صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

Refufing. *Sneer.

Ye have my answer-
*What remains to do,
Your king, Ulysses, may consult with you.
What needs he the defence this arm can make?
Has he not walls, no human force can shake?
Has he not fenc'd his guarded navy round
With piles, with ramparts, and a trench pro-
found?

And will not these, the wonders he has done,
Repel the rage of Priam's single son?

Self-comm. There was a time ('twas when for Greece I fought)

When Hector's prowess no such wonders wrought.
He kept the verge of Troy, nor dar'd to wait
Achilles' vengeance at the Scean gate.

Refolution. But now those deadly contests are no more,
To-morrow we the fav'ring gods implore;

Infult.

Fixed
Hatred,

Then shall ye see our parting vessels crown'd,
And hear with oars the Hellespont resound.
Then tell your king, that áll the Greeks may

hear,

And learn to scorn the man they basely fear.
(For, arm'd in impudence, mankind he braves,
And meditates new cheats on all his slaves;
Though shameless as he is, to meet these eyes
Is what he dares not; if he dares, he dies.)
Tell him, all terms, all commerce I decline,
Nor share his counsels, nor his battles join :
For, once deceiv'd was his; but twice were

mine.

J

Refolution. My fates, long since, by Thetis were disclos'd;
And each alternate, life, or fame, propos'd.
Here if I stay before the Trojan town,
Short is my date; but deathless my renown.
If I return, I quit immortal praise

Advifing.

For years on years, and long extended days. Convinc'd tho' late, I find my fond mistake, And warn the Greeks the wiser choice to make; To quit these shores; their native seats enjoy, Nor hope the fall of heaven-defended Troy. Life is not to be bought with heaps of gold; Reflections Not all, Apollo's Pythian treasures hold,

Serious

Or Troy once held, in peace and pride of sway,
Canbribe the poor possession of a day,
Lost herds and treasures we by arms regain,
And steeds unrival'd on the dusty plain.
But, from our lips the vital spirit fled,
Returns no more to wake the silent dead.

He concludes with declaring his determined reso-
lution not to return. And the Ambassadors
take their leave, to go back to the army.

XLIV.

HUMOROUS

SCENE FROM SHAKESPEAR'S MID-SUM-
MER NIGHT'S DREAM.

Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snowt and
Starveling.

Quince. Is all our company here?

Inquiring.

Bot. You had best call them conjunctly and Directing. severally, generally and especially, that is, whereof to call them man by man, according to the scrip. Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name Informing. in this town, that is fit to be seen upon the stage before the duke and dutchess.

Bot. (1) Good Peter Quince, go to work in Directing. a method. Begin at the top, and go on to the bottom; that is, whereof as a man may say, first tell us what the play treats of, then read the names of the actors, and so your business will stand by itself as regular, as a building set upon the very pinnacle of its foundation.

Quin. Why then the play is the most de- Informing. lectable and lamentable comedy entitled and called, The cruel tragedy of the death of Pyramus and Thisby.

(1) "Good Peter Quince, &c." To be fpoken with a great affectation of wisdom; but in a clumsy and ruftic manner.

Pity.

Bot. A very moving play, I warrant it. A very deep tragedy, I know by the sound of the title of it. Pyramus and Thisby! I suppose they are to have their throats cut from ear to ear, or their beilies ripped up from the waistbands of their Directing. breeches to their chins. Well now, good Peter, call forth your actors by the scrowl. Masters, spread yourselves out into a clump, every man conjunctly by himself.

Authority. Quin. Answer as I call you.

weaver.

Affectation

Smartness.

Nick Bottom,

Bot. Ready. Name my part, and proceed. Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

Authority. Bot. I am to play Pyramus? Well, and who Inquiring. is Pyramus? A gentleman or a simple man ?

Teaching.

Quin. Pyramus is a lovyer, and Thisby is his sweetheart. Pyramus kills himself for grief, because a lion had got hold of Thisby's cloak, and tore it, which makes Pyramus conclude, as how he had tore her too, and eaten her up, all but the cloak; whereof he had not touched her. that poor Pyramus loses his life d'ye see, for nothing at all; whereof you know, that is enoughto make a man hang himself.

So

Inquiring. Bot. What then, am I to hang myself for vexation, because I had killed myself for nothing?

Denying.

Quin. No; that is not in the play. Apprehen. Bot. Here will be salt tears wept, or I am mistaken. An I be the man, that acts this same Pyramus, let the ladies look to their eyes. I will condole and congratulate to some tune. I will break every heart, that is not double hooped with flint. I have a main notion of acting your lovyer, that is crossed in love. There is but one thing, that is more to my humour than your tribulation lovyer. That is, your tyrant; your thundering tyrant; I could play you, for example I could play you such a tyrant as Herriccoles,(1) (1) Hercules.

Bombaft.

when he gets on the brimstone shirt, and is all on fire, as the unlucky boys burn a great rat alive with spirits. And then, when he takes up little-what's his name-(1) to squirt him off Ranting. of the cliff into the sea. O then 'tis fine, (2)

..

I'll spilt the raging rocks; and shiv'ring shocks, with thund'ring knocks, shall break the locks, of prison gates. And Febal's (3) ear, shall shine from far, and kindle war, with many a scar, and make and mar the stubborn fates." There Applause. is your right tragedy stuff. This is Harriccole's vein to a hair. This is your only true tyrant's Directing. vein. Your lovyer's vein is more upon the con

doling and congratulating. Now, Peter Quince, Authority. name the rest of the players.

Quin. Francis Flute, Bellows-mender.
Flute. Here, Peter Quince.

Affectation

Smartness.

Quin. *Francis, you must take Thisby on *Authority

you.

Flute. What, that is to be Nick Bottom's +Inquiring sweetheart, and to have my cloak worried alive by the great beast? Why, Peter, I have a beard Doubt. a coming. I shan't make a clever woman, as

you may say, unless it were Mrs. What d'ye Inquiring. call her, Mrs. Tibby's mother or aunt. Has not the gentlewoman of the play a mother, or an aunt, that appears?

Quin. Yes; but you must do Thisby. You will Encourag. do Thisby well enough, man. You shall do it Authority.

in a mask. Robin Starveling, taylor.

Star. Here, Peter Quince.

Affectation

Smartness.

Quin. You must play Pyramus's Father; I §Authority will play Thisby's father; Flute must play This

by; and Snort Thisby's mother. Simon Snug, Affectation joiner.

Snug. Here, Peter Quince.

(1) Lichas.

(2) This bombastic paffage (probably intended to ridicule fome play written in Shakespeare's time) cannot be too much

mouthed and ranted.

Smartness.

(3) Phœbus's.

N

[blocks in formation]

*

Quin. Simon, you must act the part of the lion.

Snug. Heh! the part of the lion, do you say, Peter Quince? Why I never made a beast of myself in my life, but now and then, when I have drunk a cup too much.

Quin. Pshaw, Pshaw, a better man than you or I either, has been made a beast before now; ay, and a horn'd beast too. But the lion is a royal beast, the king of beasts. So, Simon, you must play the part of the lion.

Let

Snug. Well, but an it be a long part, I can't remember it; for I have but a poor brain. me see how many pages.

Quin. Why, Simon, it is not written. And, for the matter of that, you may do it off hand. It is nothing but roaring.

Bot. I'll tell you what, Peter Quince; you were better to let me act the part of the lion. Simon Snug is but a hen-hearted sort of a fellow. He won't roar you so loud as a mouse in the hole in the wall. But, if you will let me play the part, I will make such a noise, as shall do any man's heart good to hear me. I will roar, that the duke shall cry, Encore, encore, let him roar, let him roar, once more,

once more.

Cautioning Quin. But if you were too terrible, you might frighten the dutchess and the ladies, that they would shriek, and that were enough to hang us all.

Self vindication.

Bot. Ay; if the dutchess and the ladies were frighted out of their wits, to be sure, perhaps they might have no more wit, than to get us all hang'd; but do you think, Peter Quince, that I have no more inhumanity in my nature, than to frighten people? I would restrain and aggravate my voice, that I would roar you as gentle as any sucking dove; I would roar you an it were any nightingale.

« السابقةمتابعة »