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 THE COMEDY OF 
 A 
 
 MIDSUMMER 
 NIGHTS DREAM 
 
 WRITTEN BY WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 
 
 And Arranged for Representation at Daly's Theatre, by 
 
 AUGUSTIN DALY 
 
 Produced there for the First Time, January 31, 1888 
 
 1888 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR MR. DALY 
 
 E 
 
Copyright by 
 AUGUSTIN DALY, 1888. 
 
 
 TROWB 
 
 ffitHTINe AND BOOKBINDING COMfVUH', 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
A 
 
 Midfommer nights 
 dreame. 
 
 As It bath beene fundry times puk- 
 
 Ul^ly aBed^ by the %ight Honoura-- 
 
 ble, the Lord Chamberlaine his 
 
 feradnts, 
 
 Vfritten ly VVMm Shal^c/peare. 
 
 Trinted blames ^bertSy 1600. 
 
 The above is a fac-simile of the title page of the first Quarto Edition e 
 this play, printed in Shakspere's lifetime.] 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE BOOK OF THE PLAY 
 
 OF 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Because William Shakspere, who lived in this world only fifty-two years, 
 wrote so much within that brief period, and, furthermore, because he wrote 
 with such transcendent genius and ability, it has pleased theoretical and 
 visionary observers to declare that he never wrote at all. Shakspere 
 viewed alone, they maintain, is a miracle, and therefore an impossibility ; 
 but Shakspere and Francis Bacon, rolled into one, constitute a being who 
 is entirely natural and authentic. The works of Shakspere and the works 
 of Bacon present, indeed, almost every possible point of dissimilarity, and 
 no point of resemblance. The man behind Shakspere's plays and poems 
 and the man behind Bacon's essays and philosophy are absolutely distinct 
 from one another, and as far apart as the poles. The direct and positive 
 testimony of Shakspere's friend and professional associate, Benjonson — a 
 close observer, a stern critic, a truth-teller, a moralist, not over-amiable 
 in his commentary upon human nature, and neither prone to error nor 
 liable to credulity — tells the world, not only that Shakspere wrote, but in 
 what manner he wrote. The assumption, implied in the Bacon theory, 
 that a poet capable of writing "Hamlet," "Macbeth," " Lear," and 
 " Othello," either would or could, for any reason whatsoever, wish to es- 
 cape the imputation of their authorship, is obviously absurd. The idea 
 that Shakspere, hired by Bacon to father those plays, could for a period of 
 years go in and out among the actors and the authors of his time, and so 
 impose upon their sagacity and elude their jealous scrutiny as to keep 
 the secret of this gigantic fraud, is simply ludicrous. The notion that the 
 man who wrote Shakspere's poems — and these, undeniably, were the work 
 of William Shakspere — ^was the kind of man to lend himself to any scheme 
 of imposture is repudiated by every intimation of character that those 
 poems contain ; and the same may rightfully be said of the man who wrote 
 Shakspere's plays. The fact that the plays, which these theorists would 
 deny to Shakspere's pen, are entirely, absolutely, and incontestibly kindred 
 with the poems, which they cannot deny to it, stands forth as clear as the 
 daylight. The associate fact that the plays contain precisely such er- 
 rors as would naturally be made by the untutored Shakspere, but could 
 not possibly be made by the thoroughly taught and erudite Bacon, is like- 
 wise distinctly visible. Yet, all the same — because Shakspere, like Burns, 
 
 7 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 sprung from a family in humble station, and was but poorly schooled — this 
 preposterous doctrine persistently rears its foolish head, and insults with 
 idle chatter the Shaksperean scholarship of the world. Only a few weeks 
 ago a prominent representative dramatist of the day had the astound- 
 ing folly to announce an hypothesis — apparently intended to be taken in 
 earnest — that Shakspere's tragedy of " Hamlet" was written by Jonson, 
 Webster, Dekker, and AUeyne, in conjunction with Shakspere, and under 
 his supervision ; a doctrine which, to any student acquainted with those 
 writers and their times, is pitiable in its silliness. For if there be in lit- 
 erature any work which, from the first line to the last, and in every word 
 and syllable of it, bears the authentic pressure of one creative and pre- 
 dominant mind — the broad-headed arrow of imperial dominion — that 
 work is " Hamlet." Shakspere's style, once known, can never be mis- 
 taken. No man of his time, with the single exception of John Fletcher, 
 could write in anything like his peculiar strain of simplicity and power. 
 In some of the historical plays there are traces of collaboration — as all 
 readers know ; but in his greater plays the only hand that is visible is 
 the hand of Shakspere. 
 
 This is especially true of " A Midsummer Night's Dream," and prob- 
 ably no better mental exercise than the analysis of the style and spirit 
 and component elements of this piece could be devised for those persons 
 — if any such there be — who incline to entertain either the Bacon theory 
 or the collaboration theory of the authorship of Shakspere. Bacon, if his 
 avowed writings may be taken as the denotement of his mind, could no 
 more have written this play than he could have flown on wings of tissue- 
 paper over the spire of old St. Paul's ; nor does it exhibit the slightest 
 deviation from one invariable poetic mind and temperament. Shak- 
 spere's fancy takes a free range here, and revels in beauty and joy. The 
 Dream was first published in 1600 ; the earliest allusion made to it is that 
 of Francis Meres, in his " Palladis Tamia," in 1598; and probably it 
 was written as early as 1 594, when Shakspere was thirty years old. A 
 significant reference to the subject of it occurs in the second scene of the 
 second act of the " Comedy of Errors " (1589-91), which has been thought 
 to indicate that the poet had already considered and, perhaps, conceived 
 it ; he was working with wise and incessant industry at that time, and the 
 amazing fertility of his creative genius was beginning to reveal itself. The 
 Dream is absolutely of his own invention. The names of the characters, 
 together with a few incidents, he derived from Plutarch, Ovid, and Chau- 
 cer — authors with whom he shows himself to have been acquainted. The 
 story of Pyramus and Thisbe occurs in Ovid, and a translation of that 
 Latin poet, made by Arthur Golding, was current in Shakspere's day. 
 It is thought that the " Knight's Tale" and " Tysbe of Babylone," by 
 Chaucer, may have been the means of suggesting this play to Shak- 
 spere, but his story and his characters are his own. And although, as 
 
 8 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Dr. Johnson observes, fairies were in his time fashionable, and Spen- 
 ser's poem (' ' The Faerie Queene ") had made them great, Shakspere was 
 the first to interblend them with the proceedings of mortals in a drama. 
 The text of this piece is considered to be exceptionally free from error or 
 any sort of defect. Two editions of the Dream, quarto, appeared in i6go — 
 one published by Thomas Fisher, bookseller ; the other by James Roberts, 
 printer. The Fisher publication had been entered at Stationers' Hall, 
 October 8th, that year, and probably it was sanctioned by the author. 
 The two editions do not materially diifer, and the modern Shaksperean 
 editors have made a judicious use of both in their choice of the text. 
 The play was not again printed until 1623, when it appeared in the first 
 Folio. 
 
 The title-pages of the Fisher and the Roberts Quartos are given here- 
 with, in fac-simile. It is not known which was first, or which was au- 
 thorized. Each of these Quartos consists of 32 leaves. Neither of them 
 distinguishes the acts or scenes. In the first Folio (1623) the Di-eam 
 occupies 18 pages, from p. 145 to p. 162 inclusive, in the section devoted to 
 comedies — the Acts, but not the Scenes, being distinguished. The editors 
 of that Folio, Heminge and Condell, followed the text of the Roberts 
 Quarto. The memory of one of the actors who appeared in the Dream in 
 its earliest days is curiously preserved in a stage-direction, printed in the 
 First Folio, in Act v. Sc. i. : " Tawyer with a trumpet." The piece, of 
 course, appears in the later folios, — 1632, 1664, and 1685. " A Midsum- 
 mer Night's Dream " was popular in Shakspere's own time. Mention of 
 it, as impliedly a play in general knowledge and acceptance, was made by 
 Taylor, the Water Poet, in 1622. 
 
 A piece called "The Fairy Queen," being Shakspere's comedy, with 
 music by Purcell, was published in London in 1692. It had been acted 
 there at the Haymarket — the presentation being made with rich dresses, 
 fine scenery, and elaborate mechanism. There is another old piece, called 
 " The Merry-Conceited Humours of Bottom the Weaver." This was made 
 out of an episode in the Dream, and it is included in the collection of 
 farces attributed to Robert Cox, a comedian of the time of Charles the 
 First, published in 1672. A comic masque, by Richard Leveridge, sinii- 
 larly derived, entitled " Pyramus and Thisbe," was performed at Lincoln's 
 Inn Fields Theatre, and was pubHshed in 1716. Two other musical farces, 
 with this same title and origin, are recorded— one by Mr. Lampe, acted at 
 Covent Garden, and published in 1745 ; the other by W. C. Oulton, acted 
 at Birmingham, and published in 1798. Garrick made an acting-copy of 
 " A Midsummer Night's Dream"-- -adding to the text as well as curtailing 
 it, and introducing songs — and this was played at Drury Lane, where it 
 failed, and was published in 1763. Colman reduced Garrick's piece to 
 two acts, and called it " A Fairy Tale," and in this form it was tried at 
 Drury Lane, and published in 1764 and 1777. Colman, however, wrote : 
 
 9 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 " I was little more than a godfather on the occasion, and the alterations 
 should have been subscribed Anon.'' 
 
 The best production of this comedy ever accomplished on the English 
 stage was that effected by Charles Kean, at the Princess's Theatre, Lon- 
 don, — managed by him from August, 1850, till August 29, 1859. 
 
 The first performance of " A Midsummer Night's Dream " ever given 
 in America occurred at the old Park Theatre, for the benefit of Mrs. Hil- 
 son, on November 9, 1826. Mr. Ireland, in his valuable Records, has 
 preserved a part of the cast, rescued from a mutilated copy of the play- 
 bill of that night : Theseus, Mr. Lee ; Bottom, Mr. Hilson ; Snout, Mr. 
 Placide ; Oberon, Mr. Peter Richings ; Puck, Mrs. Hilson ; Titania, 
 Mrs. Sharpe ; Hi^poUta, Mrs. Stickney ; Hermia, Mrs. Hackett. On Au- 
 gust 30, 1 841, the comedy was again revived at this theatre, with a cast 
 that included Mr. Fredericks as Theseus, Mr. W. H. Williams as Bottom, 
 Mrs. Knight as Puck, Charlotte Cushman as Oberon, Mary Taylor as Ti- 
 tania, Susan Cushman as Helena, Mrs. Groves as Hippolita, Miss Buloid 
 (afterward Mrs. Abbott), as Hermia, William Wheatley as Lysander, C. 
 W. Clarke as Demetrius, Mr. Bellamy as Egeus, and Mr. Fisher (not 
 Charles), as Quince. It kept the stage only one week. The next revivals 
 came on February 3 and 6, 1854, at Burton's Theatre and at the Broad- 
 way Theatre, rival houses. The parts were cast as follows : 
 
 At Broadway. At Burton's. 
 
 Theseus F. B. Conway Charles Fisher. 
 
 Lysander Lannergan George Jordan. 
 
 Demetrius Grosvenor W. H. Norton. 
 
 Egeus Matthews Moore. 
 
 Bottom William Davidge W. E. Burton. 
 
 Quince Howard T. Johnston. 
 
 Flute Whiting. G. Barrett. 
 
 Snug. Fisk RusselL 
 
 Snout Henry G. Andrews. 
 
 Starveling Cutter PauL 
 
 Puck Miss Viola Crocker Mast. Parsloe. 
 
 Oberon Mme. Ponisi Miss E. Raymond. 
 
 Titania Mrs. Abbott Mrs. Burton. 
 
 Hippolita Mrs. Warren Mrs. J. Cooke. 
 
 Hermia Mrs. Nagle Mrs. Hough. 
 
 Helena. Miss A Gougenheim Mrs. Buckland. 
 
 Great stress, in, both cases, was laid upon Mendelssohn's music. At 
 each house it ran for a month. It was not revived in New York again 
 until April 18, 1859, when Laura Keene brought it forward at her theatre, 
 and kept it on till May 28th, with C. W. Couldock as Theseus, William 
 Rufus Blake as Bottom, Miss Macarthy as Oberon, Miss Stevens, as Hel- 
 ena, Miss Ada Clifton as Hermia, and herself as Puck. ■ It was a failure. 
 Even Blake failed as Bottom — the most acute critic of that period (Ed- 
 
 xo 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ward G. P. Wilkins), describing the performance as " not funny, not even 
 grotesque, but vulgar and unpleasant." Charles Peters was good as Thisbe. 
 The stage-version used was made by R. G. White. This same theatre sub- 
 sequently became the Olympic (not Mitchell's, but the second of thatname), 
 and here, on October 28, 1867, under the management of Mr. James E. 
 Hayes and the direction of Joseph Jefferson, who had brought over from 
 London a fine Grecian panorama by Telbin, " A Midsummer Night's 
 Dream " was again offered, with a cast that included G. L. Fox as Bottom, 
 W. Davidge as Quince, Owen Marlowe as Flute, Cornelia Jefferson as 7?- 
 tania, Clara Fisher as Peasblossom, Miss Fanny Stockton as Oberon, Miss 
 Alice Harrison as a Fairy, Master Willie Young as Puck, Mr. Harry Wall 
 as Theseus, Mr. J. J. Wallace as Demetrius, Mr. J. Franks as Lysander, 
 Mr. T. J. Hind as Egeus, Mrs. Edmonds as Hippolita, Mrs. Wallace as 
 Hermia, Miss Louisa Hawthorne as Helena, Mr. M. Quinlan as Stout, 
 Mr. C. K. Fox as Snug, Mr. J. B. Howland as Starveling, and Miss Vin- 
 cent, Miss Howard, Miss Thomas, and Miss Le Brun as Fairies. Tel- 
 bin's panorama, a magnificent work, displayed the country supposed to lie 
 between Athens and the forest wherein the Fairy Queen and the lovers 
 are enchanted and bewitched and the sapient Bottom is " translated." 
 Fox undertook Bottom, for the first time, and he was droUy consequential 
 and stolidly conceited in it. Landseer's famous ' picture of Titania and 
 the ass-headed Bottom was well copied, in one of the scenes. Mr. Hayes 
 provided a gorgeous tableau at the close. Mendelssohn's music was 
 played and sung, with excellent skill and effect — the chief vocalist being 
 Clara Fisher. Owen Marlowe, as Thisbe, gave a burlesque of the manner 
 of Rachel. The comedy, as then given, ran for one hundred nights — from 
 October 28, 1867, till February i, 1868. The stage version used was that 
 of Charles Kean. 
 
 The next production of" A Midsummer Night's Dream" was effected 
 by Augustin Daly at the Grand Opera House, on August 19, 1873. The 
 scenery then employed, especially a woodland painted by Mr. G. Heis- 
 ter, was of extraordinary beauty — delicate in color, sensuous in feeling, 
 sprightly in fancy. Mr. Fox again played Bottom j Miss Fanny Kemp 
 Bowler appeared as Oberon, Miss Fay Templeton as Puck, Miss Fanny 
 Hayward (Stocqueler) as Titania, Miss Nina Varian as Helena, Miss 
 Adelaide Lennox as Hermia, Miss M. Chambers as Hippolita, Mr. M. 
 A. Kennedy as Theseus, Mr. D. H. Harkins as Lysander, Mr. James 
 Taylor as Demetrius, and Mr. Frank Hardenburgh as Egeus. The piece 
 ran three weeks. 
 
 The attentive reader of this stage-version, made by Mr. Daly, will ob- 
 serve that much illustrative stage-business has been introduced by him, 
 which is new and effective. The disposition of the groups at the start is 
 fresh, and so is the treatment of the quarrel between Oberon and Titania, 
 with disappearance of the Indian child. The moonlight effects, in the 
 
 II 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 transition from act second to act third, and the gradual assembly of gob- 
 lins and fairies in the shadowy mists through which the fire-flies glimmer, 
 at the close of act third, are novel and beautiful. Cuts and transpositions 
 have been made at the end of the fourth act, in order to close it with the 
 voyage of the barge of Theseus, through a summer landscape, on the silver 
 stream that ripples down to Athens. The third act has been judiciously 
 compressed, so that the spectator may not see too much of the perplexed 
 and wrangling lovers. Only a few changes have been made, and those 
 only such as are absolutely essential. But little of the original text has 
 been omitted. The music for the choruses has been selected from 
 various English composers : that of Mendelssohn is used only in the 
 orchestra. It is upon the strength of the comedy, and not upon the inci- 
 dental music, that reliance has been placed, in effecting this revival. The 
 accepted doctrine of traditional criticism — a doctrine made seemingly 
 potent by reiteration— that " A Midsummer Night's Dream" is not for 
 the stage, need not necessarily be considered final. Hazlitt was the first 
 to insist on that idea. " Poetry and the stage," said that great writer, 
 "do not agree well together. The attempt to reconcile them, in this in- 
 stance, fails not only of effect, but of decorum. The ideal can have no 
 place upon the stage, which is a picture without perspective. The 
 imagination cannot sufficiently qualify the actual impression of the sen- 
 ses." But this is only saying that there are difficulties. The remark 
 applies to all the higher forms of dramatic literature ; and, logically, if 
 this doctrine were observed in practice, none of the great plays would be 
 attempted. "A Midsummer Night's Dream," with all its ideal spirit, 
 is essentially dramatic ; it ought not to be lost to the stage ; and to 
 some extent, certainly, the difficulties can be surmounted. In the spirit 
 J of a dream the play was written, and in the spirit of a dream it can be 
 acted. 
 
 The student of " A Midsummer Night's Dream," as often as he thinks 
 / upon this lofty and lovely expression of a most luxuriant and happy 
 I poetic fancy, must necessarily find himself impressed with its exquisite 
 purity of spirit, its affluence of invention, its extraordinary wealth of con- 
 trasted characters, its absolute symmetry of form, and its great beauty 
 of poetic diction. The essential, wholesome cleanliness and sweetness 
 of Shakspere's mind, unaffected by the gross animalism of his times, 
 appear conspicuously in this play. No single trait of the piece im- 
 presses the reader more agreeably than its frank display of the sponta- 
 neous, natural, and entirely delightful exultation of Theseus and Hippo- 
 lita in their approaching nuptials. They are grand creatures both, and 
 they rejoice in each other and in their perfectly accordant love. Nowhere 
 in Shakspere is there a more imperialtnan than Theseus ; nor, despite her 
 feminine impatience of dulness, a woman more beautiful and more es- 
 sentially woman-like than Hippolita. It is thought that the immediate 
 
 12 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 impulse of this comedy, in Shakspere's mind, was the marriage of his friend 
 and benefactor, the Earl of Southampton, with Elizabeth Vernon — which, 
 while it did not in fact occur till 1598, was very likely agreed upon, and 
 had received Queen Elizabeth's sanction, as early as 1594-95. ^'^ "Id 
 English literature it is seen that such a theme often proved suggestive of 
 ribaldry ; but Shakspere could preserve the sanctity even while he revelled 
 in the passionate ardor of love, and "A Midsummer Night's Dream," 
 while it possesses all the rosy glow, the physical thrill, and the melting ten- 
 derness of such pieces as Herrick's " Nuptiall Song," is likewise fraught 
 with all the moral elevation and unaffected chastity of such pieces as Mil- 
 ton's "Comus." Human nature is shown in it as feeling no shame in its 
 elemental and rightful passions, and as having no reason to feel ashamed 
 of them. The atmosphere is free and bracing ; the tone honest ; the 
 note true. Then, likewise, the fertility and felicity of the poet's invention 
 — intertwining the loves of earthly sovereigns and of their subjects with 
 the dissensions of fairy monarchs, the pranks of mischievous elves, the 
 protective care of attendant sprites, and the comic but kind-hearted and 
 well-meant fealty of boorish peasants — arouse lively interest and keep 
 it steadily alert. In no other of his works has Shakspere more brilliantly 
 showri that complete dominance of theme which is manifested in the per- 
 fect preservation of proportion. The strands of action are braided with 
 astonishing grace. The fourfold story is never allowed to lapse into dul- 
 ness or obscurity. There i5_cagrice, but__no distortion. The supernatu- 
 ral machinery is never wrested toward the production of startling or mon- 
 strous effects, but it deftly impels each mortal personage in the natural 
 line of human development. The dream-spirit is maintained throughout, 
 and perhaps it is for this reason — that the poet was living and think- 
 ing and writing in the free, untrammelled world of his own spacious and 
 airy imagination, and not in any definite sphere of this earth — that " A 
 Midsummer Night's Dream " is so radically superior to the other come- \ 
 dies written by him at about the same period, " The Two Gentlemen of 
 Verona," " The Comedy of Errors," " Love's Labor's Lost," and " The 
 Taming of the Shrew." His genius overflows in this piece, and the rich 
 excess of it is seen in passages of the most exquisite poetry — such as the 
 beautiful speeches of Titania and Oberon, in the second act — over against 
 which is set that triumph of humor, that immortal Interlude of " Pyramus 
 and Thisbe," which is the father of all the burlesques in our language, and 
 which, for freshness, pungency of apposite satire, and general applicabil- 
 ity to the foible of self-love in human nature, and to ignorance and folly 
 in human affairs, might have been written yesterday. The only faults in ^, 
 this play are a slight tinge of monotony in the third act, concerning the i 
 lovers in the wood, and an excess of rhymed passages in the text through- ( 
 out. Shakspere had not yet cast aside that custom of rhyme which was 
 in vogue when he came first upon the scene. But these defects are trifles. 
 
 13 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The beauties overwhelm them. It would take many pages to enumer- 
 ate and fitly to descant on the felicities of literature that we owe to this 
 comedy— gems such as the famous passage on " the course of true love ; " 
 the regal picture of Queen Elizabeth as " a fair vestal throndd by the 
 west ; " the fine description of the stormy summer (that of i S94- in Eng- 
 land, according to Stowe's Chronicle and Dr. Simon Forman's Diary) ; 
 the vision of Titania asleep upon the bank of wild thyme, oxlips, and vio- 
 lets ; the eloquent contrasts of lover, madman, and poet, each subdued 
 and impelled by that " strong imagination " which" bodies forth the forms 
 of things unknown ; " and the wonderfully spirited lines on the hounds 
 of Sparta, "with ears that swept away the morning dew.'' In character 
 likewise, and in those salutary lessons which the truthful portraiture of 
 character invariably teaches, this piece is exceptionally strong. Helena, 
 noble and loving, yet a little perverted from true dignity by her sexual in- 
 fatuation ; Hermia, shrewish and violent, despite her feminine sweetness, 
 and possibly because of her impetuous and clinging ardor ; Demetrius 
 and Lysander, each selfish and fierce in his love, but manly, straightfor- 
 ward fellows, abounding more in youth and desire than in brains ; Bottom, 
 t}iej[uintessence of blandjjHi£onscious_e^piJsm and seyj-conceit ; and The- 
 seus, the princely" geiitreman and typical ruler — these make up, assur- 
 edly, one of the most interesting and significant groups that can be found 
 in fiction. The self-centred nature, the broad-minded view, the r&z%- 
 nanimous spirit, the calm adequacy, the fine and high manner of Theseus, 
 make this character alone the inspiration of the comedy and a most potent 
 lesson upon the conduct of life. Through certain of his people — such 
 as Ufysses in " Troilus and Cressida,'' the Duke in " Measure for Meas- 
 ure," and Prosjiero in " The Tempest " — the voice of Shakspere himself, 
 speaking personally, is clearly heard ; and it is heard also in Theseus. 
 " The best in this kind are but shadows," says this wise observer of life, 
 when he comes to speak of the actors who copy it, " and the worst are no 
 worse, if imagination amend them." There is no higher strain of prince- 
 like courtesy and considerate grace, even in the perfect breeding of Ham- 
 let, than is visible in the preference of Theseus for the play of the hard- 
 handed men of Athens : 
 
 " And what poor duty cannot do 
 Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
 For never anything can be amiss 
 When simpleness and duty tender It." 
 
 With reference to the question of suitable method in the acting of " A 
 Midsummer Night's Dream," it may be observed that too much stress 
 can scarcely be laid upon the fact that this comedy was conceived and 
 written absolutely in the spirit of a dream. It ought not, therefore, to be 
 treated as a rational manifestation of orderly design. It possesses, indeed, 
 
 14 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 a coherent and symmetrical plot and a definite purpose ; but, while it 
 moves toward a final result of absolute order, it presupposes intermediary 
 progress through a realm of motley shapes and fantastic vision. Its per- 
 sons are creatures of the fancy, and all effort to make them solidly actual, 
 to set them firmly upon the earth, and to accept them as realities of com- j 
 mon life, is labor ill-bestowed. 
 
 The German Shaksperean commentator Ulrici — who commonly has 
 an excess of theory and errs by explaining too much — has made certain 
 observations upon this comedy which are exceptionally helpful toward a 
 clear view of Shakspere's drift. "It is the comic view of things," says 
 
 this writer, ' ' that forms the basis of the whole piece Not 
 
 merely in particular cases do the maddest tricks of accident, as well as of 
 human caprice, perversity, and folly, destroy each other in turn, but, 
 generally, the principal pursuits and provinces of life are made to parody 
 
 and paralyze each other The particular modification of the 
 
 general comic view, which results from this ironical parodying of all the 
 domains of life, at once determines and gives expression to the special 
 ground-idea which first rediices the whole into organic unity. Life is 
 
 throughout regarded in the light of a midsummer night's dream 
 
 Life appears in travesty. .... The mind seems to have lost its self- 
 consciousness, while all the other faculties, such as feeling and fancy, 
 wit and humor, are allowed the fullest scope and license Gen- 
 erally the characters are drawn in keeping with the pervading idea, with 
 a few fine touches, and without depth of shade, in a vanishing chiaro- 
 
 oscuro Every character is pervaded by and represents the 
 
 general idea, that the individual, in and by himself, is as nothing, and 
 without importance except as a moment in the development of the 
 whole." 
 
 To body forth the form of things is, in this case, manifestly, a difficult 
 task : and yet the true course is obvious. Actors who yield themselves 
 to the spirit of whim, and drift along with it, using a delicate method 
 and avoiding insistence upon prosy realism, will succeed with this piece 
 — provided, also, that their audience can be fanciful, and can accept the 
 performance, not as a comedy of ordinary life, but as a vision seen in a 
 dream. The play is full of intimations that this was Shakspere's mood. 
 Even Bottom, the consummate flower of unconscious humor, is at his 
 height of significance in his moment of supreme illusion : " I have had a 
 dream, — past the wit of man to say what dream it was : — Man is but an 
 ass if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was — there is no 
 
 man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had But man 
 
 is but a patched fool if he will offer to say what methought I had. The 
 eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is 
 not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my 
 dream was." The whole philosophy of the subject, comically stated, 
 
 IS 
 
 M 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 is here. A serious statement of it is in the words of the poet Camp- 
 bell : 
 
 " Well may sleep present us fictions, 
 Since our waking moments teem 
 With such fanciful convictions 
 As make life itself a dream." 
 
 Various actors in the past— although " A Midsummer Night's Dream " 
 has not had great currency upon the stage, at any period, whether in 
 England or America— have laid a marked stress upon the character of 
 Bottom. Samuel Phelps, upon the London stage, was esteemed excellent 
 in it. He acted the part in his own production of the Dream, at Sad- 
 ler's Wells, and he again acted it in 1870 at the Queen's Theatre, in Long 
 Acre — now demolished. On the American stage, William E. Burton was 
 accounted wonderfully good in it. " As Mr. Burton renders the character," 
 says Richard Grant White, "its traits are brought out with a delicate 
 and masterly hand ; its humor is exquisite." And Mr. William L. Keese, 
 in his careful and very serviceable biography of Burton, makes equally 
 cordial reference to this achievement of the great comedian : " How 
 striking it was in sustained individuality, and how finely exemplified 
 was the potential vanity of Bottom ! What pleased us greatly was the vein 
 of engaging raillery which ran through the delivery of his speeches to the 
 fairies." Burton produced the Dream at his own theatre, in 1854, with 
 such' wealth of fine scenery as in those days was accounted prodigious. 
 The most notable impersonation oi Bottom that has been given here since 
 Burton's time was, probably, that of the late George L. Fox — already men- 
 tioned in this preface. Self-conceit, as the essence of the character, was 
 thoroughly well understood and expressed by him. He wore the ass's 
 head, but he did not know that he was wearing it ; and when, afterward, 
 the vague sense of it came upon him for an instant, he put it by as some- 
 thing inconceivable and intolerable. His " Not a word of me 1 " — spoken 
 to the other hard-handed men of Athens, after his return to them out of 
 the enchanted ' ' palace wood " — was, perhaps, his finest single point. 
 Certainly it expressed to the utmost the colossal self-love and swelling 
 pomposity of this miracle of bland and opaque sapience. But Fox was 
 stronger in pantomime than in a consistent character of sustained comedy. 
 The essential need of acting, in a portrayal of this play, is whimsicality — 
 but it must be whimsicality exalted by poetry. 
 
 William Winter. 
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Midfommer nights 
 dreame. ^ 
 
 As It hath beeneiunclry times pub- 
 Uchely aBed, bj the ^ght honoura^ 
 ble , the Lord Chambcrlainc his 
 ferttants. 
 
 Written by WtUiam Shal^Sfeare, 
 
 Imprinted at London, htthomat^Jher, and are to 
 tcIbuJdeachisflioppejatdje SigneofdieWHlteHart, 
 in Fkefepriitu lioQ, 
 
 [The above is a facsimile of the title page of a reprint of the first Quarto 
 Edition of the play.] 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene.— The Palace of Theseus, at Athens. At the rise 
 of the curtain, to melodious strains, certain nobles are 
 discovered in various groups about the scene. Philos- 
 TRATE, with some ladies of the Amazon Court, are at the 
 R. They all bow profoundly as Theseus and HlP- 
 POLITA enter, conversing, from L., and come forward, C. 
 
 The. Now, fair Hippolita, our nuptial hour 
 Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
 Another moon : but, oh, methinks, how slow 
 This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires, 
 Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, 
 Long withering out a young man's revenue. 
 
 Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights ; 
 Four nights will quickly dream away the time ; 
 And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
 New bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
 Of our solemnities. 
 
 The. Go, Philostrate, 
 
 Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
 Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; 
 Turn melancholy forth to funerals, 
 The pale companion is not for our pomp. 
 
 {^Exit Philostrate. 
 Hippolita, I woo'd thee with my sword, 
 And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 But I will wed thee in another key, 
 
 With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 
 
 \He leads her to a lounge at V.., where the women of her 
 court surround her. He reclines beside her. Music, 
 which is interrupted by entrance of Egeus and Hermia 
 from L. Lysander and Demetrius /(j'/Zoze/. 
 
 Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 
 
 \He kneels. The others also kneel, but rise immediately. 
 
 The. Thanks, good Egeus. What's the news with thee ? 
 
 Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
 Against my child, my daughter Hermia : 
 Stand forth, Demetrius. \He rises.] My noble lord, 
 This man hath my consent to marry her. — 
 Stand forth, Lysander : — and, my gracious duke. 
 This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child : 
 
 [He crosses to Lysander. 
 Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes. 
 And interchang'd love-tokeiis with my child : 
 Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, 
 With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
 With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's hetirt ; 
 Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, 
 To stubborn harshness. [^Returning to THESEUS.] And, my 
 
 gracious duke. 
 Be it so, she will not here before your grace 
 Consent to marry with Demetrius, 
 I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, 
 As she is mine, I may dispose of her : 
 Which shall be either to this gentleman. 
 Or to her death ; according to our law, 
 Immediately provided in that case. 
 
 The. What say you, Hermia ? be advis'd, fair maid : 
 To you your father should be as a god ; 
 Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 
 
 Her. So is Lysander. 
 
 The. In himself he is. 
 
 But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
 The other must be held the worthier. 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes ! 
 
 The. Rather, your eyes must with his judgment look. 
 
 Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. \Kneeling. 
 I know not by what power I am made bold, 
 Nor how it may concern my modesty. 
 In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts : 
 But I beseech your grace that I may know 
 The worst that may befal me in this case, 
 If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 
 
 The. \R.ising.'\ Either to die the death, or to abjure 
 For ever the society of men. \_Advancing to her, as she rises. 
 Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, 
 Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice. 
 You can endure the livery of a nun ; 
 For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
 To live a barren sister all your life. 
 Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
 Thrice blessed they that master so their blood. 
 To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
 But earthly happier is the rose distill'd. 
 Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn. 
 Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. 
 
 Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, 
 Ere I will yield my maiden heart and vow 
 Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
 My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 
 
 The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next new moon, 
 
 [Returning to HiPPOLlTA. 
 (The sealing- day betwixt my love and me. 
 For everlasting bond of fellowship,) 
 Upon that day either prepare to die. 
 For disobedience to your father's will ; 
 Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would ; 
 Or on Diana's altar to protest. 
 For aye, austerity and single life. 
 
 [Sits and converses with HiPPOLITA. 
 
 Dent. Relent, sweet Hermia ; and, Lysander, yield 
 Thy crazed title to my certain right. 
 
 23 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; 
 Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 
 
 Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love ; 
 And what is mine my love shall render him ; 
 And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
 I do estate unto Demetrius. 
 
 [Lysander /a^j^j Egeus and addresses Theseus. 
 
 Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, 
 As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; 
 My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, 
 And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
 I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia : 
 Why should not I then prosecute my right ? 
 Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head. 
 Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
 And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, 
 Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry. 
 Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 
 
 Tke. I must confess that I have heard so much. 
 And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof. 
 But, being over-full of self-affairs. 
 My mind did lose it. 
 
 [Rises and comes forward. 
 But, Demetrius, come ; 
 And come, Egeus ; you shall go with me, 
 I have some private schooling for you both. 
 For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
 To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 
 Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
 To death, or to a vow of single life. 
 Come, my Hippolita ; 
 Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
 I must employ you in some business 
 Against our nuptial ; and confer with you 
 Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 
 
 Ege. With duty and desire, we follow you. 
 {Exeunt Theseus, Hippolita, Egeus, Demetrius, 
 and Court, R. 
 
 24 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Lys. How now, my love ? Why is your cheek so pale ? 
 How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? 
 
 Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could well 
 Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. 
 
 Lys. Ah me ! for aught that I could ever read. 
 Could ever hear by tale or history, 
 The course of true love never did run smooth : 
 Or if there were a sympathy in choice, 
 War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it ; 
 Making it momentary as a sound, 
 Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, 
 Brief as the lightning in the coUied night, 
 That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth. 
 And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold ! 
 The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
 So quick bright things come to confusion. 
 
 Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd. 
 It stands as an edict in destiny : 
 Then let us teach our trial patience, 
 Because it is a customary cross ; 
 As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, 
 Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. 
 
 Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, Hermia. 
 I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
 Of great revenue, and she hath no child ; 
 From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; 
 And she respects me as her only son. 
 There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee. 
 And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
 Cannot pursue us. If thou lov'st me then. 
 Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ; 
 And in the wood, a league without the town, 
 Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
 To do observance to a morn of May, 
 There will I stay for thee. 
 
 Her. My good Lysander ! 
 
 I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow ; 
 By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves , 
 
 25 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
 In number more than ever women spoke ; — 
 In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
 To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 
 
 Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here conies Helena. 
 
 Helena enters as if looking for them. They previously go 
 aside. As Helena sees them she starts with a pang, and 
 Hermia advances smilingly. 
 
 Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ? 
 
 Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. 
 Demetrius loves you fair : O happy fair ! 
 Your eyes are lode-stars ; and your tongue's sweet air. 
 More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear. 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
 Sickness is catching ; O, were favour so, 
 Your words I'd catch, fair Hermia, ere I go, 
 My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, 
 My Jtongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
 Were the world mine, it would I give 
 To be to you transformed. 
 O, teach me how you look, and with what art 
 You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
 
 Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves nte still. 
 
 [Coquettishlj/ . 
 
 Hel. O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill I 
 
 Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 
 
 {Turns from iJV&A.T^Vi'E.'Si, pettishly, and crosses. 
 
 Hel. O that my prayers could such affection move ! 
 
 Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 
 
 Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 
 
 Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 
 
 [Lysander kneels at her feet and kisses her hand. 
 
 Hel. None, but your beauty ; would that fault were mine ! 
 [ Throwi herself on seat and buries her head in her hands. 
 
 Her. Take comfort, he no more shall see my face ; 
 Lysander and myself will fly this place. 
 
 26 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Before the time I did Lysander see, 
 Seem'd Athens like a paradise to me : 
 O then, what graces in my love do dwell, 
 That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell ! 
 
 Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold : 
 To-morrow night, when Phcebe doth behold 
 Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, 
 Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
 (A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) 
 Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 
 
 Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
 Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie. 
 Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet. 
 There my Lysander and myself shall meet : 
 And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes. 
 To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
 Farewell, sweet playfellow, pray thou for us, 
 And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! — 
 Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight 
 From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. 
 
 {^Exit Hermia, r. ; the music of lyres is heard outside. 
 
 Lys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu : 
 As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! {Exit LYSANDER, L. 
 
 Hel. How happy some o'er other-some can be ! 
 Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
 But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so ; 
 He will not know what all but he do know. \Sinks on seat, C. 
 Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. 
 And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 
 Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste, 
 Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste ; 
 And therefore is love said to be a child. 
 Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
 And ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, 
 He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine ; 
 And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt — 
 So he dissolved— and showers of oaths did melt. 
 
 [Suddenly rises. 
 
 27 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 I will go tell him of fair Hertnia's flight : 
 
 Then to the wood will he to-morrow night 
 
 Pursue her ; and for this intelligence 
 
 If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : 
 
 But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 
 
 To have his sight, thither and back again. [Exit. 
 
 Curtain. 
 28 
 
ACT 11. 
 
 Scene i.— At Peter Quince's House, in Athens. 
 Quince enters from the R., meeting Snug, who enters 
 from the L,., followed at first by SNOUT and STARVELING, 
 and afterward by FLUTE and Bottom. 
 
 y Quin. Is all our company here ? 
 -^ Snug. You were best to call them generally, man by man, 
 according to the scrip. 
 
 Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is 
 thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before 
 the duke and the duchess, on his wedding-day at night. 
 
 Star. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats 
 on ; then read the names of the actors ; and so grow to a 
 point. 
 
 Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable comedy, 
 and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisbe. A very good 
 piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. 
 
 Snug. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors, by 
 the scroll : Masters, spread yourselves. 
 
 [They range themselves in a semicircle about QuiNCE, 
 who is C. 
 
 Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, the weaver. 
 [Bottom enters from L., in a hurry. 
 
 Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed. 
 
 Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ? 
 
 Quin. A lover that kills himself most gallant for love. 
 
 Bot. Thatwill ask some tears in the true performing of it. If 
 I do it, let the audience look to their eyes ; I will move storms ; 
 I will condole in some measure. Yet, my chief humor is for a 
 
 29 
 
/ 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to 
 make all split : 
 
 Tke raging rocks, 
 With shivering shocks. 
 Shall break the locks 
 
 Of prison-gates, 
 And Phibbus' car 
 Shall shine from far. 
 And make and mar 
 
 The foolish fates. 
 
 This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players. — ^This 
 is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is more condoling. 
 
 Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 
 
 Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. Flute, you must take Thisbe on you. 
 
 Flu. What is Thisbe ? a wandering knight ? 
 
 Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 
 
 Flu. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman ; I have a beard 
 coming. 
 
 Quin. That's all one ; you shall play it in a mask, and you 
 may speak as small as you will. 
 
 Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too : I'll 
 speak in a monstrous little voice : — Thisne, Thisne, — Ah, Pyr- 
 amus, my lover dear ; — thy Thisbe dear ! and — lady dear ! 
 
 Quin. No, no, you must play Pyramus ; and, Flute, you 
 Thisbe. 
 
 Bot. Well, proceed. \Sulkily. 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 
 
 Star. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisbe's mother. — 
 Tom Snout, the tinker. 
 
 Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quiji. You, Pyramus' father ; myself, Thisbe's father ; — 
 Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part : — and, I hope, here is a 
 play fitted. 
 
 Snug. Have you the lion's part written ? pray you, if it be, 
 give it me, for I am slow of study. 
 
 30 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but 
 roaring. 
 
 Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that I will 
 do any man's heart good to hear me ; I will roar, that I will 
 make the duke say, Let him roar again, let him roar again. 
 
 Qtdn. An you should do it too terribly, you would fright 
 the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek ; and that 
 w^ere enough to hang us all. 
 
 All. Every mother's son. 
 
 Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies 
 out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to 
 hang us ; but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you 
 as gently as any sucking dove ; I will roar you an 'twere any 
 nightingale. 
 
 Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus : for Pyramus is 
 a sweet-faced man : a proper man as one shall see in a summer's 
 day ; a most lovely, gentleman-like man ; therefore you must 
 needs play Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. Well, I will undertake it. 
 
 Quin. Here, masters, are your parts : and I am to intreat 
 you, request you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow 
 night, and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the 
 town, by moonlight ; there will we rehearse : for if we meet in 
 the city we shall be dogg'd with company, and our devices 
 known. In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties such 
 as our play wants. , I pray you, fail me not. 
 
 Bot. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse most 
 obscenely and courageously. Take pains ; be perfect ; adieu. 
 
 Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. 
 
 Bot. Enough. \_Tke rest are hurrying to get out past him: 
 he stops them, to pass before them.] Hold, or cut bowstrings. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 31 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Scene 2. — A Wood near Athens. Tkere is a hillock at c, 
 beside a stream of water. Low, flower-covered rocks and 
 banks are R. andx,., near the front. 
 
 Enter a Fairy, plucking flowers. With her wand she 
 switches at a mushroom-growth near C. , and from it PuCK 
 appears. 
 
 Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you ? 
 
 Fai. I do wander everywhere, 
 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the green. 
 I must go seek some dew-drops here, \Plucking flowers. 
 
 And hang a pearl on every cowsHp's ear. 
 Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I'll be gone ; 
 Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 
 
 Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night ; 
 Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. 
 For Oberon is passing fell and wrath. 
 Because that she, as her attendant, hath 
 A lovely boy stol'n from an Indian king ; 
 She never had so sweet a changeling : 
 And jealous Oberon would have the child 
 Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild : 
 But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy, 
 Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy. 
 
 Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite, 
 Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
 Call'd Robin Goodfellow ; are you not he, 
 That frights the maidens of the villagery ; 
 Are not you he ? 
 
 Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; 
 
 I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
 I jest to Oberon, and make him smile. 
 And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
 In very likeness of a roasted crab ; 
 And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, 
 
 32 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale. 
 The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, 
 Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; 
 Then slip I from beneath, down topples she, 
 And then the whole quire hold their hips, and swear 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there. — 
 But room. Faery, here comes Oberon. [Looking to the R. 
 
 Fai. \Looking off\,.'\ And here my mistress : — Would that 
 he were gone ! 
 
 Oberon a«^ his train enter quite quickly from the R., but 
 beholding the others, who appear at the L., he draws 
 back and holds aloof for a moment until TiTANiA enters, 
 with her attendant fairies, who carry a canopy covering 
 the Indian child, reclining on a silver couch. 
 
 Obe. [Advancing.} Ill met by moonhght, proud Titania. 
 
 Tita. [Startled, and staying her train by a gesture. ] 
 What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence. [They make a 
 move, all to the L., as if to fly. \ I have forsworn his bed and 
 company. , 
 
 Obe. Tarry, rash wanton ; am not I thy lord ? 
 
 Tita, Why art thou here 
 Come from the farthest steep of India ? 
 But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
 Your buskined lady and your warrior love. 
 To Theseus must be wedded ; and you come 
 To give their union joy and prosperity. 
 
 Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, 
 Glance at my credit with Hippolita, 
 Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? 
 
 Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : 
 And never, since the middle summer's spring, 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, 
 By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, 
 Or in the beached margent of the sea. 
 To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
 But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
 Obe. Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? 
 
 33 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 I do but beg a little changeling boy, 
 To be my henchman. 
 
 [He advances to the canopy. At a gesture from TiTANiA 
 
 the curtains are closed. 
 Tita. Set your heart at rest, 
 
 The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
 
 [Oberon orders his attendants to advance, and he dashes 
 toward the couch to seize the child. He tears aside the 
 curtains, and finds that it has disappeared. 
 Tita. His mother was a votaress of my order : 
 And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
 Full often hath she gossip'd by my side. 
 And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
 Marking the embarked traders on the flood ; 
 But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ; 
 And, for her sake, do I rear up her boy : 
 And, for her sake, I will not part with him. 
 
 {Motions to the attendants, who carry the canopy- away. 
 Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay ? 
 Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. 
 If you will patiently dance in our round, 
 And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; 
 If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 
 
 Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 
 Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away : 
 We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 
 
 [Exeunt TiTANiA and her Train. 
 Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this grove. 
 Till I torment thee for this injury : 
 My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou remember'st 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
 And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath. 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres. 
 To hear the sea-maid's music. 
 
 Puck. I remember. 
 
 Obe. That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not,) 
 
 34 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
 
 Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took 
 
 At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; 
 
 And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
 
 As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
 
 But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
 
 Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon ; 
 
 And the imperial votaress passed on, 
 
 In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
 
 Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
 
 It fell upon a little western flower, — 
 
 Before, milk-white, now purple with love's wound, — 
 
 And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
 
 Fetch me that flower : the herb I shew'd thee once ; 
 
 The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, 
 
 Will make or man or woman madly dote 
 
 Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
 
 Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again, 
 
 Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 
 
 Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes. [Bxtt PuCK, through the air. 
 
 Obe. Having once this juice, 
 
 I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, 
 And drop the liquor of it in her eyes ; 
 The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
 (Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull. 
 On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) 
 She shall pursue it with the soul of love : 
 And ere I take this charm from off her sight, 
 (As I can take it with another herb,) 
 I'll make her render up her page to me. 
 But who comes here ? I am invisible ; 
 And I will overhear their conference. 
 
 {Retires up and reclines upon a bank of flowers. 
 
 Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA following him. 
 
 Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. 
 Where is Lysander and fair Hermia ? 
 
 3S 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 
 
 The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. 
 
 Thou told'st me, they were stol'n unto this wood. , 
 
 Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 
 
 Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant : 
 But yet you draw not iron, for all my heart 
 Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, 
 And I shall have no power to follow you. 
 
 Dem. Do I entice you ? Do I speak you fair ? 
 Or, rather, do 1 not in plainest truth 
 Tell you — I do not, nor I cannot, love you ? 
 
 Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
 I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 
 The more you beat me, I will fawn on you : 
 Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, 
 Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave, 
 Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
 And to be used as you do use your dog. 
 
 Dem. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, 
 And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 
 
 Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
 Run when you will ; the story shall be chang'd ; 
 Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; 
 The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
 Makes speed to catch the tiger : bootless speed ! 
 When cowardice pursues, and valor flies. 
 
 ^She clings to him. 
 
 Dem. I will not stay thy questions ; \Shakes her off.'] let 
 me go : 
 Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
 But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 
 
 Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, and field, 
 You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius ! 
 Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : 
 We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; 
 We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. 
 
 [She attempts to clasp his arm — he avoids her. Exit DE- 
 METRIUS. Helena sinks for a moment in grief, then 
 starts up. 
 
 36 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell. 
 
 To die upon the hand I love so well. [^Exit Helena. 
 
 Ode. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave this grove, 
 Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. 
 
 Re-enter PuCK. 
 
 Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wanderer. 
 
 Puck. Ay, there it is. 
 
 Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 
 
 I know a bank where the wild thyme blows. 
 Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ; 
 Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine. 
 With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine : 
 There sleeps Titania, sometime of the night, 
 LuU'd in these flowers with dances and delight ; 
 And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, 
 And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
 Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove, 
 A sweet Athenian lady : she's in love 
 With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ; 
 But do it when the next thing he espies 
 May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
 Effect it with some care ; that he may prove 
 More fond on her, than she upon her love : 
 And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
 
 Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so. 
 
 [^Exeunt, different ways. 
 
 Enter, from side of Puck's exit, Lysander and Hermia, 
 Puck creeps back after them and hides. 
 
 Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the woods. 
 And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way ; 
 We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good. 
 And tarry for the comfort of the day. 
 
 Her. Be it so, Lysander, find you out a bed. 
 For I upon this bank will rest my head. 
 
 37 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both ; 
 One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. 
 
 Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my dear. 
 Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. 
 So far be distant, and good night, sweet friend ; 
 Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end ! 
 
 Lys. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer say I, 
 And then end life, when I end loyalty ! 
 Here is my bed : Sleep give thee all his rest ! 
 
 Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd. 
 
 \They sleep. PuCK advances from his hiding place. 
 Puck. 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 soul, she durst not lie 
 Near this lack-love, this kill-court'sy. 
 Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
 All the power this charm doth owe : 
 When thou wak'st, let love forbid 
 Sleep his seat on thy eyelid. 
 So awake, when I am gone ; 
 For I must now to Oberon. {Exit PuCK. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 
 
 Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. 
 
 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 Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies. 
 For she hath bless6d and attractive eyes : 
 
 38 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 But who is here ? — Lysander ! on the ground ! 
 Dead ? or asleep ? I see no blood, no wound ! — 
 Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 
 
 Lys. [ Waking-.] And run through fire I will, for thy sweet 
 sake, , 
 
 Transparent Helena 1 Nature shows her art, 
 That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
 Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word 
 Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 
 
 Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so : 
 What though he love your Hermia ? Yet, what though ? 
 Hermia still loves you : then be thou content. 
 
 Ljs. Content with Hermia ? No ; I do repent 
 The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
 Not Hermia, but Helena, I love : 
 Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
 And leads me to your eyes ; where I o'erlook 
 Love's stories, written in love's richest book. 
 
 Ilel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born ? 
 When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn ? 
 Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, 
 In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
 But fare you well : perforce I must confess, 
 I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
 O, that a lady, of one man refus'd. 
 Should of another therefore be abus'd ! [Exzt. 
 
 Lys. She sees not Hermia ; — Hermia, sleep thou there ; 
 And never mayst thou come Lysander near ! 
 And, all my powers, address your love and might. 
 To honour Helen, and to be her knight. \^Exit. 
 
 Her. \Starting.\ Help me, Lysander, help me ! do thy 
 best. 
 To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
 
 \She rises and looks around. 
 Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here ! 
 Lysander, look how I do quake with fear ! 
 Methought a serpent ate my heart away, 
 And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : 
 
 39 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Lysander ! what, removed ! Lysander ! lord ! 
 What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ? 
 Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; 
 Speak, of all loves ; I swoon almost with fear. \_Exit. 
 
 [ The night deepens during the preceding scene. At the 
 exit of Hermia the new moon is seen to rise. 
 
 Enter TiTANiA, with her Train. 
 
 Tita. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song ; 
 Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; 
 Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds : 
 Some, war with rear -mice for their leathern wings. 
 To make my small elves coats ; and some keep back 
 The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders 
 At our quaint spirits : sing me now asleep. 
 Then to your offices, and let me rest. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. Fai. You spotted snakes, with double tongue. 
 Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 
 Newts, and blind- worms, do no wrong ; 
 Come not near our fairy queen : 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Philomel, with melody 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
 LuUa, luUa, lullaby ; lulla, luUa, lullaby ; 
 Never harm, nor spell, nor charm. 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
 So, good-night, with lullaby. 
 40 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM, 
 
 II. 
 2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here : 
 
 Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence. 
 Beetles black, approach not near ; 
 Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Philomel, with melody, etc. 
 
 {^Exeunt FAIRIES. TiTANIA sleeps. 
 
 Enter Oberon. 
 
 Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, 
 
 \_Squeezes the flower on TiTANIA's eyelids. 
 Do it for thy true-love take ; 
 Love and languish for his sake ; 
 Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 
 Pard, or boar with bristled hair, 
 In thy eye that shall appear 
 When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ; 
 Wake, when some vile thing is near. \Exit. 
 
 [ The curtain slowly falls when the moon reaches its height 
 and its rays fall on TiTANlA. To the strain which 
 brings the curtain down, it slowly again ascends. 
 
 41 
 
ACT III. 
 
 Same Scene. — The curtain rises, disclosing TiTANiA still 
 asleep on the bank, C. The moon is not in sight, but its 
 rays still fall on the scene. 
 
 Enter QuiNCE, Snug, Flute, Snout, Starveling, and 
 
 Bottom. 
 
 Bot. Are we all met ? 
 
 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, — 
 
 Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom ? 
 
 Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and 
 Thisbe that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a 
 sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How 
 answer you that ? 
 
 Snout. By 'r lakin, 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 killed in- 
 deed ; and, for the more better 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. 
 
 Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ? 
 
 42 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Star. I fear it, I promise you. 
 
 Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves : to 
 bring in, God shield us ! a lion among ladies, is a most dread- 
 ful thing ; for there is not a more fearful wild-foul than your 
 lion, living ; and we ought to look to 't. 
 
 Snout. 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, T would request you, or, / would 
 entreat 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, 
 Tarn 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 so. But there is two hard things ; 
 that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber : for, you know, 
 Pyramus and Thisbe meet by moonlight. 
 
 Snug. Doth the moon shine that night we play our play ? J 
 
 Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the almanac ; find out 
 moonshine, find out moonshine. 
 
 Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 
 
 \After consulting a scroll. 
 
 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 lantern, and say he comes to disfigure, or to present, the 
 person of Moonshine. Then there is another thing ; we must 
 have a wall in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisbe, 
 says the story, did talk through the chink of a wall. 
 
 Snyg. You can never bring in a wall. — What say you, Bot- - 
 torn ? 
 
 Bot. Some man or other must present wall ; and let him 
 have some plaster, or some loam, or some roughcast, about him, 
 to signify wall ; or let him hold his fingers thus, and through 
 that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisbe whisper. 
 
 43 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every 
 mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin : 
 when you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake ; and 
 so every one according to his cue. 
 
 \They sit about, some lying at full length. 
 
 Enter Puck, behind. 
 
 Puck. What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here, 
 So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? 
 What, a play toward ? I'll be an auditor ; 
 An actor, too, perhaps, if I see cause. 
 
 Quin. Speak, Pyramus : — Thisbe, stand forth. 
 
 Bot. \As Pyramus.] Thisbe, the flowers of odious savours 
 
 sweet. 
 Quin. Odours, odours. 
 
 Bot. \_As Pyramus.] odours savours sweet : 
 
 So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisbe, dear. 
 But, hark, a voice ! stay thou but here a while, 
 
 And by and by I will to thee appear. \Exit to the R. 
 
 Puck. [Aside.] A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here ! 
 
 [Exit after Bottom. 
 Elit. Must I speak now ? 
 
 Quin. Ay, marry, must you : for you must understand he 
 goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again. 
 Plu. [As Thisbe.] Most radiant Pyramus, most lily white 
 of hue. 
 Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier. 
 Most brisky Juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew, 
 
 As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, 
 IHl meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb. 
 Quin. Ninus' tomb, man : why, you must not speak that 
 yet ; that you answer to Pyramus : you speak all your part at 
 once, cues and all. — Pyramus, enter; your cue is past; it is, 
 never tire. 
 
 Re-enter Puck, and after him Bottom with an ass's heaj. 
 
 Flu. [As Thisbe.] O, — As true as truest horse, that yet 
 would never tire. 
 
 44 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Bot. \As Pyramus.J If I were fair, Thisby, I were only 
 
 thine : — 
 Quin. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are haunted. Pray, 
 masters ! fly, masters ! help ! 
 
 \Exeunt all the players, in various ways. 
 Puck. I'll follow, I'll lead them about a round. 
 Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier. 
 
 {Exit. 
 Bot. Why do they run away ? this is a knavery of them to 
 make me afeard. 
 
 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 ! thou art translated. 
 
 {Exeunt Snout and QuiNCE. 
 
 Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make an ass of me ; to 
 
 fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this place, 
 
 do what they can : I will walk up and down here, and I will 
 
 sing, that they shall hear that I am not afraid. {Sings. 
 
 The ousel-cock, so black of hue. 
 
 With orange-tawny bill. 
 The throstle with his note so true, 
 The wren with little quill : 
 Tita. { Waking.^ What angel wakes me from my flowery 
 bed? 
 
 Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, 
 The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
 Whose note full many a man doth mark. 
 And dares not answer, nay ; — 
 Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 
 Mine ear is much enamour'd 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. 
 
 45 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for 
 that : and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little 
 company together nowadays. The more the pity, that some 
 honest neighbours will not make them friends. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 [ The Goblins enter as each one is called by name. 
 
 Peas. Ready. 
 
 Cob. And I. 
 
 Moth. And I. 
 
 Mus. And I. 
 
 All. Where shall we go ? 
 
 [All making obeisance. 
 
 Tit. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
 Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ; 
 Feed him with apricocks, and dewberries, 
 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. 
 
 Peas. Hail, mortal ! 
 
 Cob. Hail! 
 
 46 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Moth. Hail! 
 
 Mus. Hail! 
 
 Bot. I cry your worships' mercy, heartily. — {To Cobweb.) 
 I beseech your worship's name. 
 
 Cob. Cobweb. 
 
 JBof. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good master 
 Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. — 
 ( To Peas.^ Your name, honest gentleman ? 
 
 Peas. Peas-blossom. 
 
 Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, your 
 mother, and to master Peas-cod, your father. Good master 
 Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too. — 
 {To Mustard-seed.) Your name, I beseech you, sir ? 
 
 Mus. Mustard-seed. 
 
 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 of more 
 acquaintance, good master Mustard-seed. 
 
 Tzta. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to my bower. 
 \They cast garlands of ferns and flowers about him and 
 lead him off— following TiTANIA. After they go off, 
 R. I. e., Oberon appears at L., preceded by Puck, 
 suppressing his laughter and pointing after the oth- 
 ers. 
 
 Obe. How now, mad spirit ? 
 What night-rule now about this haunted grove ? 
 
 Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
 While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
 A crew of patches, 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, 
 Who Pyramus presented in their sport, 
 Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake : 
 When I did him at this advantage take. 
 An ass's nowl I fix6d on his head ; 
 
 47 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 And forth my mimic comes : when they him spy, 
 Why, at his sight, away the fellows fly : 
 He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. 
 When in that moment (so it came to pass) 
 Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. 
 
 Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. 
 But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes 
 With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ? 
 
 Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too, — 
 And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
 That when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. 
 
 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. 
 Then kill me too. 
 
 The sun was not so true unto the day. 
 As he to me : would he have stol'n away 
 From sleeping Hermia ? 
 It cannot be, but thou hast murder'd him ; 
 So should a murderer look ; so dread, so grim. 
 
 Dem. So should the murder'd look ; and so should I, 
 Pierc'd 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'd rather give his carcase 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 ! 
 
 48 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood : 
 I am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; 
 Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 
 
 Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. 
 Dem. An if I could, what should I get therefore ? 
 Her. A privilege, never to see me more. — 
 And from thy hated presence part I so : 
 See me no more, whether he be dead or no. \_Exit. 
 
 Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein : 
 Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. 
 So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
 For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ; 
 Which now, in some slight measure, it will pay, 
 If for his tender here I make some stay. [^Lies down.' 
 
 Obe. What hast thou done ? Thou hast mistaken quite. 
 And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight : 
 About the wood go swifter than the wind, 
 And Helena of Athens look thou find ; 
 All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer 
 With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear. 
 By some illusion see thou bring her here ; 
 I'll charm his eyes against she doth appear. 
 
 Puck. I go, I go ; look, how I go ; 
 Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit. 
 
 Obe. Flower of this purple dye. 
 Hit with Cupid's archery, 
 
 Sink in apple of his eye ! [Squeezes Juice of flower. 
 When his love he doth espy. 
 Let her shine as gloriously 
 As the Venus of the sky. 
 When thou wak'st, if she be by. 
 Beg of her for remedy. 
 
 Re-enter PuCK. 
 
 Ptick. Captain of our fairy band, 
 Helena is here at hand ; 
 And the youth mistook by me. 
 Pleading for a lover's fee ; 
 
 49 
 
A MIDSUMMER. NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Shall we their fond pageant see ? 
 Lord, what fools these mortals be ! 
 
 \^They retire aside. 
 
 Enter Lysander and Helena. 
 
 Lys. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn ? 
 Scorn and derision never come in tears. 
 
 Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born. 
 In their nativity all truth appears. 
 
 Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. 
 These vows are Hermia's ; will you give her o'er ? 
 
 Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. 
 Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 
 
 Dem. [Awaking.l O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine ! 
 To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? 
 Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
 Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
 
 Hel. O, spite ! O, fury ! I see you're all bent 
 To set against me, for your merriment. 
 Can you not hate me, as I know you do, 
 But you must join, in souls, to mock me too ? 
 If you were men, as men you are in show. 
 You would not use a gentle lady so : 
 To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts. 
 When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. 
 You both are rivals, and love Hermia, 
 And now both rivals, to mock Helena : 
 A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, 
 To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes 
 With your derision ! None of noble sort 
 Would so offend a virgin ; and extort 
 A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 
 
 Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius : be not so : 
 For you love Hermia ; this, you know, I know ; 
 And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
 In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; 
 
 50 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
 Whom I do love, and will do to my death. 
 
 Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 
 
 Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none : 
 If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 
 My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd ; 
 And now to Helen is it home return'd, 
 There to remain. 
 
 Lys. Helen, it is not so. 
 
 JDem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, 
 Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. — 
 Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 
 
 Enter Hermia. 
 
 Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes. 
 The ear more quick of apprehension makes ; 
 Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
 Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
 But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? 
 
 Lys. Why should he stay whom love doth press to go ? 
 
 Ifer. What love could press Lysander from my side ? 
 
 Lys, Lysander's love, that would not let him bide ; 
 Fair Helena ; who more engilds the night 
 Than £dl yon fiery oes and eyes of light. 
 Why seek'st thou me ? could not this make thee know 
 The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so ? 
 
 Her. You speak not as you think, it cannot be. 
 
 Hel. Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! 
 Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd 
 To bait me with this foul derision ? 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, 
 The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us, — O, and is all forgot ? 
 All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ? 
 So we grew together, 
 
 SI 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted — 
 But yet a union in partition : 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem ! 
 And will you rent our ancient love asunder, 
 To join with men in scorning your poor friend ? 
 
 Her. I am amazed at your passionate words : 
 I scorn you not ; it seems that you scorn me. 
 
 Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn. 
 To follow me, and praise my eyes and face ? 
 And made your other love, Demetrius, 
 {Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) 
 To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare, 
 Precious, celestial ? Wherefore speaks he this 
 To her he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysander 
 Deny your love, so rich within his soul, 
 And tender me, forsooth, affection. 
 But by your setting on, by your consent ? 
 What though I be not so in grace as you, 
 So hung upon with love, so fortunate ; 
 But miserable most, to love unlov'd ! 
 This you should pity, rather than despise. 
 
 Her. I understand not what you mean by this ! 
 
 Hel. Ay, do, persfever, counterfeit sad looks. 
 Make mouths upon me when I turn my back, 
 Wink each at other, hold the sweet jest up : 
 This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
 If you have any pity, grace, or manners. 
 You would not make me such an argument. 
 But, fare you well : 'tis partly mine own fault. 
 Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. 
 
 Lys. Stay, gentle Helena, hear my excuse ; 
 My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 
 
 Hel. O, excellent ! 
 
 Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 
 
 Dent. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 
 
 Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat ; 
 Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak prayers. 
 Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do ; 
 
 52 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 I swear by that which I will lose for thee, 
 To prove him false that says I love thee not. 
 
 Dem. I say I love thee more than he can do. 
 
 Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. 
 
 Dem. Quick, come, — 
 
 Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this ? 
 
 [Clings to him. 
 
 Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr 1 vile thing, let loose ; 
 Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent ! 
 
 Her. Why are you grown so rude ? what change is this, 
 Sweet love ? 
 
 Lys. Thy love ? out, tawny Tartar, out ! 
 
 Out, loathed medicine ! O, hated potion, hence ! 
 
 Her. Do you not jest ? {Again clinging to him. 
 
 Hel. Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you. 
 
 Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 
 
 Dem,. I would I had your bond, for I perceive 
 A weak bond holds you ; I'll not trust your word. 
 
 Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead ? 
 Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. 
 
 Her. What, can you do me greater harm than hate ? 
 Hate me ! wherefore ? O me ! 
 
 Since night, you lov'd me ; yet, since night, you left me : 
 Why then you left me, — O, the gods forbid ! — 
 In earnest, shall I say ? 
 
 Lys. Ay, by my life ; 
 
 And never did desire to see thee more. 
 Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt, 
 Be certain, nothing truer, 'tis no jest, 
 That I do hate thee, and love Helena. 
 
 Her. O me ! [/£> HEL.J you juggler ! you canker-blossom ! 
 You thief of love ! what, have you come by night, 
 And stolen my love's heart from him ? [^Advancing on her. 
 
 Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen. 
 Let her not hurt me ; I was never curst ; 
 
 {Retreats behind the men. 
 I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; 
 I am a right maid for my cowardice ; [Hermia advances. 
 
 S3 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Let her not strike me. 
 
 Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
 
 I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
 
 Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you ; 
 
 Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
 
 I told him of your stealth unto this wood : 
 
 He foUow'd you ; for love, I foUow'd him. 
 
 But he hath chid me hence ; and threaten'd me 
 
 To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
 
 And now, so you will let me quiet go. 
 
 To Athens will I bear my folly back. 
 
 And follow you no further. Let me go ; 
 
 You see how simple and how fond I am. 
 
 Her. Why, get you gone : who is 't that hinders you ? 
 
 Hel. A foolish heart that I leave here behind. 
 
 Her. What, with Lysander ? 
 
 Hel. With Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee, Helena. 
 
 Dem. No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part. 
 
 Hel. O when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd ; 
 She was a vixen, when she went to school. 
 
 Her. Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ? 
 Let me come to her. [Lysander interposes. 
 
 Dem. [ To Mm.'] You are too officious. 
 Take not her part : for if thou dost intend 
 Never so little show of love to her. 
 Thou shalt aby it. 
 
 Lys. Now she holds me not ; 
 
 Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, 
 Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. 
 
 Dem. Follow ? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole. 
 
 [^Exeunt LYSANDER and DEMETRIUS. 
 
 Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you : 
 Nay, go not back. 
 
 Hel. I will not trust you, I ; 
 
 Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
 
 [Hermia pursues and nearly overtakes her, and Helena 
 finally escapes and exits. 
 
 S4 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 / Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. 
 
 \Exit, pursuing Helena. 
 
 Ohe. {Advances with Puck.] This is thy negligence : still 
 thou mistak'st. 
 Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully. 
 
 Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
 Did not you tell me, I should know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he had on ? 
 And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 
 That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes : 
 And so far am I glad it so did sort. 
 As thjs their jangling I esteem a sport. 
 
 Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight : 
 Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; 
 The starry welkin cover thou anon 
 With drooping fog as black as Acheron ; 
 And lead these testy rivals so astray. 
 As one come not within another's way. 
 Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, 
 Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong ; 
 And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 
 And from each other look thou lead them thus. 
 Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
 With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep : 
 Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye. 
 Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, 
 To take from thence all error, with his might. 
 And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. 
 Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
 I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ; 
 And then I will her charmed eye release 
 From monster's view, and all things shall be peace. 
 
 Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste ; 
 f The mists begin to fall, and the scene commences to dar- 
 ken. 
 For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast. 
 And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ; 
 At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, 
 
 SS ' 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
 
 And wilfully themselves exile from light, 
 
 And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 
 
 Ode. But we are spirits of another sort : 
 I with the morning's love have oft made sport ; 
 And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 
 Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, 
 Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams. 
 Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. 
 But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay : 
 We may efifect this business yet ere day. {^Exii Oberon. 
 
 Puck. Up and down, up and down, 
 I will lead them up and down ; 
 I am fear'd in field and town ; 
 Goblin, lead them up and down. 
 Here comes one. 
 
 Enter Lysander \below'\. 
 
 Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? speak thou now. 
 Puck. Here, villain ; drawn and ready. Where art thou ? 
 Lys. I will be with thee straight. 
 Puck. Follow me then, 
 
 To plainer ground. \^Exit LYSANDER, as following the voice. 
 
 Enter Demetrius \above, from the same direction'] . 
 
 Dem. Lysander ! speak again. \Re-enter Puck. 
 
 Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? 
 Speak — in some bush ? Where dost thou hide thy head ? 
 
 Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars, 
 Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars. 
 And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou child ; 
 I'll whip thee with a rod : he is defil'd 
 That draws a sword on thee. 
 
 Dem. Yea ; art thou there ? 
 
 Puck. Follow my voice : we'll try no manhood here. 
 
 \Exeunt. The fog grows more dense. 
 S6 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Re-enter Lysander [above']. 
 
 Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on ; 
 When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
 The villain is much lighter heel'd than I. 
 I foUow'd fast, but faster he did fly ; 
 That fallen am I in dark uneven way. 
 
 And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! \Lies down. 
 For if but once thou show me thy gray light, 
 I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. 
 
 Re-enter PuCK and Demetrius [below]. 
 
 Puck. Ho, ho, ho ! Coward, why com'st thou not ? 
 
 Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st ; for well I wot 
 Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place. 
 And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
 Where art thou now ? \Sits on a bank. 
 
 Puck. Come hither ; I am here. 
 
 Dem. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt 'by this 
 dear. 
 If ever I thy face by daylight see : 
 Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
 To measure out my length on this cold bed. 
 By day's approach look to be visited. 
 
 [Lies down and sleeps. The scene becomes blacker. 
 
 Enter Hermia. 
 
 Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, 
 Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers ; 
 I can no further crawl, nor further go. 
 
 My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
 Here will I rest me, till the break of day. 
 Heaven shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! [Lies down. 
 Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ; 
 Two of both kinds make up four. 
 Here she comes, curst and sad : 
 Cupid is a knavish lad. 
 Thus to make poor females mad. 
 
 57 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Hel. O, weary night ! O, long and tedious night, 
 Abate thy hours : shine, comforts, from the east. 
 That I may back to Athens by daylight. 
 
 From these that my poor company detest : — 
 And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
 Steal me awhile from mine own company. [Sleeps. 
 
 [ The light of fire-flies breaks through the darkness, and 
 the Goblins and Fairies begin to assemble in the mists. 
 
 Spirits. 
 On the ground 
 Sleep thou sound : 
 We'll apply 
 To your eye, 
 Gentle lover, remedy. 
 Puck. [^Squeezes the juice on Lysander's eye.\ 
 A fairy. \Sings. J 
 
 When thou wak'st. 
 Thou tak'st 
 True delight 
 In the sight 
 Of thy former lady's eye : 
 And the country proverb known, 
 That every man should take his own, 
 In your waking shall be shown : 
 Jack shall have Jill ; 
 Nought shall go ill. 
 
 The Curtain Descends. 
 
 S8 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 Scene i. — A Tangled Wood and Glen. Titania is dis- 
 covered seated on a mound of flowers, at the base of a fallen 
 tree. Bottom is beside her still wearing the ass's head. 
 The four Goblins are behind. It is still dark and misty. 
 
 Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 
 
 While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
 And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, 
 
 And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
 
 Bot. Where's Peas-blossom ? 
 
 Peas. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Scratch my head, Peas -blossom. — Where's monsieur 
 Cobweb ? 
 
 Cob. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Monsieur Cobweb ; good monsieur, get you your 
 weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee 
 on the top of a thistle ; and, good monsieur, bring me the 
 honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the action, 
 monsieur ; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag 
 break not ; I would be loth to have you over-flown with a 
 honey-bag, signior. Where's monsieur Mustard-seed ? 
 
 Mus. What's your will ? 
 
 Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalero Cobweb 
 to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur ; for, methinks, 
 I am marvellous hairy about the face ; and I am such a tender 
 ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. 
 
 Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love ? 
 
 Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music ; let us have 
 the tongs and the bones. 
 
 Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 
 
 59 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Bot. Truly, a peck of provender : I could munch your 
 good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of 
 hay : good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow. 
 
 Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
 The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 
 
 Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried peas. 
 But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me ; 
 I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. 
 
 Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. 
 Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. {^Exeunt Fairies. 
 So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle 
 Gently entwist ; the female ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
 O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! [They sleep. 
 
 Oberon advances. Enter PucK. 
 
 Obe. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet sight ? 
 Her dotage now I do begin to pity : 
 For meeting her of late, behind the wood, 
 Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool, 
 I did upbraid her and fall out with her : 
 For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
 When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her. 
 And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience, 
 I then did ask of her that changeling child ; 
 Which straight she gave me. 
 And now I have the boy, I will undo 
 This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
 And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
 From off the head of this Athenian swain ; 
 That he, awaking when the other do. 
 May all to Athens back again repair, 
 And think no more of this night's accidents. 
 But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
 But first I will release the fairy queen. 
 Be, as thou wast wont to be, 
 
 [ Touching her eyes with an herb. 
 60 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 See, as thou wast wont to see : 
 Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
 Hath such force and blessed power. 
 Now, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen. 
 
 Tiia. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
 Methought I was enamoured of an ass. 
 Ode. There lies your love. 
 
 Tiia. How came these things to pass ? 
 
 O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! 
 
 Ode. Silence a-while. — Robin, take off this head. — 
 Puck. [Removing the ass^s head from BOTTOM'S shoulders. 
 Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's eyes peep. 
 Fairy king, attend, and mark, 
 I do hear the morning lark. 
 Obe. Come, my queen, take hands with me, 
 And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
 Now thou and I are new in amity ; 
 And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, 
 Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
 And bless it to all fair posterity : 
 There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
 Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 
 
 [Music, as they exeunt. As they go out, BOTTOM awakes. 
 Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer : — my 
 next is. Most fair Pyramus. — Hey ho ! — [He sits up.] Peter 
 Quince ! Flute, the bellows-mender 1 Snout, the tinker ! 
 Starveling ! By my life ! stolen hence, and left me asleep ! I 
 have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, — past the 
 wit of man to say what dream it was. — Man is but an ass, if he 
 go about to expound this dream. Methought I was — there is 
 no man can tell what. Methought I was — and I methought 
 I had, — but man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say 
 what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, 
 the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, 
 his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream 
 was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream : 
 it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom ; 
 and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke : 
 
 6i 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 peradventure, to makfe it the more gracious, I shall sing it 
 after Thisbe's death. [E^^ii BOTTOM. 
 
 {After a strain of music daybreak begins to appear. The 
 sun rises. The glen and tangled wood disappear, as 
 the mists ascend and discover the lovers asleep as before. 
 Hunting-music is heard, and a pleasure-barge appears 
 in the background bearing Theseus, Hippolita, 
 Egeus, Philostrate, and others. It pauses at the c, 
 and Theseus and the others disembark. 
 
 The. Go, one of you, find out the forester. 
 
 For now our observation is performed ; 
 
 And since we have the vaward of the day. 
 
 My lo ve shall he ar-the-aw&i^ of-niy hounds. 
 
 Uncouple in the western valley ; let them go : 
 
 Despa tch, I say, and find theJiarester. \Exit Philostrate. 
 
 We will. fai tLqji£en.-up-ta-the-iiiniintain's top. 
 
 And mark the musical confusio n 
 
 Of hnnnds and erhn in rnnjnnrtinn, 
 
 Hip, I was with Hercules and Cadmus once. 
 
 When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
 
 With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
 
 Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves. 
 
 The skies, the fountains, every region near 
 
 Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard 
 
 So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 
 
 The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind. 
 
 So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
 
 Crook-knee'd and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
 
 Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells. 
 
 Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
 
 Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn. 
 
 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
 
 Judge, when you hear. — But, soft ; what nymphs are these ? 
 Ege. [ Who has discovered Hermia and beckoned to THE- 
 SEUS.] My lord, this is my daughter here asleep ; 
 
 62 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 And this Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 
 This Helena, old Nedar's Helena ; 
 I wonder of their being here together. 
 
 The. No doubt they rose up early, to observe 
 The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent. 
 Came here in grace of our solemnity. 
 But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
 That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? 
 
 Ege. It is, my lord. 
 
 The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. * 
 
 [Horns heard, and Philostrate re-enters. Demetrius, 
 Lysander, Hermia, and Helena wake and start up. 
 
 The. Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past. 
 
 Lys. Pardon, my lord. 
 
 {^He and the rest kneel to Theseus. 
 
 The. I pray you all, stand up. 
 
 I know, you two are rival enemies ; 
 How comes this gentle concord in the world, 
 That hatred is so far from jealousy, 
 To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 
 
 Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, 
 Half 'sleep, half waking, 
 I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
 Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
 Without the peril of the Athenian law. 
 
 Ege. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have enough : 
 I beg the law, the law, upon his head. 
 They would have stol'n away, they would, Demetrius, 
 Thereby to have defeated you and me : 
 You of your wife, and me of my consent. 
 
 Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth. 
 Of this their purpose hither, to this wood ; 
 And I in fury hither follow'd them. 
 Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
 But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
 (But, by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, 
 Melted as the snow, seems to me now 
 
 63 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 As the remembrance of an idle gaud, 
 Which in my childhood I did dote upon : 
 And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, 
 The object, and the pleasure of mine eye. 
 Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 
 Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia. 
 
 The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met : 
 Of this discourse we more will hear anon. 
 Egeus, I will overbear your will. 
 For in the temple, by and by with us. 
 These couples shall eternally be knit. 
 And, for the morning now is something worn, 
 Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. 
 Away, with us, to Athens ; three and three. 
 We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. 
 Come, Hippolita. 
 
 [^He re-enters the barge with Hippolita and Egeus, 
 Philostrate following. 
 
 Hel. Are you sure 
 
 That we are awake ? It seems to me, 
 That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think. 
 The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? 
 
 Her. Yea, he did bid us follow to the temple. 
 
 Dem. Why then, we are awake : let's follow him, 
 And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. 
 
 \_Exeunt into the barge. 
 \As the barge begins to move off the picture changes, show- 
 ing the passage <?/ THESEUS to his capital. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
H X 
 
ACT V. 
 
 Scene. — The Palace of Theseus. 
 
 Enter THESEUS, HiPPOLlTA, and Lords, and attendants. 
 
 Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak 
 of. 
 
 The. More strange than true. I never may believe 
 These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
 Lovers and madmen have such seething brains. 
 The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
 Are of imagination all compact : 
 One sees more devils than vast space can hold — 
 That is, the madman ; the lover, all as frantic, 
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt. 
 The poet's eye, in a fine- frenzy rolling. 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ; 
 And, as imagination bodies forth 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing ^ 
 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 
 Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena, with 
 
 Egeus. 
 
 The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. — 
 Joy> gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love, 
 Accompany your hearts ! 
 
 Lys. More than to us. 
 
 Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed ! 
 
 The. Come now ; what masks, what dances shall we have. 
 To wear away this long age of three hours ? 
 
 65 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Where is our usual manager of mirth ? 
 
 What revels are in hand ? Is there no play, 
 
 Tq ease the anguish of a torturing hour ? , 
 
 Call Philostrate. [Philostrate enters from R. 
 
 Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. 
 
 The. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening ? 
 What mask, what music ? How shall we beguile 
 The lazy time, if not with some delight ? 
 
 Philost. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe ; 
 Make choice of which your highness will see first. 
 
 \^Offers a paper to Theseus, who directs Demetrius to 
 read. 
 
 Dem. [Reads.] The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung, 
 By an Athenian eunuch to the harp. 
 
 The. We'll none of that : that have I told my love. 
 In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
 
 Dem. The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
 Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. 
 
 The. That is an old device, and it was play'd 
 When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
 
 Dem. A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, 
 And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth 
 
 The. Merry and tragical ? Tedio*us and brief ? 
 That is, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. 
 How shall we find the concord of this discord ? 
 
 Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten words long ; 
 Which is as brief as I have known 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 tragical, my noble lord, it is ; 
 For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
 Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess, 
 Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears 
 The passion of loud laughter never shed. 
 
 The. What are they that do play it ? 
 
 Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here, 
 Which never labour'd in their minds till now ; 
 
 66 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories 
 With this same play, against your nuptial. 
 
 TAe. I will hear that play ; 
 For never anything can be amiss, 
 When simpleness and duty tender it. 
 Go, bring them in : and take your places, ladies. 
 
 lExzf Philostrate, r. Hexena and Hermia, Lysan- 
 DER and Demetrius, with Egeus, recline on the di- 
 vans at L. Theseus and Hippolita and Court sit R. 
 
 Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd, 
 And duty in his service perishing. 
 
 The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. 
 
 Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. 
 
 The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing. 
 Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake : 
 And what poor duty cannot do, soble respect 
 Takes it in might, not merit. 
 
 Enter PHILOSTRATE. 
 
 Pkilost. So please your grac€, tiie prologue is address'd. 
 The. Let him approach. [^Flourish of trumpets. 
 
 Enter upon the platform at back PlETER QuiNCE, representing 
 
 Prologue. 
 
 Prol. If we offend, it is with our good will. 
 
 That you should think, we come not to offend. 
 But with good will. To show our simple skill, 
 
 That is the true beginning of our end. 
 Consider then, we come but in despite. 
 
 We do not come, as minding to content you. 
 Our true intent is. All for your delight, 
 
 We are not here. 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. 
 The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. 
 Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt ; he knows 
 not the stop. A good moral, my lord : it is not enough to 
 speak, but to speak true. 
 
 67 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Hip. Indeed, he hath played on his prologue like a child on 
 a recorder ; a sound, but not in government. 
 
 The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; nothing impaired, 
 but all disordered. Who is next ? 
 
 \Pnring the following, as each man is named he enters, 
 
 bows, and goes above and stands until the end of the 
 
 Prologue. Bottom as Pyramus, Flute «j,Thisbe, 
 
 Snout as Wall, Starveling as Moonshine, and 
 
 Snug as Lion. Prologue is a very aged man, 
 
 crowned with bays. 
 Prol. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show ; 
 
 But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. 
 This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; 
 
 This beauteous lady Thisbe is, certain. 
 This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 
 
 Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder : 
 And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are content 
 
 To whisper ; at the which' let no man wonder. 
 This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 
 
 Presenteth Moonshine : for, if you will know. 
 By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn 
 
 To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
 This grisly beast, which by name Lion hight. 
 The trusty Thisbe, coming first by night, 
 Did scare away, or rather did affright : 
 And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall ; 
 
 Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain. 
 Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall. 
 
 And finds his trusty Thisbe's mantle slain : 
 Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade. 
 
 He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast ; 
 And Thisbe, tarrying in mulberry shade. 
 
 His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest. 
 Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain. 
 At large discourse, while here they do remain. 
 [Exeunt PROLOGUE, THISBE, Pyramus, Wall, Moon- 
 shine, andlAO^ last, bowing many times. 
 The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. 
 
 68 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Bern. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, when many 
 asses do. 
 
 Re-enter Wall. 
 
 Wall. In this same interlude, it doth befall, 
 That I, one Snout by name, present a wall : 
 And such a wall as I would have you think, 
 That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, 
 Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe, 
 Did whisper often very secretly. 
 This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone doth show 
 That I am that same wall ; the truth is so : 
 And this the cranny is, right and sinister. 
 Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper. 
 
 The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better ? 
 
 Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, 
 my lord. 
 
 Pyramus enters. 
 
 The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence. 
 
 Pyr. O grim-look'd night ! O night with hue so black ! 
 
 night, which ever art when da)'^ is not ! 
 O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, 
 
 1 fear my Thisbe's promise is forgot ! — 
 And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall. 
 
 That stand'st between her father's ground and mine. 
 Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall. 
 
 Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne. 
 
 [Wall holds up his fingers. 
 Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well for this ! 
 
 But what see I ? No Thisbe do I see. 
 O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ; 
 Curs'd be thy stone for thus deceiving me ! 
 The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. 
 Bot. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving me is 
 Thisbe's cue : she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through 
 the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you :— yonder 
 she comes. 
 
 69 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 
 Tkis. O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, 
 For parting my fair Pyramus and me ! 
 
 Pyr. I see a voice : now will I to the chink, 
 To spy an I can hear my Thisbe's 'face. 
 Thisbe ! 
 
 This. My love ! thou art my love, I think. 
 
 Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace 
 And like Limander am I trusty still. 
 
 This. And I like Helen, till the fates me kill. 
 
 Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. 
 
 This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. 
 
 Pyr. O, kiss me through the chink of this vile wall. 
 
 This. I kiss the wall and not your lips at all. 
 
 Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway ? 
 
 This. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay. 
 
 [Exeunt Thisbe and Pyramus, severally. 
 
 Wall. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so ; 
 And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. [Exit WALL. 
 
 Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
 
 The. The best in this kind are but shadows ; and the worst 
 are no worse, if imagination amend them. 
 
 Hip. It must be your imagination, then, and not theirs. 
 
 The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of them- 
 selves, they may pass for excellent men. [Enter LlON and 
 Moonshine. J Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion. 
 [Lion, before he speaks, removes his head and bows to the 
 Court. 
 
 Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear 
 The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor. 
 May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here. 
 When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
 Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am 
 No lion fell, nor else no lion's dam : 
 For if I should as lion come in strife 
 Into this place, 'twere pity on my life. 
 
 [Puts on his head again. 
 70 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Hel. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. 
 
 Dem. The very best at a beast, that e'er I saw. 
 
 Her. This lion is a very fox for his valour. 
 
 Lys. True ; and a goose for his discretion. {Enter the 
 Moonshine.] It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us 
 hearken to the moon. 
 
 Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon present ; 
 Myself the man i' th' moon doth seem to be. 
 
 The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : the man 
 should be put into the lantern : how is it else the man i' the 
 moon ? 
 
 Dem. He dares not come there for the candle : for, you 
 see, it is already in snuff. 
 
 Hel. I am aweary of this moon ; would he would change. 
 
 Her. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is 
 in the wane : but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay 
 the time. 
 
 The. Proceed, Moon. 
 
 Moon. All that I have to say, is to tell you, that the lantern 
 is the moon ; I, the man in the moon ; this thorn-bush, my 
 thorn-bush ; and this dog, my dog. 
 
 The. Why, all these should be in the lantern ; for they 
 are in the moon. But, silence ; here comes Thisbe. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 
 ; /This. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love ? 
 / Lion. Oh — . 
 
 [ The Lion roars. THISBE runs off, leaving mantle. 
 
 Dem. Well roared, lion. 
 
 Hel. Well run, Thisbe. 
 
 Hip. Well shone, moon. Truly, the moon shines with a 
 good grace. [LlON tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit. 
 
 The. Well moused, lion. 
 
 Lys. And then came Pyramus. 
 
 Dem. And so the lion vanished. 
 
 71 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Enter Pyramus. 
 Pyr. Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams. \ 
 I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright ; 
 For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, 
 I trust to taste of truest Thisbe's sight. 
 But stay ; — O spite ! 
 But mark ; — poor knight. 
 What dreadful dole is here ? 
 Eyes, do you see ? 
 How can it be ? 
 O dainty duck ! O dear ! 
 Thy mantle good, 
 What, stain'd with blood ? 
 Approach, ye furies fell ! 
 O fates ! come, come ; 
 Cut thread and thrum ; 
 Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! 
 
 The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would 
 go near to make a man look sad. 
 
 Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 
 
 Pyr. O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame ? 
 
 Since lion vile hath here deflower' d my dear : 
 Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame. 
 
 That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd,.that look'd with cheer.. 
 Come, tears, confound ; 
 Out, sword, and wound 
 The pap of Pyramus : 
 Ay, that left pap 
 Where heart doth hop : — 
 Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
 Now am I dead. 
 Now am I fled, 
 My soul is in the sky : 
 Tongue, lose thy light ! 
 Moon, take thy flight ! 
 Now, die, die, die, die, die. 
 
 [Dies. Exit Moonshine. 
 
 72 
 
«"" 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and 
 prove an ass. 
 
 Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes 
 back and finds her lover ? 
 
 The. She will find him by starlight. [Re-enter Thisbe.] 
 Here she comes ; and her passion ends the play. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one for such a 
 Pyramus : I hope she will be brief. 
 
 Dent. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. 
 
 This. Asleep, my love ? 
 
 What, dead, my dove ? 
 O Pyramus, arise. 
 
 Speak, speak. Quite dumb ? 
 
 Dead, dead ? A tomb 
 Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
 
 These lily lips, 
 
 This cherry nose, 
 These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
 
 Are gone, are gone : 
 
 Lovers, make moan ! 
 His eyes were green as leeks. 
 
 O sisters three, 
 
 •Come, come to me. 
 With hands as pale as milk ; 
 
 Lay them in gore. 
 
 Since you have shore. 
 With shears his thread of silk. 
 
 Tongue, not a word : 
 
 Come, trusty sword ; 
 Come, blade, my breast imbrue ; 
 
 And farewell, friends ; 
 
 Thus Thisbe ends : 
 Adieu„adieu, adieu. 
 
 {Dies. Falls on PYRAMUS, who rolls away. 
 
 The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. 
 
 73 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Bottom rises and bows. 
 
 Bot. No, I assure you. Will it please you to see the epi- 
 logue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two of our com- 
 pany ? 
 
 The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play needs no ex- 
 cuse. Never excuse ; fot when the players are all dead, there 
 need none to be blamed. 
 
 [Bottom bows, and drags Thisbe off the stage. Mid- 
 night sounds from various distant bells. 
 The iron tongue of midnight telleth twelve : — 
 Lovers now list' : 'tis almost fairy time. 
 Sweet friends, 
 
 A fortnight hold we this solemnity, 
 In nightly revels, and new jollity. 
 
 {Fairy music is heard and through the misty distance Puck 
 and the Goblins arise and Oberon and TiTANIA, with 
 their attendants, appear. 
 
 Oberon. If we shadows have offended. 
 
 Think but this, (and all is mended,) 
 That you have but slumber'd here. 
 While these visions did appear. 
 And this weak and idle theme. 
 No more yielding but a dream. 
 
 A Chorus is Sung. 
 TiTANiA [and fairies']. 
 
 Through this house give glimmering light, 
 By the dead and drowsy fire — 
 
 Every elf and fairy sprite 
 
 Hop as light as bird from brier. 
 
 And this ditty, after me, 
 
 Sing, and sing it trippingly. 
 
 74 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 So shall all the couples three 
 Ever true in loving be ; 
 Every fairy take his gait, 
 And each chamber consecrate ; 
 And each several chamber bless, 
 Through this palace with sweet peace, 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 75