Enter King of Pharies, solus.

Ob. I wonder if t.i.tania be awak't; Then what it was that next came in her eye, Which she must dote on, in extremitie.

Enter Pucke.

Here comes my messenger: how now mad spirit, What night-rule now about this haunted groue?

Puck. My Mistris with a monster is in loue, Neere to her close and consecrated bower, While she was in her dull and sleeping hower, A crew of patches, rude Mechanicals, That worke for bread vpon Athenian stals, Were met together to rehea.r.s.e a Play, Intended for great Theseus nuptiall day: The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort, Who Piramus presented, in their sport, Forsooke his Scene, and entred in a brake, When I did him at this aduantage take, An a.s.ses nole I fixed on his head.

Anon his Thisbie must be answered, And forth my Mimmick comes: when they him spie, As Wilde-geese, that the creeping Fowler eye, Or russed-pated choughes, many in sort (Rising and cawing at the guns report) Seuer themselues, and madly sweepe the skye: So at his sight, away his fellowes flye, And at our stampe, here ore and ore one fals; He murther cries, and helpe from Athens cals.

Their sense thus weake, lost with their feares thus strong, Made senslesse things begin to do them wrong.

For briars and thornes at their apparell s.n.a.t.c.h, Some sleeues, some hats, from yeelders all things catch, I led them on in this distracted feare, And left sweete Piramus translated there: When in that moment (so it came to pa.s.se) Tytania waked, and straightway lou'd an a.s.se

Ob. This fals out better then I could deuise: But hast thou yet lacht the Athenians eyes, With the loue iuyce, as I bid thee doe?

Rob. I tooke him sleeping (that is finisht to) And the Athenian woman by his side, That when he wak't, of force she must be eyde.

Enter Demetrius and Hermia.

Ob. Stand close, this is the same Athenian

Rob. This is the woman, but not this the man

Dem. O why rebuke you him that loues you so?

Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe

Her. Now I but chide, but I should vse thee worse.

For thou (I feare) hast giuen me cause to curse, If thou hast slaine Lysander in his sleepe, Being oreshooes in bloud, plunge in the deepe, and kill me too: The Sunne was not so true vnto the day, As he to me. Would he haue stollen away, From sleeping Hermia? Ile beleeue as soone This whole earth may be bord, and that the Moone May through the Center creepe, and so displease Her brothers noonetide, with th'Antipodes.

It cannot be but thou hast murdred him, So should a murtherer looke, so dead, so grim

Dem. So should the murderer looke, and so should I, Pierst through the heart with your stearne cruelty: Yet you the murderer lookes as bright as cleare, As yonder Venus in her glimmering spheare

Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he?

Ah good Demetrius, wilt thou giue him me?

Dem. I'de rather giue his carka.s.se to my hounds

Her. Out dog, out cur, thou driu'st me past the bounds Of maidens patience. Hast thou slaine him then?

Henceforth be neuer numbred among men.

Oh, once tell true, euen for my sake, Durst thou a lookt vpon him, being awake?

And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O braue tutch: Could not a worme, an Adder do so much?

An Adder did it: for with doubler tongue Then thine (thou serpent) neuer Adder stung

Dem. You spend your pa.s.sion on a mispris'd mood, I am not guiltie of Lysanders blood: Nor is he dead for ought that I can tell

Her. I pray thee tell me then that he is well

Dem. And if I could, what should I get therefore?

Her. A priuiledge, neuer to see me more; And from thy hated presence part I: see me no more Whether he be dead or no.

Enter.

Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vaine, Here therefore for a while I will remaine.

So sorrowes heauinesse doth heauier grow: For debt that bankrout slip doth sorrow owe, Which now in some slight measure it will pay, If for his tender here I make some stay.

Lie downe.

Ob. What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite And laid the loue iuyce on some true loues sight: Of thy misprision, must perforce ensue Some true loue turn'd, and not a false turn'd true

Rob. Then fate ore-rules, that one man holding troth, A million faile, confounding oath on oath

Ob. About the wood, goe swifter then the winde, And Helena of Athens looke thou finde.

All fancy sicke she is, and pale of cheere, With sighes of loue, that costs the fresh bloud deare.

By some illusion see thou bring her heere, Ile charme his eyes against she doth appeare

Robin. I go, I go, looke how I goe, Swifter then arrow from the Tartars bowe.

Enter.

Ob. Flower of this purple die, Hit with Cupids archery, Sinke in apple of his eye, When his loue he doth espie, Let her shine as gloriously As the Venus of the sky.

When thou wak'st if she be by, Beg of her for remedy.

Enter Pucke.

Puck. Captaine of our Fairy band, Helena is heere at hand, And the youth, mistooke by me, Pleading for a Louers fee.

Shall we their fond Pageant see?

Lord, what fooles these mortals be!

Ob. Stand aside: the noyse they make, Will cause Demetrius to awake

Puck. Then will two at once wooe one, That must needs be sport alone: And those things doe best please me, That befall preposterously.

Enter Lysander and Helena.

Lys. Why should you think y I should wooe in scorn?

Scorne and derision neuer comes in teares: Looke when I vow I weepe; and vowes so borne, In their natiuity all truth appeares.

How can these things in me, seeme scorne to you?

Bearing the badge of faith to proue them true

Hel. You doe aduance your cunning more & more, When truth kils truth, O diuelish holy fray!

These vowes are Hermias. Will you giue her ore?

Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh.

Your vowes to her, and me, (put in two scales) Will euen weigh, and both as light as tales

Lys. I had no iudgement, when to her I swore

Hel. Nor none in my minde, now you giue her ore

Lys. Demetrius loues her, and he loues not you.

Awa.

Dem. O Helen, G.o.ddesse, nimph, perfect, diuine, To what, my loue, shall I compare thine eyne!

Christall is muddy, O how ripe in show, Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!

That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow, Fan'd with the Easterne winde, turnes to a crow, When thou holdst vp thy hand. O let me kisse This Princesse of pure white, this seale of blisse

h.e.l.l. O spight! O h.e.l.l! I see you are all bent To set against me, for your merriment: If you were ciuill, and knew curtesie, You would not doe me thus much iniury.

Can you not hate me, as I know you doe, But you must ioyne in soules to mocke me to?

If you are men, as men you are in show, You would not vse a gentle Lady so; To vow, and sweare, and superpraise my parts, When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.

You both are Riuals, and loue Hermia; And now both Riuals to mocke Helena.