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Re-enter SNOUT.

Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed! What do I see on thee?

Bot. What do you see? You see an ass's head of your own; do you?

Re-enter QUINCE.

Quin. Bless thee, Bottom! Bless thee! translated.

Thou art [Exit.

is to make an ass But I will not stir I will walk up and

Bot. I see their knavery! This of me; to fright me, if they could. from this place, do what they can. down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am

not afraid.

The ousel-cock, so black of hue,

With orange-tawny bill,

The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill.

[Sings,

Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo1 gray,

[Walking.

Whose note full many a man doth mark,

And dares not answer, nay,

for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Who would give a bird the lie, though he cry cuckoo,

never so?

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
Mine ear is much enamored of thy note;

So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me,
On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.

Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little rea

1 The cuckoo, having no variety of note, sings in plain song (plano cantu), by which expression the uniform modulation or simplicity of the chant was anciently distinguished in opposition to prick-song, or vari ated music sung by note.

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son for that; and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays. The more the pity, that some honest neighbors will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion. Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

Bot. Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own

turn.

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go;

Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate;

The summer still doth tend upon my state,

And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee;

And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep;
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep.
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.-

Peas-blossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard-seed!

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All. Where shall we go?

Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;

Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,2
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,
And, for night tapers, crop their waxen thighs,
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,
To have my love to bed, and to arise;

And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

1 i. e. jest or scoff.

2 The fruit of a bramble called rubus cæsius; sometimes called also the blue-berry.

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Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily.—I beseech your worship's name?

Cob. Cobweb.

Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance,1 good master Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. Your name, honest gentleman?

Peas. Peas-blossom.

Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, your mother, and to master Peascod, your father. Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, sir?

Mus. Mustard-seed.

3

Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your patience well. That same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you more acquaintance, good master Mustard-seed.

Tita. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower. The moon methinks looks with a watery eye; And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, Lamenting some enforced chastity.

Tie up my lover's tongue; bring him silently.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another Part of the Wood.

Enter OBERON.

Obe. I wonder if Titania be awaked;

Then, what it was that next came in her eye,

Which she must dote on in extremity.

1 "I shall desire you of more acquaintance." This kind of phraseology

was not uncommon.

2 A squash is an immature peascod.

3 The words are spoken ironically, as it was the prevailing opinion in Shakspeare's time, that mustard excited choler.

Enter PUCK.

Here comes my messenger.-How now, mad spirit!
What night-rule1 now about this haunted grove?
Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love.
Near to her close and consecrated bower,
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
A crew of patches,2 rude mechanicals,
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,
Were met together to rehearse a play,
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day.
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,3
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
Forsook his scene, and entered in a brake;
When I did him at this advantage take,
An ass's now14 I fixed on his head;
Anon, his Thisbe must be answered,
And forth my mimic comes.
When they him spy,
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
Or russet-pated choughs,5 many in sort,
Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky,
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly:

And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls;

He murder cries, and help from Athens calls.

Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus

strong,

Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;
Some, sleeves; some, hats; from yielders all things
catch.

I led them on in this distracted fear,
And left sweet Pyramus translated there:
When, in that moment, (so it came to pass,)
Titania waked, and straightway loved an ass.

1 Revelry.

2 A patch was a common contemptuous term. 3 Barren is dull, unpregnant. Sort is company. 4 A head. 5 The chough is a bird of the daw kind.

Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. But hast thou yet latched1 the Athenian's eyes With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?

Puck. I took him sleeping, that is finished, too,And the Athenian woman by his side;

That, when he waked, of force she must be eyed.

Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA.

Obe. Stand close; this is the same Athenian. Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee

worse;

For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,

Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
And kill me too.

The sun was not so true unto the day,

As he to me.

Would he have stolen away

From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe, as soon,

This whole earth may be bored, and that the moon
May through the centre creep, and so displease
Her brother's noontide with the Antipodes.

It cannot be, but thou hast murdered him:
So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.

Dem. So should the murdered look; and so should I,
Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty.
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.
Her. What's this to my Lysander? Where is he?
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?

Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds. Her. Out, dog! Out, cur! Thou driv'st me past

the bounds

Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then?
Henceforth be never numbered among men!

1 Latched or letched, licked or smeared over.

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