When simpleness and duty tender it. Go, bring them in ;—and take your places, ladies. [exit Philostrate. Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd, And duty in his service perishing. [thing. The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing. Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake: Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. I read as much, as from the rattling tongue The actors are at hand; and, by their show, You shall 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 stop. A good moral, my lord it is not enough to speak, but to speak true. Hip. Indeed he hath play'd on this prologue, like a child on a recorder; a sound, but not in government. The. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is Dext? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion, as in dumb show. Prol. Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show; [plain. But wonder on, till truth make all things This man is Pyramus, if you would know; This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. [sent This man, with lime and rough-east, doth preI Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder: [content And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are To whisper; at the which let no man wonder. This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, Presenteth moonshine: for, if you will know, By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain: Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade, His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain, 'At large discourse, while here they do remain. [exeunt Prol. Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshire. The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. Dem. No wonder, any lord: one lion maj, when many asses do. Wall. In this same interlude, it doth hefall, That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; ' And such a wall, as I would have you think. That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, "Through which the lovers, Pyramus and This' y, Did whisper often very secretly. [show 'This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, deth That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.' The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? Dem. It is the wittiest partition, that ever I heard discourse, my lord. The. Pyramus draws near the wall: silence! Pyr. O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black! O night, which ever art, when day is not 'O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot!And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, 'That stand'st between her father's ground and mine; Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne. [Wall holds up his fingers. Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this! 'But what see I? No Thisby do I see. O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss; Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me!' The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceir. ing me, is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you.-Yonder she [all.' This. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?' This.Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.' [so; Wall. Thus have I, wall, my part discharged And, being done, thus wall away doth go.' [exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning. Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. The. The best in this kind are but shadows: and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. Enter Lion and Moonshine. 'Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar, Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam : For if I should as lion come in strife • Into this place, 'twere pity ou my life.' [science. The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conDem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord: for his valour cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose. The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon present?' Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon present. 'Myself the man i'th'moon do seem to be.' The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : the man should be put into the lantern: how is it else the man i'the moon? Lys. Proceed, moon. Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe. Enter Thisbe. This. This is old Ninny's tomb where is my love!' Lion. 'Oh—!' [the lion roars; Thisbe runs off. Dem. Well roared, lion. The. Well run, Thisbe. Hip. Well shone, moon. shines with a good grace. The. Well moused, lion. Truly, the moon Thy mantle good, What, stain'd with blood? 'Approach, ye furies fell! O fates! come, come; • Cut thread and thrum; Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!' The. This passion and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame? 'Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear Which is no, no-which was the fairest dane, That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer. Come, tears, confound; Ay, that left pap, Now am I dead, My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light! Moon, take thy flight! Now, die, die, die, die, die. {aws; ex. Moonshine. Bot. No, I assure you: the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two of our company? The. No epilogue, pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. [here a dance of clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath toll'd twelve : I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn, Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud That the graves, all gaping wide, In the church-way paths to glide: By the triple Hecat's team, Following darkness like a dream, To sweep the dust behind the door. Enter Oberon and Titania, with their Train. Obe. Through this house give glimmering light, By the dead and drowsy fire: Every elf, and fairy sprite, Hop as light as bird from brier; Sing, and dance it trippingly. Song and Dance. Obe. Now, until the break of day, So shall all the couples three And the blots of nature's hand Shall upon their children be.- And each several chamber bless, [exeunt Oberon, Titara, end Train So, good night unto you all. SCENE. For the first act, in Venice; during the rest of the play, at a sea-port in Cyprus. SCENE I. VENICE. A STREET. Enter Roderigo and Iago. ACT I. In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, My mediators; for, certes, says he, Forsooth, a great arithmetician, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; More than a spinster: unless the bookish theoric, As masterly as he; mere prattle, without practice, Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof, By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster: He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I, (God bless the mark!) his Moor-ship's ancient. [hangman. Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of Preferment goes by letter, and affection, [service; Not by the old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge Whether I in any just term am affin'd [yourself, To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him then. I follow him to serve my turn upon him: cashier'd ; Whip me such honest knaves: others there are, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,— Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. Iago. Do; with like timorous accent, and dire As when, by night and negligence, the fire [yell, Is spied in populous cities. Rod. What ho! Brabantio! signior Brabantie, ho! [thieves! thieves! Iago. A wake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! Thieves! thieves! Brabantio, above, at a winaow. Bra. What is the reason of this terrible sumWhat is the matter there? [mons? Rod. Signior, is all your family within? Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this? Iago. Zounds, sir, you are robb'd; for shame, put on your gown; To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,- I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Your daughter,-if you have not given her leave, I say again, hath made a gross revolt; If she be in her chamber, or your house, Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho! Give me a taper;-call up all my people:Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; This accident is not unlike my dream, Even now, very now, an old black ram Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you : Bra. What, have you lost your wits? [voice? Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is My house is not a grange. [Venice; Rod. Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. Iago. Zounds, sir, you are one of those, that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, you think we are ruffians: You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans. Bra. What profane wretch art thou? Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the best with two backs. Bra. Thou art a villain. Belief of it oppresses me already; Light, I say! light! [exit from above. Iago. Farewell; for I must leave you. It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produc'd (as, if I stay, I shall,) Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,However this may gall him with some check,— Cannot with safety cast him; for he's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars (Which even now stand in act), that, for their Another of his fathom they have not, To lead their business: in which regard, Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains, Yet, for necessity of present life, [souls, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Lead to the Sagittary the rais'd search; Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is: And what's to come of my despised time, Is nought but bitterness.-Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her?-O, unhappy girl!— With the Moor, say'st thou !-Who would be a father? [ceiv'st me How didst thou know 'twas she?-O, thou dePast thought!-What said she to you?- Get more tapers! [you? Raise all my kindred.-Are they married think Rod. Truly, I think, they are. Bra. O heaven!-How got she out?-O trenson of the blood! (minds Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' By what you see them act.-Are there not charins By which the property of youth and maidhood. |