851request you, or I would entreat you, not to feare, not to

852tremble: my life for yours. If you thinke I come hither

853as a Lyon, it were pitty of my life. No, I am no such

854thing, I am a man as other men are; and there indeed let

855him name his name, and tell him plainly hee is Snug the

856ioyner.

857Quin. Well, it shall be so; but there is two hard

858things, that is, to bring the Moone-light into a cham-

859ber: for you know Piramus and Thisby meete by Moone-

860light.

861Sn. Doth the Moone shine that night wee play our

862play?

863Bot. A Calender, a Calender, looke in the Almanack,

864finde out Moone-shine, finde out Moone-shine.

866Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night.

867Bot. Why then may you leaue a casement of the great

868chamber window (where we play) open, and the Moone

869may shine in at the casement.

870Quin. I, or else one must come in with a bush of thorns

871and a lanthorne, and say he comes to disfigure, or to pre-

872sent the person of Moone-shine. Then there is another

873thing, we must haue a wall in the great Chamber; for Pi-

874ramus and Thisby (saies the story) did talke through the

875chinke of a wall.

876Sn. You can neuer bring in a wall. What say you

877Bottome?

878Bot. Some man or other must present wall, and let

879him haue some Plaster, or some Lome, or some rough

880cast about him, to signifie wall; or let him hold his fin-

881gers thus; and through that cranny shall Piramus and

882Thisby whisper.

883Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit

884downe euery mothers sonne, and rehearse your parts.

885Piramus, you begin; when you haue spoken your speech,

886enter into that Brake, and so euery one according to his

887cue.

889Rob. What hempen home-spuns haue we swagge-

890ring here,

891So neere the Cradle of the Faierie Queene?

892What, a Play toward? Ile be an auditor,

893An Actor too perhaps, if I see cause.

894Quin. Speake Piramus: Thisby stand forth.

895Pir. Thisby, the flowers of odious sauors sweete.

896Quin. Odours, odours.

897Pir. Odours sauors sweete,

898So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby deare.

899But harke, a voyce: stay thou but here a while,

900And by and by I will to thee appeare. Exit. Pir.

901Puck. A stranger Piramus, then ere plaid here.

902This. Must I speake now?

903Pet. I marry must you. For you must vnderstand he

904goes but to see a noyse that he heard, and is to come a-

905gaine.

906Thys. Most radiant Piramus, most Lilly white of hue,

907Of colour like the red rose on triumphant bryer,

908Most brisky Iuuenall, and eke most louely Iew,

909As true as truest horse, that yet would neuer tyre,

910Ile meete thee Piramus, at Ninnies toombe.

911Pet. Ninus toombe man: why, you must not speake

912that yet; that you answere to Piramus: you speake all

913your part at once, cues and all. Piramus enter, your cue is

914past; it is neuer tyre.

915Thys. O, as true as truest horse, that yet would neuer

916tyre:

917Pir. If I were faire, Thisby I were onely thine.

918Pet. O monstrous. O strange. We are hanted; pray

919masters, flye masters, helpe.

921Puk. Ile follow you, Ile leade you about a Round,

922Through bogge, through bush, through brake, through (bryer,

923Sometime a horse Ile be, sometime a hound:

924A hogge, a headlesse beare, sometime a fire,

925And neigh, and barke, and grunt, and rore, and burne,

926Like horse, hound, hog, beare, fire, at euery turne. Exit.

928Bot. Why do they run away? This is a knauery of

929them to make me afeard. Enter Snowt.

930Sn. O Bottom, thou art chang'd; What doe I see on

931thee?

932Bot. What do you see? You see an Asse-head of your

933owne, do you?

935Pet. Blesse thee Bottome, blesse thee; thou art transla-

936ted. Exit.

937Bot. I see their knauery; this is to make an asse of me,

938to fright me if they could; but I will not stirre from

939this place, do what they can. I will walke vp and downe

940here, and I will sing that they shall heare I am not a-

941fraid.

942The Woosell cocke, so blacke of hew,

943With Orenge-tawny bill.

944The Throstle, with his note so true,

945The Wren and little quill.

946Tyta. What Angell wakes me from my flowry bed?

947Bot. The Finch, the Sparrow, and the Larke,

948The plainsong Cuckow gray;

949Whose note full many a man doth marke,

950And dares not answere, nay.

951For indeede, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird?

952Who would giue a bird the lye, though he cry Cuckow,

953neuer so?

954Tyta. I pray thee gentle mortall, sing againe,

955Mine eare is much enamored of thy note;

956On the first view to say, to sweare I loue thee.

957So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape.

958And thy faire vertues force (perforce) doth moue me.

959Bot. Me-thinkes mistresse, you should haue little

960reason for that: and yet to say the truth, reason and

961loue keepe little company together, now-adayes.

962The more the pittie, that some honest neighbours will

963not make them friends. Nay, I can gleeke vpon occa-

964sion.

965Tyta. Thou art as wise, as thou art beautifull.

966Bot. Not so neither: but if I had wit enough to get

967out of this wood, I haue enough to serue mine owne

968turne.

969Tyta. Out of this wood, do not desire to goe,

970Thou shalt remaine here, whether thou wilt or no.

971I am a spirit of no common rate:

972The Summer still doth tend vpon my state,

973And I doe loue thee; therefore goe with me,

974Ile giue thee Fairies to attend on thee;

975And they shall fetch thee Iewels from the deepe,

976And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleepe:

977And I will purge thy mortall grossenesse so,

978That thou shalt like an airie spirit go.

981Fai. Ready; and I, and I, and I, Where shall we go?