Bot. Not a word of me: all that I will tell you, is, that the Duke hath dined. Get your apparell together, good strings to your beards, new ribbands to your pumps, meete presently at the Palace, euery man looke ore his part: for the short and the long is, our play is preferred: In any case let Thisby haue cleane linnen: and let not him that playes the Lion, paire his nailes, for they shall hang out for the Lions clawes. And most deare Actors, eate no Onions, nor Garlicke; for wee are to vtter sweete breath, and I doe not doubt but to heare them say, it is a sweet Comedy. No more words: away, go away.

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus.

Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Egeus and his Lords.

Hip. 'Tis strange my Theseus, y these louers speake of

The. More strange then true. I neuer may beleeue These anticke fables, nor these Fairy toyes, Louers and mad men haue such seething braines, Such shaping phantasies, that apprehend more Then coole reason euer comprehends.

The Lunaticke, the Louer, and the Poet, Are of imagination all compact.

One sees more diuels then vaste h.e.l.l can hold; That is the mad man. The Louer, all as franticke, Sees Helens beauty in a brow of Egipt.

The Poets eye in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance From heauen to earth, from earth to heauen.

And as imagination bodies forth the forms of things Vnknowne; the Poets pen turnes them to shapes, And giues to aire nothing, a locall habitation, And a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That if it would but apprehend some ioy, It comprehends some bringer of that ioy.

Or in the night, imagining some feare, Howe easie is a bush suppos'd a Beare?

Hip. But all the storie of the night told ouer, And all their minds transfigur'd so together, More witnesseth than fancies images, And growes to something of great constancie; But howsoeuer, strange, and admirable.

Enter louers, Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena.

The. Heere come the louers, full of ioy and mirth: Ioy, gentle friends, ioy and fresh dayes Of loue accompany your hearts

Lys. More then to vs, waite in your royall walkes, your boord, your bed

The. Come now, what maskes, what dances shall we haue, To weare away this long age of three houres, Between our after supper, and bed-time?

Where is our vsuall manager of mirth?

What Reuels are in hand? Is there no play, To ease the anguish of a torturing houre?

Call Egeus

Ege. Heere mighty Theseus

The. Say, what abridgement haue you for this euening?

What maske? What musicke? How shall we beguile The lazie time, if not with some delight?

Ege. There is a breefe how many sports are rife: Make choise of which your Highnesse will see first

Lis. The battell with the Centaurs to be sung By an Athenian Eunuch, to the Harpe

The. Wee'l none of that. That haue I told my Loue In glory of my kinsman Hercules

Lis. The riot of the tipsie Bacha.n.a.ls, Tearing the Thracian singer, in their rage?

The. That is an old deuice, and it was plaid When I from Thebes came last a Conqueror

Lis. The thrice three Muses, mourning for the death of learning, late deceast in beggerie

The. That is some Satire keene and criticall, Not sorting with a nuptiall ceremonie

Lis. A tedious breefe Scene of yong Piramus, And his loue Thisby; very tragicall mirth

The. Merry and tragicall? Tedious, and briefe? That is, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. How shall wee finde the concord of this discord?

Ege. A play there is, my Lord, some ten words long, Which is as breefe, as I haue knowne 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 tragicall my n.o.ble Lord it is: for Piramus Therein doth kill himselfe. Which when I saw Rehearst, I must confesse, made mine eyes water: But more merrie teares, the pa.s.sion of loud laughter Neuer shed

Thes. What are they that do play it?

Ege. Hard handed men, that worke in Athens heere, Which neuer labour'd in their mindes till now; And now haue toyled their vnbreathed memories With this same play, against your nuptiall

The. And we will heare it

Hip. No my n.o.ble Lord, it is not for you. I haue heard It ouer, and it is nothing, nothing in the world; Vnless you can finde sport in their intents, Extreamely stretched, and cond with cruell paine, To doe you seruice

Thes. I will heare that play. For neuer any thing Can be amisse, when simplenesse and duty tender it.

Goe bring them in, and take your places, Ladies

Hip. I loue not to see wretchednesse orecharged; And duty in his seruice perishing

Thes. Why gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing

Hip. He saies, they can doe nothing in this kinde

Thes. The kinder we, to giue them thanks for nothing Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake; And what poore duty cannot doe, n.o.ble respect Takes it in might, not merit.

Where I haue come, great Clearkes haue purposed To greete me with premeditated welcomes; Where I haue seene them shiuer and looke pale, Make periods in the midst of sentences, Throttle their practiz'd accent in their feares, And in conclusion, dumbly haue broke off, Not paying me a welcome. Trust me sweete, Out of this silence yet, I pickt a welcome: And in the modesty of fearefull duty, I read as much, as from the ratling tongue Of saucy and audacious eloquence.

Loue therefore, and tongue-tide simplicity, In least, speake most, to my capacity

Egeus. So please your Grace, the Prologue is addrest

Duke. Let him approach.

Flor. Trum.

Enter the Prologue. Quince.

Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will.

That you should thinke, we come not to offend, But with good will. To shew our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.

Consider then, we come but in despight.

We do not come, as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight, We are not heere. 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

Thes. This fellow doth not stand vpon points

Lys. He hath rid his Prologue, like a rough Colt: he knowes not the stop. A good morall my lord. it is not enough to speake, but to speake true

Hip. Indeed hee hath plaid on his Prologue, like a childe on a Recorder, a sound, but not in gouernment

Thes. His speech was like a tangled chaine: nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?

Tawyer with a Trumpet before them.

Enter Pyramus and Thisby, Wall, Moone-shine, and Lyon.

Prol. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show, But wonder on, till truth make all things plaine.

This man is Piramus, if you would know; This beauteous Lady, Thisby is certaine.

This man, with lyme and rough-cast, doth present Wall, that vile wall, which did these louers sunder: And through walls c.h.i.n.k (poor soules) they are content To whisper. At the which, let no man wonder.