man is but an afs, if he go about to expound this
dream. Methought I was, there is no man can tell
what. Methought I was, and methought I had,
But man is but a patch'd fool, if he will offer to say
what methought I had. The eye of man hath not
heard, the ear of man hath not feen; man's hand is
not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart
to report what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince
to write a ballad of this dream; it fhall be call'd
Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom; and I will
fing it in the latter end of a play before the Duke;
peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I fhall
fing it (a) after Death.
[Exit.

SCENE IV.
Changes to the Town.

Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling.

HAVE you fent to Bottom's house? is he

Quin. HA

come home yet?

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is tranfported.

Flu. If he come not, then the play is marr'd. It goes not forward, doth it?

Quin. It is not poffible; you have not a man, in all Athens, able to difcharge Pyramus, but he.

Flu. No, he hath fimply the best wit of any handycraft man in Athens.

Quin. Yea, and the best perfon too; and he is a very paramour for a sweet voice.

Flu. You muft fay, paragon; a paramour is (God blefs us!) a thing of naught.

Enter Snug.

Snug. Mafters, the Duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more

(a) after Death, Mr. Theobald, -Vulg. at her Death.]

-

married;

married; if our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men.

Flu. O fweet bully Bottom! thus hath he loft fixpence a-day during his life; he could not have 'scap'd fix-pence a-day; an the Duke had not given him fixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hang'd: he would have deferv'd it. Six-pence a-day, in Pyramus, or nothing.

Enter Bottom.

Bot. Where are thefe lads? where are these hearts? Quin. Bottom!O most courageous day! O most happy hour!

Bot. Mafters, I am to difcourfe wonders, but ask me not what; for if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will tell you every thing as it fell out.

Quin. Let us hear, fweet Bottom.

Bot. Not a word of me; all I will tell you is, that the Duke hath dined. Get your apparel together, good ftrings to your beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace, every man look o'er his part; for the short and the long is, our play is preferr'd in any cafe, let Thisby have clean linnen; and let not him, that plays the lion, pare his nails, for they fhall hang out for the lion's claws; and, moft dear actors! eat no onions, nor garlick, for we are to utter fweet breath; and I do not doubt to hear them fay, it is a moft sweet comedy. No more words; away; go away.

[Exeunt.

ACT

Enter Thefeus, Hippolita, Egeus, and his Lords.

'T

HIPPOL IT A.

IS ftrange, my Thefeus, what thefe lovers speak of.
Thef. More ftrange than true. I never may

believe

These antick fables, nor these fairy toys;
Lovers and madmen have fuch feething brains,
Such fhaping fantafies, that apprehend
More than cool reafon ever comprehends.
"The lunatick, the lover, and the poet,
"Are of imagination all compact:

"One fees more devils than vaft hell can hold;
"The madman. While the lover, all as frantick,
"Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.

"The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rowling,

"Doth glance from heav'n to earth, from earth to heav'n;

"And, as imagination bodies forth

"The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
"Turns them to fhape, and gives to aiery nothing
"A local habitation and a name.

"Such tricks hath strong imagination,
"That if it would but apprehend fome joy,
"It comprehends fome bringer of that joy;
Or in the night imagining fome fear,
How easy is a bufh fuppos'd a bear?

Hip. But all the ftory of the night told over,

I That if HE would but apprehend-] The Quarto of 1600 reads, That if IT- i. e. the imagination; and this is right.

And

And all their minds transfigur'd fo together,
More witneffeth than fancy's images,
And grows to fomething of great conftancy;
But, howfoever, ftrange and admirable.

Enter Lyfander, Demetrius, Hermia and Helena.

Thef. 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. Thef. Come now, what masks, 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.

Philoft. Here, mighty Thefeus.

[ing?

Thef. Say, what abridgment have you for this evenWhat mafque? what mufick? how fhall we beguile The lazy time, if not with fome delight?

Philoft. There is a brief, how many fports are ripe: Make choice of which your Highnefs will fee firft. [Giving a Paper.

Thef. [reads.] The battle with the Centaurs, to be fung By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.

We'll none of that. That I have told my love,
In glory of my kinfman Hercules.

The riot of the tipfie Bacchanals,

Tearing the Thracian finger in their rage.
That is an old device; and it was plaid,
"When I from Thebes came laft a conqueror.

The

2 The thrice three Mufes mourning for the death
Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary.
That is fome fatyr, keen and critical;
Not forting with a nuptial ceremony.
A tedious brief fscene of young Pyramus,
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.
3 Merry and tragical? tedious and brief? ›
That is hot Ice, a wondrous ftrange Shew.
How fhall we find the concord of this difcord ?
Philoft. 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 one 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 paffion of loud laughter never shed.
Thef. What are they, that do play it?

Philoft. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here, Which never labour'd in their minds 'till now;

2 The thrice three Mufes, &c.] This feems to be intended as a compliment to Spencer, who wrote a poem called The tears of the Mufes. He feems to have paid his friend another, in the Second A&t, where he makes the queen of fairies fay to the king, But I know

When thou haft foll'n away from fairy land,
And, in the fhape of Corin, fate all day
Playing on pipes of corn, and verfing love

To am'rous Phillida,

intimating that the paftorals

of that poet were fo fweet, that it was a fuperior being under

the disguise of a mortal who composed them.

3 Merry and tragical? tedious and brief?

That is bot Ice, AND wondrous frange SNOW.] The non

fense of the laft line fhould be corrected thus,

That is, hot Ice, a wondrous firange SHEW!

And