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Lovers and madmen have such seeching brains,
Hip. But all the tory of the night told over,
Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena.
Lys. More than to us, Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed. The. Come now, what maks, what dance's shall we have, VoL, I,
To wear away this long age of three hours,
Philost. Here, mighty Theseus.
Thê. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening! What malk? what musick ? how fhall we beguile The lazy time, if not with fome delight!
Philost. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe: Make choice of which your highness will fee first.
[Giving a paper. The. (reads.] “ The battle with the Centaurs, to be
sung by an Athenian eunuch to the harp."
Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary."
PhilosT. A play there 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 oné word apt, one player fitted, And tragical, my noble lord, it is : For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. Which, when I faw rehears'd, I must confess, Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears The passion of loud laughter never seed.
THE. What are they, that do play it?
Philost. 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 same play, against your nuptialş.
Tae. And we will hear it.
Philost. No, my noble lord,
The. I will hear that play :
Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
The. Why, gentle sweet, you fhall see no such thing.
THE. The kinder we to give them thanks for nothing.
And what poor duty cannot do,
Enter Quince, for the Prologue.
should think, we come not to offend, But with good will. To lhew our simple kill,
That is the true beginning of our end. Consider then we come but in despite
We do not come, as minding to content you Our true intent is, -all for your delight,
We are not here, that you should here repent you, The actors are at hand ;-and by their show,
You shall know all, that you are like to know.
The. This fellow doth not stand upon points.
Lys. 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 sound, but not in government.
The. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impair'd, but all disorder'd. Who is the next? Enter Pyramus and Thilbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion, as
in dumb shew. Prol. Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show,
But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
This beauteous lady Thilby is, certain.
Wall, the vile wall, which did these lovers sunder:
To whisper, at the which let no man wonder. This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
Presenteth Moon-hine : for, if you will know,
To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.
And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle Nain; Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade