demetrius and Helena running. Exit. Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, fweete Demetrius. Hel. O I am out of breath, in this fond chafe, How How came her eyes fo bright? Not with falt teares. For beafts that meete me, runne away for feare, Lyf. And run through fire I will for thy fweet fake. That through thy bosome makes me fee thy heart. Is that vile name, to perifh on my fword! Hel. Do not fay fo Lyfander, fay not fo: What though he loue your Hermia? Lord, what though? Lys. Content with Hermia? No, I do repent Hel. Wherefore was I to this keene mockery borne ? Ift not enough, ift not enough, young man, Good troth you do me wrong (good-footh you do) But fare you well; perforce I must confeffe, I thought you lord of more true gentlenesse. Should of another therefore be abus'd. Exit. Lys. She fees not Hermia: Hermia, fleepe thou there, And neuer maift thou come Lyfander neere; For as a furfet of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the ftomacke brings; Her. Helpe me Lyfander, helpe me; do thy best Enter the Clownes.· Exit. Exit. Bot. Are we all met? Quin. Pat, pat, and heres a maruailous conuenient place for our rehearsall. This greene plot fhall be our stage, this hauthorne brake our tyring houfe, and we will doe it in action, as we will do it before the duke. Bot. Peter Quince? Peter. What faift thou, bully Bottome? Bot. There are things in this comedy of Piramus and Thisby, that will neuer please. First, Piramus must draw a fword to kill himfelfe; which the ladyes cannot abide. How anfwer you that? Snout. Berlaken, a parlous feare. Star. I beleeue we muft leaue the killing out, when all is done. Write Bot. Not a whit, I haue a deuice to make all well. me a prologue, and let the prologue feeme to say, wee will do no harme with our fwords, and that Pyramus is not kild indeed and for the more better affurance, tell them that I Piramus am not Piramus, but Bottome the weauer; this will put them out of feare. Quin. Well, we will haue fuch a prologue, and it shall be written in eight and fixe. Bot. No, make it two more, let it be written in eight and eight. Snont. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lyon? Star. I feare it, I promise you. Bot. Masters, you ought to confider with your felfe, to bring in (God fhield vs) a lyon among ladies, is a moft dreadfull thing. For there is not a more fearefull wilde fowle then your lyon liuing: and we ought to looke to it. Snout. Therefore another prologue muft tell he is not a lyon. Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and halfe his face must be seen through the lyons necke, and hee himselfe must fpeake through, faying thus, or to the fame deffect; Ladies, or |