Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess, Which never labour'd in their minds till now; The. And we will hear it. No, my noble lord; The. I will hear that play: For never any thing can be amiss, When simpleness and duty tender it. Go, bring them in ;-and take your places, ladies. [Exit PHILOSTRate. 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: Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. I read as much, as from the rattling tongue Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, 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. Hip. Indeed, he hath played on this prologue, like a child on a recorder; a sound, but not in government. The. His speech was like a tangled chain, Nothing impair'd, but all disordered. Who is next? Enter PYRAMUS, and THISBE, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion, as in dumb show. 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 Thisby 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 lion hight by name, The trusty Thisby, 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 Thisby's mantle slain: Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade, He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; And Thisby, 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 PROL., THISBE, Lion, and Moonshine. The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. Dem. No wonder, my lord: One lion may, when many asses do. Wall. "In this same interlude, it doth befal, 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 Thisby, Did whisper often very secretly. This lime, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not.-" Deceiving me," is Thisby'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. Enter THISEE. This. "O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, For parting my fair Pyramus and me: My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones; Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee." Pyr. "I see a voice: now will I to the chink, То spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. Thisby!" 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.” This. "I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all." Pyr. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?" This. "Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay." Wall. "Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus wall away doth go." [Exeunt Wall, PYRAMUS, and THISBE. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning. Hip. This is the silliest stuff that e'er 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 themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion. Enter Lion, and Moonshine. 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, For, if I should as lion come in strife Into this place, 'twere pity on my life." The. A very gentle beast, and of a good con science. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the fox carries the goose. The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour, for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present;" Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present; Myself the man i'the moon do 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. Hip. I am aweary of this moon: would, he would change! The. 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. Lys. 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. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe. I thank thee, moon, for shining now so For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, But mark, poor knight, O dainty duck! O dear! 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 deflour'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; Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief. Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us. Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.- O Pyramus! arise: Speak, speak! Quite dumb? Must cover thy sweet eyes. This cherry nose, These yellow cowslip cheeks, Are gone, are gone. Come, come to me, With shears his thread of silk. Come, blade, my breast imbrue : And farewell, friends.— Thus Thisby ends: Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies. The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and wall too. Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company? The. No epilogue, 1 pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse, for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is, truly, and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. [A dance. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.Lovers, to bed: 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn, As much as we this night have overwatch'd. The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.- [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter PUCK. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, In remembrance of a shroud. That the graves, all gaping wide, In the church-way paths to glide: By the triple Hecate's team, To sweep the dust behind the door. Enter OBERON, and TITANIA, with all their train. Obe. Now, until the break of day, And the blots of nature's hand Shall upon their children be. With this field-dew consecrate, Every fairy take his gait, And each several chamber bless, Through this palace with sweet peace; Ever shall in safety rest, And the owner of it blest. S |