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Enter Lyfander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena.
The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.
Joy, gentle friends, joy, and fresh days of love,
Accompany your hearts!

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?
What mask? what mufick? how fhall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with fome delight?

Phil. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe:
Make choice of which your highness will see first.
The. The battel with the Centaurs, to be fung

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;
How shall we find the concord of this difcord?
Phil. A play it 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't rehears'd, I must confefs,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The paffion of loud laughter never shed.

The. What are they that do play it?

Phil. 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 fame play against your nuptials.
The. And we will hear it.

Phil. No, my noble lord,

It is not for you. I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world,
Unless you can find sport in their intents,

Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain,
To do you service.

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.
Hip. I love not to fee wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And duty in his service perishing.

[Exit Phil.

The. Why, gentle fweet, you fhall fee no fuch thing.
Hip. He fays, they can do nothing in this kind.

The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
Our fport fhall be, to take what they mistake;

And what poor willing duty cannot do,

R 2

Noble

Noble refpect takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purpofed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
When I have seen them fhiver, and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears,
And, in conclufion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome. Truft me, sweet,
Out of this filence yet I pick'd a welcome:
And in the modefty of fearful duty

I read as much, as from the ratling tongue
Of fawcy and audacious eloquence.
Love therefore and tongue-ty'd fimplicity
In least speak moft, to my capacity.

Enter Philoftrate.

Phil. So please your grace, the prologue is addreft.
The. Let him approach.

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,

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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
Wall, the vile wall, which did these lovers funder
And through wall's chink, poor fouls, they are content
To whisper. At the which, let no man wonder.
This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
Prefenteth moon-fhine: for, if you will know,
By moon-fhine did thefe lovers think no fcorn

To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
This grizly beaft, which Lion hight by name,
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
Did fcare away, or rather did affright:
And, as fhe fled, her mantle fhe let fall;
Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did ftain.
Anon comes Pyramus, fweet youth and tall,
And finds his trufty Thisby's mantle flain;
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast..
And Thisby, tarrying in the mulberry shade,

His dagger drew, and died. For all the reft,
Let Lion, Moon-fbine, Wall, and lovers twain,

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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,
That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink;

Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
Did whisper often very fecretly.

This lome, this rough-caft, and this stone doth show,
That I am that fame wall; the truth is so.

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,
For parting my fair Pyramus and me.

My cherry lips have often kifs'd thy stones;

Thy ftones with lime and hair knit up in thee.

Pyr.

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