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But, gentle friend, for love and curtesy
Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I;
[They seep Enter Puck. Puck. Through the forest have I gone, But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring love: Night and silence! who is here? Weeds of Athens he doth wear; This is he, my master said, Despised the Athenian maid, And here the maiden sleeping sound On the dank and dirty ground. Pretty foul ! she durft not lie Near to this lack-love kill-curtesy. Churl, upon thy eyes I throw All the pow'r this charm doth owe: When thou wak'st, let love forbid Sleep his feat on thy eye-lid; So awake, when I am gone: For I must now to Oberon.
Enter Demetrius and Helená running.
Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me? do not so. Dem. Stay, on thy peril; I alone will go.
Exit Demetrius. Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase; The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is Hernia, wherefoe'er She lies; For the hath blessed, and attractive, eyes. How came her eyes so bright? not with salt tears; If so, my eyes are oftner wall’d than hers: No, no, I am as ugly as a bear; For beasts, that meet me, run away for fear. Therefore no marvel, though Demetrius Do (as a monster fly my presence thus. What wicked, and dissembling, glass of mine Made me compare with Hermia's fphery eyne? But who is here? Lysander on the ground: Dead or aflecp? I see no blood, no wound: Lysander, if you live, good Sir, awake. Lyf. And run thro' fire I will, for thy sweet sake.
[Waking. Transparent Helen, nature here shews art, That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius? Oh, how fit a word Is that vile name, to perish on my sword !
Hel. Do not say fo, Lysander, fay not so;
Lyf. Content with Hermia? no: I do repent
And leads me to your eyes; where I o'erlook
Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mock'ry born?
Lyf. She sees not Hermia ; Hermia, fleep thou there; And never may'st thou come Lysander near; For as a furfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ; Or as the heresies, that men do leave, Are hated most of those they did deceive; So thou, my surfeit and my herisy, Of all he hated, but the most of me! And all my pow'rs address your love and might To honour Helen, and to be her Knight! [Exit.
Her. Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast: Ay me, for pity, what a dream was here? Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear; Me-thought, a serpent eat my heart away; And you sat smiling at his cruel prey: Lysander! what remov’d? Lysander, lord ! What, out of hearing gone? no sound, no word? Alack, where are you? speak, and if you hear, 'Speak, of all loves ; (I swoon almost, with fear.) No? -then I well perceive, you are not nigh; O.r death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Exit.
Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snowt and
Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake our tyring house, and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the Duke.
Bot. Peter Quince
Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby, that will never please. First Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself, which the ladies cannot abide. How answer
that? Snowt. By’rlaken, a parlous fear.
Star. I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.
Bot. Not a whit, I have a device to make all well; write me a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not kill'd indeed; and for more betier assurance tell them, that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver; this will put them out of fear.
Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue, and it shall be written in eight and fix.
Bot. No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.
Snowt. Will not the ladies be afraid of the lion? Star. I fear it, I promise you.
Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with yourfelves; to bring in, God shield us, a lion among ladies, is a moft dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to look to it.
Snowt. Therefore another prologue must tell, he is not a lion.
Bot. Nay you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the same defect; ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish you, or I would request you, or I would intreat to fear, not to tremble; my life for
you think, I come here as a lion, it were pity of my life; no, I am no such thing, I am a man as other men are; and there indeed let him name his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.
Quin. Well, it shall be fo ; but there is two hard things, that is, to bring the moon-light into a chamber; for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moon-light.
Snug. Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?
Bot. A kalendar, a kalendar! look in the almanack; find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine..
Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night.
Bot. Why then may you leave a casement of the great chamber-window, where we play, open; and the moon may
shine in at the casement. Quin. Ay, or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to diffigure, or to present, the person of moon-shine. Then there is another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber, for Pyramus and Thisby (says the story) did talk through the chink of a wall.