Enter Lyfander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. Lyf. More than to us, Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed! The. Come now, what mafks, what dances fhall we have, To wear away this long age of three hours, Between our after-fupper and bed-time? Where is our ufual manager of mirth ? What revels are in hand? is there no play To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? Call Philoftrate. Enter Philoftrate. Phil. Here, mighty Thefeus, here. The. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening? Phil. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe: By an Athenian eunuch to the harp. We'll none of that. That have I told my love, [Reads. In glory of my kinfman Hercules. The riot of the tiply Bacchanals, [Reads. 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 muses mourning for the death [Reads. Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary. That is some fatyr keen and critical, Not forting with a nuptial ceremony. A tedious brief fcene of young Pyramus, [Reads. And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth. Merry Merry and tragical? tedious and brief? That is, hot ice, and wond'rous fcorching fnow; For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. Which, when I faw't rehears'd, I must confefs, The. What are they that do play it? Phil. Hard-handed men that work in Athens here, Phil. No, my noble lord, It is not for you. I have heard it over, Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain, 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. The. Why, gentle fweet, you fhall fee no fuch thing. The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing. And what poor willing duty cannot do, R 2 Noble Noble refpect takes it in might, not merit. I read as much, as from the ratling tongue Enter Philoftrate. Phil. So please your grace, the prologue is addreft. SCENE II. Enter Quince for the prologue. Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will. That you fhould think we come not to offend, But with good will. To fhow our fimple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Confider then, we come but in defpite. We do not come as minding to content you, Our true intent is: all for your delight, A [Flor. trum We are not here: 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 ftand upon points. Lyf. 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 his prologue, like a child on the recorder; a found, but not in government. The. His fpeech was like a tangled chain; nothing impair'd, but all diforder'd. Who is the next? Enter Pyramus, and Thisbe, Wall, Moon-fhine, and Lion, in dumb show. Pro. Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this fhow, But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. This man is Pyramus, if you would know; This beauteous lady, Thisby is, certain. This man, with lime and rough-caft, doth prefent To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. His dagger drew, and died. For all the reft, At large difcourfe, while here they do remain. [Exeunt all but Wall. The. I wonder if the Lion be to speak.. Dem. No wonder, my lord; one Lion may, when many affes do. Wall. In this fame interlude it doth befal, That I, one Snowt by name, present a wall: And And fuch a wall, as I would have you think, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, This lome, this rough-caft, and this stone doth show, And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper. The. Would you defire lime and hair to fpeak better? Dem. It is the wittieft partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord. The. Pyramus draws near the wall: filence! Enter Pyramus. Pyr. O grim-look'd night! o night with hue fo black! O night, which ever art when day is not! O night, o night, alack, alack, alack, I fear my Thisby's promife is forgot. And thou, o wall, o fweet and lovely wall, That ftands between her father's ground and mine, Thou wall, o wall, o fweet and lovely wall, Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne. Thanks, courteous wall; Jove fhield thee well for this! But what fee I? no Thisby do I fee. O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss, Curst be thy ftones for thus deceiving me! The. The wall, methinks, being fenfible, should curfe again. Pyr. No, in truth, fir, he should not. Deceiving me, is Thisby's cue; fhe is to enter, and I am to spy her through the wall. You fhall fee, it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder fhe comes. Enter Thifbe. This. O wall, full often haft thou heard my moans, My cherry lips have often kifs'd thy stones; Thy ftones with lime and hair knit up in thee. Pyr. |