But who is here? Lyfander on the ground:
Dead or afleep? I fee no blood, no wound:
Lyjander, if you live, gcod Sir, awake.

Lys. And run thro' fire I will, for thy fweet fake.
[Waking.

Tranfparent Helen, nature here fhews art,
That through thy bofom makes me fee thy heart.
Where is Demetrius? Oh, how fit a word
Is that vile name, to perish on my sword!

Hel. Do not fay fo, Lyfander, fay not fo;
What tho' he love your Hermia? Lord, what tho' ?
Yet Hermia ftill loves you; then be content.

Lyf. Content with Hermia? no: I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent ;
Not Hermia, but Helena I love :

Who will not change a raven for a dove?
The will of man is by his reafon sway'd;
And reafon fays, you are the worthier maid.
Things, growing, are not ripe until their feafon ;
So I, being young, 'till now ripe not to reafon;
And, touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
And leads me to your eyes; where I o'erlook
Love's ftories, written in love's richest book.

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mock'ry born?
When at your hands did I deferve this fcorn:
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,
That I did never, no, nor never can,
Deferve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,
But you must flout my infufficiency?
Good troth, you do me wrong; good footh,
In fuch difdainful manner me to woo :
But fare you well. Perforce I must confefs,
I thought you Lord of more true gentleness:
Oh, that a Lady, of one man refus'd,
Should of another therefore be abus'd!

you

}

do;

[Exit.

Lyf. She fees not Hermia; Hermia, fleep thou there; And never may'ft thou come Lysander near; For as a furfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the ftomach brings;

F 4

Or,

Or, as the herefies, that men do leave,
Are hated most of those they did deceive;
So thou, my furfeit and my herefy,
Of all be hated, but the most of me!
And all my pow'rs addrefs your love and might
To honour Helen, and to be her knight.

Her. Help me Lyfander, help me! do thy best
To pluck this crawling ferpent from my breaft:
Ay me, for pity, what a dream was here?
Lyfander, look, how I do quake with fear;
Me-thought, a ferpent eat my heart away;
And you fat fmiling at his cruel prey:
Lyfander! what remov'd? Lyfander, Lord!
What, out of hearing gone? no found, no word?
Alack, where are you? fpeak, and if you hear,
Speak of all loves; (I fwoon almoft, with fear.)
No -then I well perceive, you are not nigh;
Or death, or you, I'll find immediately.

[Exit.

[Exit.

SCENE, the Wood.

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling.

A

The Queen of Fairies lying afleep.

Воттом.

RE we all met?

Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearfal. This green plot shall be cur ftage, this hauthorn-brake our tyring house, and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the Duke. Bot. Peter Quince,

Quin. What fay'ft thou, bully Bottom?

Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby, that will never pleafe. Firft, Pyramus muft

draw

draw a fword to kill himself, which the Ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?

Snout. 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 feem to say, we will do no harm with our fwords, and that Pyramus is not kill'd indeed; and for more better affurance tell them, that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver; this will put them out of fear.

Quin. Well, we will have fuch a prologue, and it fhall be written in eight and fix.

Bot. No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.

Snout. Will not the Ladies be afraid of the lion ?
Star. I fear it, I promise you.

Bot. Mafters, you ought to confider with yourselves; to bring in, God fhield 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.

Snout. Therefore another prologue muft tell, he is

not a lion.

Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be feen through 'the lion's neck; and he himself muft fpeak through, faying thus, or to the fame defect; Ladies, or fair Ladies, I would with you, or I would request you, or I would intreat you, not to fear, not to tremble; my life for yours; if you think, I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life; no, I am no fuch 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 fhall be fo; but there is two hard things, that is, to bring the moon-light into a chamber; for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby met by moonlight.

Snug.Doth the moon fhine that night we play our play? Bot. A kalendar, a kalendar! look in the almanack; find out moon-shine, find out moon-fhine.

Quin. Yes, it doth fhine 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 elfe one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and fay, he comes to disfigure, or to prefent, the perfon of moon-fhine. Then there is another thing; we must have a wall in the great chamber, for Pyramus and Thisby (fays the ftory) did talk through the chink of a wall.

Snug. You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?

Bot. Some man or other must present wall; and let him have fome plafter, or fome lome, or fome roughcaft about him, to fignify wall: Or let him hold his fingers thus; and through the cranny fhall Pyramus and Thisby whisper.

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, fit down every mother's fon, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin; when you have spoken your fpeech, enter into that brake; and fo every one according to his cue.

Enter Puck, behind.

Puck. What hempen home-fpuns have we fwaggering here,

So near the cradle of the fairy Queen?

What, a play tow'rd? I'll be an auditor;

An actor too, perhaps, if I fee cause.

Quin. Speak, Pyramus; Thisby, ftand forth.
Pyr. Thisby, the flower of odious favours sweet.
Quin. Odours, odours.

Pyr. Odours, favours fweet.

So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisy, dear;

But hark, a voice! ftay thou but here a whit!
And, by and by, I will to thee appear.

(15)

[Exit Pyr. Puck.

(15) - ftay thou but here a while;] The verfes here, 'tis plain, fhould be alternately in rhyme; but fweet in the close of the firft line, and zubile in the third, will not do for this purpose. The Author, doubtless, gave it;

-ftay thou but here a whit;

i. e.

Puck. Aftranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here![ Afide. This. Muft Ifpeak now?

Quin. Ay, marry, muft you; for you must underftand, he goes but to fee a noife that he heard, and is to come again.

Thif. Moft radiant Pyramus, moft lilly-white of hue, Of colour like the red rofe on triumphant briar, Moft brifky Juvenile, and eke moft lovely Jew, As true as trueft horfe, that yet would never tire, I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.

Quin. Ninus' tomb, man; why you must not fpeak that yet that you anfwer to Pyramus; you fpeak all your part at once, cues and all. Pyramus, enter; your cue is paft; it is, never tire.

Re-enter Bottom, with an Afs-head.

;

Thif, O, as true as trueft horfe, that yet would never tire. Pyr. If I were fair, Thiby, I were only thine. Quin. O monftrous! O ftrange! we are haunted pray, mafters; fly, mafters; help! [The Clowns exeunt. Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, Through bog, through bush, through brake, through briar,

Sometimes a horse I'll be, fometimes a hound,

A hog, a headlefs bear, fometimes a fire, And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and rear and burn, Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire at every turn.

[Exit.. Bot. Why do they run away this is a knavery of them to make me afeard,

Enter Snowt.

Snowt. O Bottom, thou art chang'd; what do I fee on thee?

i. e. a little while: for fo it fignifies, as alfo any thing of no price,, or confideration; à trife: in which fenfe it is very frequent with. our Author. Bottom before in this Scene fays;.

Not a whit; I have a device to make all well;

And, in Hamlet;

No, not a whit; we defy augury.

And in King Richard III.

Woe, woe, for England! not a whit, for me.

Bet