Wee'l hold a feast in great folemnity.

Come Hippolita.

Exit.

Deme. These things feeme fmall and vndiftinguishable, Like farre off mountaines turned into clouds.

Her. Me-thinks I fee these things with parted eie,

When euery thing feemes double.

Hel. So me-thinkes :

And I haue found Demetrius, like a iewell,

Mine owne, and not mine owne.

Dem. Are you fure

That we are awake? It feemes to me,

That yet we fleepe, we dreame. Do not you thinke,

The duke was heere, and bid vs follow him?

Her. Yea, and my father.

Hel. And Hippolita.

Lys. And he bid vs follow to the temple.

Dem. Why then we are awake; let's follow him, and by the way let vs recount our dreames.

Exit.

Clo. When my cue comes, call me, and I will anfwer. My next is, moft faire Piramus. Hey ho. Peter Quince? Flute the bellowes-mender? Snout the tinker? Starueling? Gods my life! Stolne hence, and left me asleepe: I haue had a most rare vision. I haue had a dreame, past the wit of man, to fay, what dreame it was. Man is but an affe, if he go about to expound this dreame. Me-thought I was, there is no man can tell what. Me-thought I was, and me-thought I had. But man is but patcht a foole, if he will offer to say, what me-thought I had. The eie of man hath not heard, the eare of man hath not feene, mans hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceiue, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballet of this dream, it fhall be call'd Bottomes Dreame, because it hath no bottome; and I will fing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke. Peraduenture, to make it the more gracious, I fball fing it at her death.

D 3

Exit.

Enter

Enter Quince, Flute, Thifbie, and the rabble.

Quin. Haue you fent to Bottomes houfe? Is he come home yet?

Flute. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is tranfported.

This. If he come not, then the play is mard. It goes not forward, doth it?

Quin. It is not poffible: you haue not a man in all Athens, able to discharge Piramus but he.

Thif. No, he hath fimply the best wit of any handy-craft man in Athens.

Quin. Yea, and the best perfon too, and he is a very paramour, for a sweete voyce.

This. You must fay, paragon. A paramour is (God bleffe vs) a thing of nought.

Enter Snug the Ioyner.

Snug. Mafters, the duke is comming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married. If our fport had gone forward, we had all beene made men.

This. O fweete bully Bottome: thus hath he loft fixpence a day, during his life; he could not haue scaped fixpence a day. And the duke had not giuen him fixpence a day for playing Piramus, Ile be hang'd. He would haue deferued it. Sixpence a day in Piramus, or nothing.

Enter Bottome.

Bot. Where are there lads? Where are these hearts ? Quin. Bottome, ô most couragious day! O most happy houre !

Bot. Mafters, I am to difcourfe wonders; but afke mee not what. For if I tell you, I not true Athenian. I will tel you euery thing right as it fell out.

Quin. Let vs heare, fweete Bottome.

Bot. Not a word of me: all that I will tell you, is, that the duke hath dined. Get your apparell together, good strings to your beards, new ribbands to your pumps, meete presently at the palace, euerie man looke ore his part: for the short and the long is, our play is preferd. In any cafe let Thisby haue cleane linnen: and let not him that plaies the lion, paire his nailes, for they fhall hang out for the lions clawes. And most deare actors, eate no onions, nor garlicke; for we are to vtter fweete breath, and I do not doubt but to heare them fay, it is a fweete comedy. No more words: away, go away.

Enter Thefeus, Hippolita, and Philoftrate.

Hip. Tis ftrange my Thefeus, that these louers speake of.
The. More ftrange than true. I neuer may beleeue

These anticke fables, nor thefe fairy toies,

Louers and mad men haue fuch feething braines,

Such shaping phantafies, that apprehend more
Than coole reafon euer comprehends.

The lunaticke, the louer, and the poet,

Are of imagination all compact.

One fees more diuels than vaste hell can hold;
That is the mad man. The louer, all as franticke,
Sees Helens beauty in a brow of Egipt.

The poets eie in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance
From heauen to earth, from earth to heauen.
And as imagination bodies forth the formes of things
Vnknowne; the poets pen turnes them to fhapes,
And giues to airy nothing, a locall habitation,
And a name. Such trickes hath strong imagination,
That if it would but apprehend some ioy,
It comprehends fome bringer of that ioy.
Or in the night, imagining fome feare,
How eafie is a bush fuppos'd a beare?

"

Hip. But all the story of the night told ouer,
And all their mindes transfigur'd fo together,
More witnesseth than fancies images,

And growes to fomething of great conftancy;
But howfoeuer, ftrange and admirable.

Enter louers: Lyfander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena,

Thef. Here come the louers, full of ioy and mirth: Ioy, gentle friends, ioy and fresh daies

Of loue accompany your hearts.

Lyf. More than to vs, waite in your roiall walkes, your boord, your bed.

Thef. Come now, what maskes, what dances fhall wee haue, To weare away this long age of three houres, Betweene or after fupper, and bed-time? Where is our vsuall manager of mirth ? What reuels are in hand? Is there no play, To cafe the anguish of a torturing houre? Call Philoftrate.

Philo. Heere mighty Thefeus.

Thef. Say, what abridgment haue you for this euening?
What maske, what muficke? how shall we beguile
The lazie time, if not with fome delight?

Phil. There is a briefe, how many sports are rife.
Make choife of which your highneffe will fee first.
Thef. The battell with the centaurs to be fung
By an Athenian eunuch, to the harpe.

Wee'l none of that. That haue I tolde my loue,
In glory of my kinfman Hercules.

The riot of the tipfie Bachanals

Tearing the Thracian finger, in their rage?
That is an olde deuice; and it was plaid,
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.`

The thrice three Mufes, mourning for the death

Of

Of learning, late deceast in beggery.
That is fome fatire keene and criticall,
Not forting with a nuptiall ceremony.
A tedious briefe fcene of young Piramus,

And his loue Thisby; very tragicall mirth ?

Merry and tragicall? Tedious and briefe? That is hot ice, And wondrous strange fnow. How fhall we find the concord of this difcord?

Philo. A play there is, my lord, fome ten words long,
Which is as briefe, as I haue knowne 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 worde apt, one plaier fitted.
And tragicall, my noble lord, it is for Piramus
Therein doth kill himselfe. Which when I faw
Rehearst, I must confeffe, made mine eies water;
But more merry teares the paffion of loud laughter
Neuer shed:

Thef. What are they that do play it?

Philo. Hard handed men, that worke in Athens here,

Which neuer labour'd in their mindes till now;

And now haue toyled their vnbreathed memories,
With this fame play, against your nuptiall.

Thef. And we will heare it.

Phi. No, my noble lord, it is not for you.. I haue heard

It ouer, and it is nothing, nothing in the world;

Vnleffe you can finde fport in their intents,
Extremely stretcht, and cond with cruell paine,
To do you feruice.

Thef. I will heare that play. For neuer any thing
Can be amiffe, when fimpleneffe and duty tender it.
Goe bring them in, and take your places, ladies.
Hip. I loue not to fee wretchednesse orecharged;
And duety in his feruice perishing.

Thef.