'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.

More strange then true. I never may believe

5.1.31795These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.

5.1.41796Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

5.1.51797Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend more

5.1.61798Than cool reason ever comprehends.

5.1.71799The lunatic, the lover, and the poet

5.1.81800Are of imagination all compact.

5.1.91801One sees more devils then vast hell can hold:

5.1.101802That is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,

5.1.111803Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.

5.1.121804The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance

5.1.131805From heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,

5.1.141806And as imagination bodies forth the forms of things

5.1.151807Unknown, the poet's pen turns them to shapes,

5.1.161808And gives to airy nothing a local habitation

5.1.171809And a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination,

5.1.181810That if it would but apprehend some joy,

5.1.191811It comprehends some bringer of that joy.

5.1.201812Or, in the night, imagining some fear,

5.1.211813How easy is a bush supposed a bear?

But all the story of the night told over,

5.1.231815And all their minds transfigured so together,

5.1.241816More witnesseth than fancy's images

5.1.251817And grows to something of great constancy;

5.1.261818But howsoever, strange and admirable.

Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.

5.1.281822Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days

5.1.291823Of love accompany your hearts.

More then to us wait in your royal walks,

5.1.311825your board, your bed.

Come now, what masks, what dances shall

1827we have,

5.1.331828To wear away this long age of three hours,

5.1.341829Between our after-supper and bed-time?

5.1.351830Where is our usual manager of mirth?

5.1.361831What revels are in hand? Is there no play

5.1.371832To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?

5.1.381833Call Egeus.

Here mighty Theseus.

Say, what abridgement have you for this

5.1.411836evening?

5.1.421837What mask? What music? How shall we beguile

5.1.431838The lazy time if not with some delight?

There is a brief how many sports are rife.

5.1.451840Make choice of which your highness will see first.

"The Battle with the Centaurs," to be sung

5.1.471842By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.

We'll none of that. That have I told my love

5.1.491844In glory of my kinsman Hercules.

5.1.501845"The Riot of the Tipsy Bacchanals

5.1.511846Tearing the Thracian Singer in their Rage."

5.1.521847That is an old device, and it was played

5.1.531848When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

5.1.541849"The Thrice Three Muses Mourning for the Death

5.1.551850of Learning, late Deceased in Beggary."

5.1.561851That is some satire keen and critical,

5.1.571852Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.

5.1.581853"A Tedious Brief Scene of Young Pyramus,

5.1.591854And his love Thisby; very tragical mirth."

5.1.601855Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief? That

5.1.611856Is hot ice and wondrous strange snow. How shall we

5.1.621857Find the concord of this discord?

A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,

5.1.641859Which is as brief as I have known a play;

5.1.651860But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,

5.1.661861Which makes it tedious. For in all the play

5.1.671862There is not one word apt, one player fitted.

5.1.681863And tragical, my noble lord, it is, for Pyramus

5.1.691864Therein doth kill himself. Which, when I saw

5.1.701865Rehearsed, I must confess, made mine eyes water,

5.1.711866But more merry tears the passion of loud laughter

5.1.721867Never shed.

What are they that do play it?

Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here,

5.1.751870Which never labored in their minds till now;

5.1.761871And now have toiled their unbreathed memories

5.1.771872With this same play, against your nuptial.

And we will hear it.

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

5.1.801875It over, and it is nothing, nothing in the world;

5.1.811876Unless you can find sport in their intents,

5.1.821877Extremely stretched and conned with cruel pain,

5.1.831878To do you service.

I will hear that play. For never any thing

5.1.851880Can be amiss when simpleness and duty tender it.

5.1.861881Go, bring them in, and take your places ladies.

I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged,

5.1.881883And duty in his service perishing.

Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.

He says they can do nothing in this kind.

The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.

5.1.921887Our sport shall be to take what they mistake,

5.1.931888And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect

5.1.941889Takes it in might, not merit.

5.1.951890Where I have come, great clerks have purposed

5.1.961891To greet me with premeditated welcomes;

5.1.971892Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,

5.1.981893Make periods in the midst of sentences,

5.1.991894Throttle their practiced accent in their fears,

5.1.1001895And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,

5.1.1011896Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,

5.1.1021897Out of this silence yet I picked a welcome;

5.1.1031898And in the modesty of fearful duty

5.1.1041899I read as much as from the rat'ling tongue

5.1.1051900Of saucy and audacious eloquence.

5.1.1061901Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity

5.1.1071902In least speak most, to my capacity.

So please your grace, the prologue is addressed.

Let him approach.

If we offend, it is with our good will.

5.1.1111907That you should think, we come not to offend,

5.1.1121908But with good will. To show our simple skill,

5.1.1131909That is the true beginning of our end.

5.1.1141910Consider then, we come but in despite.

5.1.1151911We do not come, as minding to content you,

5.1.1161912Our true intent is. All for your delight,

5.1.1171913We are not here. That you should here repent you,

5.1.1181914The actors are at hand; and by their show,

5.1.1191915You shall know all, that you are like to know.

This fellow doth not stand upon points.

He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he 1918knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord. It is not 1919enough to speak, but to speak true.

Indeed, he hath played on his prologue like a 1921child on a recorder: a sound, but not in government.

His speech was like a tangled chain: nothing 1923impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?

5.1.126Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show,

5.1.1271927But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.

5.1.1281928This man is Pyramus, if you would know;

5.1.1291929This beauteous lady Thisby is certain.

5.1.1301930This man, with lime and roughcast, doth present

5.1.1311931Wall, that vile wall, which did these lovers sunder;

5.1.1321932And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are content

5.1.1331933To whisper. At the which, let no man wonder.

5.1.1341934This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn,

5.1.1351935Presenteth moonshine. For, if you will know,

5.1.1361936By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn

5.1.1371937To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.

5.1.1381938This grizzly beast, which lion hight by name,

5.1.1391939The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,

5.1.1401940Did scare away, or rather did affright;

5.1.1411941And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall,

5.1.1421942Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.

5.1.1431943Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,

5.1.1441944And finds his Thisby's mantle slain;

5.1.1451945Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade,

5.1.1461946He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast.

5.1.1471947And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade,

5.1.1481948His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,

5.1.1491949Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain

5.1.1501950At large discourse, while here they do remain.

I wonder if the lion be to speak?

No wonder, my lord. One lion may when many asses do.

5.1.154In this same interlude it doth befall

5.1.1551957That I, one Snout by name, present a wall;

5.1.1561958And such a wall, as I would have you think,

5.1.1571959That had in it a crannied hole or chink,

5.1.1581960Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,

5.1.1591961Did whisper often, very secretly.

5.1.1601962This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone doth show

5.1.1611963That I am that same Wall, the truth is so.

5.1.1621964And this the cranny is, right and sinister,

5.1.1631965Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.

Would you desire lime and hair to speak

1967better?

It is the wittiest partition, that ever I heard 1969discourse, my lord.

Pyramus draws near the wall. Silence!

5.1.168O grim-looked night, O night with hue so black,

5.1.1691973O night, which ever art when day is not.

5.1.1701974O night, O night, alack, alack, alack.

5.1.1711975I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot.

5.1.1721976And thou, O wall, thou sweet and lovely wall,

5.1.1731977That stands between her father's ground and mine,

5.1.1741978Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,

5.1.1751979Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.

5.1.1761980Thanks, courteous wall. Jove shield thee well for this.

5.1.1771981But what see I? No Thisby do I see.

5.1.1781982O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,

5.1.1791983Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me!

The wall, methinks, being sensible, should

1985curse again.

No, in truth, sir, he should not. "Deceiving me" 1987Is Thisby's cue. She is to enter, and I am to spy 1988her through the wall. You shall see it will fall

5.1.1821990Pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.

5.1.184O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans

5.1.1851992For parting my fair Pyramus and me.

5.1.1861993My cherry lips have often kissed thy stones,

5.1.1871994Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.

I see a voice! Now will I to the chink

5.1.1891996To spy and I can hear my Thisby's face. Thisby?

My love! Thou art my love, I think?

Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace,

5.1.1921999And like Limander am I trusty still.

And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.

Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.

As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.

O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.

I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.

Wilt thou at Ninnies tomb meet me straight 2006way?

'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay.

Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;

2009And being done, thus Wall away doth go.

Now is the moral down between the two

2011neighbors.

No remedy, my lord, when walls are so 2013willful to hear without warning.

This is the silliest stuff that e're I heard.

The best in this kind are but shadows, and the 2016worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.

It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.

If we imagine no worse of them then they of 2019themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come 2020two noble beasts, in a man and a lion.

5.1.209You Ladies, you whose gentle hearts do fear

5.1.2102023The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,

5.1.2112024May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,

5.1.2122025When Lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.

5.1.2132026Then know that I, one Snug the Joiner am

5.1.2142027A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam.

5.1.2152028For, if I should as lion come in strife

5.1.2162029Into this place,'twere pity of my life!

A very gentle beast, and of good conscience.

The very best at a beast, my lord, that e're I saw.

This lion is a very fox for his valor.

True, and a goose for his discretion.

Not so, my lord, for his valor cannot carry 2035his discretion, and the fox carries the goose.

His discretion, I am sure cannot carry his valor, 2037for the goose carries not the fox. It is well. Leave it to 2038his discretion, and let us hearken to the moon.

5.1.224This lantern doth the horned moon 2040present --

He should have worn the horns on his head.

He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible 2043within the circumference.

5.1.228This lantern doth the horned moon present.

5.1.2292045 Myself the man in the moon doth seem to be.

This is the greatest error of all the rest! The man

2047should be put into the lantern. How is it else the man 2048in the moon?

He dares not come there for the candle. 2050For you see, it is already in snuff.

I am weary of this moon; would he would 2052change.

It appears, by his small light of discretion, that 2054he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we 2055must stay the time.

Proceed, moon.

All that I have to say is to tell you that the 2058lantern is the moon; I the man in the moon; this 2059thorn bush, my thorn bush; and this dog, my dog.

Why all these should be in the lantern, for 2061they are in the moon. But silence, here comes Thisby.

This is old Ninnies tomb: where is my love?

Oh.

Well roared, lion.

Well run, Thisby.

Well shone, moon. 2069Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.

Well moused, Lion.

And then came Pyramus.

And so the lion vanished.

5.1.246Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams.

5.1.2472075I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright,

5.1.2482076For by thy gracious, golden, glittering beams

5.1.2492077I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.

5.1.2502078But stay: O spite! But mark, poor knight,

5.1.2512079What dreadful dole is here?

5.1.2522080Eyes, do you see? How can it be?

5.1.2532081O dainty duck, O dear!

5.1.2542082Thy mantle good, what, stained with blood?

5.1.2552083Approach you Furies fell!

5.1.2562084O Fates, come, come! Cut thread and thrum,

5.1.2572085Quail, crush, conclude, and quell.

This passion, and the death of a dear friend,

5.1.2592087Would go near to make a man look sad.

Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

O, wherefore, Nature, did'st thou lions frame?

5.1.2622090Since lion vile hath here deflowered my dear;

5.1.2632091Which is -- no, no -- which was the fairest dame

5.1.2642092That lived, that loved, that liked, that looked with cheer.

5.1.2652093Come tears, confound. Out sword, and wound

5.1.2662094The pap of Pyramus:

5.1.2672095Aye, that left pap, where heart doth hop;

5.1.2682096Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.

5.1.2692097Now am I dead, now am I fled; my soul is in the sky,

5.1.2702098Tongue, lose thy light. Moon, take thy flight,

5.1.2712100Now die, die, die, die, die.

No die, but an ace for him. For he is but one.

Less than an ace man, for he is dead. He is nothing.

With the help of a surgeon, he might yet 2104recover, and prove an ass.

How chance moonshine is gone before? 2106Thisby comes back, and finds her lover.

She will find him by starlight. 2109Here she comes, and her passion ends the play.

Methinks she should not use a long one for 2111such a Pyramus; I hope she will be brief.

A moth will turn the balance, which Pyramus 2113which Thisby is the better.

She hath spied him already, with those sweet eyes.

And thus she means, videlicit:

5.1.282Asleep my love? What, dead my dove? 2117O Pyramus, arise!

5.1.2832118Speak, speak! Quite dumb? Dead, dead? A tomb

5.1.2842119Must cover thy sweet eyes.

5.1.2852120These lily lips, this cherry nose,

5.1.2862121These yellow cowslip cheeks

5.1.2872122Are gone, are gone. Lovers, make moan.

5.1.2882123His eyes were green as leeks.

5.1.2892124O sisters three, come, come to me,

5.1.2902125With hands as pale as milk,

5.1.2912126Lay them in gore, since you have shore

5.1.2922127With shears, his thread of silk.

5.1.2932128Tongue, not a word. Come, trusty sword,

5.1.2942129Come, blade, my breast imbrue.

5.1.2952130And, farewell friends. Thus Thisby ends.

5.1.2962131Adieu, adieu, adieu.

Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.

Ay, and Wall too.

No, I assure you, the wall is down, that parted 2135their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or 2136to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our 2137company?

No epilogue, I pray you, for your play needs 2139no excuse. Never excuse, for when the players are all 2140dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that 2141writ it had played Pyramus, and hung himself in Thisby's 2142garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is 2143truly, and very notably discharged. But come, your 2144Burgomaske, let your epilogue alone.

5.1.3012145The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.

5.1.3022146Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.

5.1.3032147I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn,

5.1.3042148As much as we this night have over-watched.

5.1.3052149This palpable gross play hath well beguiled

5.1.3062150The heavy gate of night. Sweet friends, to bed.

5.1.3072151A fortnight hold we this solemnity

5.1.3082152In nightly revels and new jollity.

Now the hungry lion's roars,

5.1.3102155And the wolf beholds the moon,

5.1.3112156Whilst the heavy plowman snores,

5.1.3122157All with weary task fordone.

5.1.3132158Now the wasted brands do glow,

5.1.3142159Whil'st the screech owl, screeching loud,

5.1.3152160Puts the wretch that lies in woe

5.1.3162161In remembrance of a shroud.

5.1.3172162Now it is the time of night,

5.1.3182163That the graves, all gaping wide,

5.1.3192164Every one lets forth his sprite,

5.1.3202165In the churchway paths to glide.

5.1.3212166And we fairies that do run

5.1.3222167By the triple Hecate's team

5.1.3232168From the presence of the sun,

5.1.3242169Following darkness like a dream,

5.1.3252170Now are frolic; not a mouse

5.1.3262171Shall disturb this hallowed house.

5.1.3272172I am sent with broom before,

5.1.3282173To sweep the dust behind the door.

Through the house give glimmering light,

5.1.3302176By the dead and drowsy fire.

5.1.3312177Every elf and fairy sprite

5.1.3322178Hop as light as bird from brier;

5.1.3332179And this ditty after me sing and dance it trippingly.

First rehearse this song by rote,

5.1.3352181To each word a warbling note.

5.1.3362182Hand in hand with fairy grace

5.1.3372183Will we sing and bless this place.