is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our enterlude before the Duke and the Dutchefs, on his weddingday at night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, fay what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and fo grow on to a point.

Quin. Marry, our play is the moft lamentable comedy and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

Bot. A very good piece of work I affure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your Actors by the fcrowl. Mafters, fpread your felves.

Quin. Anfwer as I call you. Nick Bottom the weaver. Bot. Ready: name what part I am for, and proceed. Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are fet down for Pyramus. Bot. What is Pyramus, a lover, or a tyrant?

Quin. A lover that kills himself moft gallantly for love. Bot. That will ask fome 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 fome meafure. To the reft:- yet my chief humour is for a tyrant; I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in. To make all split the raging rocks, and shivering fhocks fhall break the locks of prifon-gates and Phibbus carr fhall fhine from far, and make and mar the foolish fates a -- This was lofty.

Now name the reft 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. You must take Thisby on you.
Flu. What is Thisby, a wandring 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 fhall play it in a mask, and

you may speak as fmall as you will.

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too;

G 2

(a) This was probably a piece of nonfenfical bombaft taken out of

Jome foolish play known at that time.... Theobald.

I'll fpeak in a monftrous little voice, 'Thisby, Thisby; ah,
Pyramus, my lover dear, thy Thisby dear, and lady dear.
Quin. No, no, you must play Pyramus; and, Flute,
you, Thisby.

Bot. Well, proceed.

Quin. Robin Starveling the taylor.

Star. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother. Tom Snowt the tinker.

Snowt. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; my felf, Thisby's father; Snug the joiner, you, the lion's part; I hope there is a play fitted.

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am flow of study.

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 fay, let him roar again, let him roar again.

Quin. If you fhould do it too terribly, you would fright the Dutchefs and the ladies, that they would fhriek, and that were enough to hang us all.

All. That would hang us every mother's fon.

Bot. I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more difcretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my voice fo, that I will roar you as gently as any fucking dove, I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a fweet-fac'd man, a proper man as one fhall fee in a fummer's day; a most lovely gentleman-like man: therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in ?

Quin. Why, what you will.

9 Thifne, Thifne;

Bot.

Bot. I will discharge it in either your ftraw-colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour'd beard, your perfect yellow.

Quin. Some of your French-crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play bare-fac'd. But, mafters, here are your parts, and I am to intreat you, request you, and defire you to con them by to-morrow night; and meet me in the palace-wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight, there we will rehearse; for if we meet in the city, we fhall be dog'd with company, and our devices known. In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties, fuch as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not.

Bot. We will meet, and there we may rehearse more obfcenely and courageously. Take pains, be perfect, adieu.

Quin. At the Duke's oak we meet.

Bot. Enough, hold or cut bowftrings. a [Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

The WOO D.

Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck (or Robin-goodfellow)

at another.

(a) A proverbial phrafe fignifying, without fail, or, in all events.

And I ferve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowflips tall her penfioners be,
In their gold coats fpots you fee,
Thofe be rubies, Fairy-favours,
In thofe freckles live their favours:

I must go feek fome ''dew-drops here and there,`
And hang a pearl in every cowflip's ear.
Farewel, thou lob of fpirits, 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 fight.
For Oberon is paffing fell and wrath,

Because that fhe, as her attendant, hath
A lovely boy ftol'n from an Indian King:
She never had fo fweet a changeling;
And jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;
But fhe per-force with-holds the loved boy,
Crowns him with flow'rs, and makes him all her joy.
And now they never meet in grove, or green,
By fountain clear, or fpangled ftar-light fheen,
But they do fquare, that all their elves for fear
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.

Fai. Or I mistake your fhape and making quite,
Or elfe you are that fhrewd and knavish sprite
Call'd Robin-goodfellow. Are you not he,
That fright the maidens of the villagery,
Skim milk, and fometimes labour in the quern,
And bootlefs make the breathlefs hufwife churn;
And fometime make the drink to bear no barme,
Mif-lead night-wand'rers, laughing at their harm?
Thofe that Hobgoblin call you, and fweet Puck,
You do their work, and they fhall have good luck.
Are not you he?

Puck. The fame, thou fpeak'ft aright;`

I am that merry wand'rer of the night:

1 dew drops here, 2 Thou fpeak'ft aright;

I jeft

I jeft to Oberon, and make him smile
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:
And fometimes lurk I in a goffip's bowl,
In very likeness of a roafted a crab,
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.
The wifeft aunt, telling the faddeft tale,
Sometime for three-foot ftool mistaketh me;
Then flip I from her bum, down topples fhe,
3 'And rails or cries, and falls into a cough,
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe,
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and fwear
A merrier hour was never wafted there.

But make room, fairy, here comes Oberon.

Fair. And here my miftrefs: would that he were gone!

Enter Oberon King of Fairies at one door with his Train, and the Queen at another with hers.

Ob. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania.
Queen. What, jealous Oberon? fairies, skip hence,
I have forfworn his bed and company.

Ob. Tarry, rafh wanton, am not I thy lord?
Queen. Then I must be thy lady; but I know
When thou haft ftol'n away from fairy land,
And in the shape of Corin fate all day,
Playing on pipes of corn, and verfing love
To am'rous Phillida. Why art thou here,
Come from the fartheft fteep of India?
But that forfooth the bouncing Amazon,
Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior Love,
To Thefeus must be wedded; and you come
To give their bed joy and profperity.

Ob. How can't thou thus for fhame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolita,

(a) Crab apple,

4

G

3 And tailor cries,

Knowing