Dem.

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, and my father.
Hel.

And Hippolyta.
Lys. And 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.

As they go out, Bottom awakes.

it was.

Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer.-My next is, Most fair Pyramus.—Hey, ho!Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God's 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

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.

. 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. Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.

(Exit

.

SCENE II. Athens. A Room in Quince's House.

Enter QUINCE, FLUTE, Snout, and STARVELING.

Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house? Is he come home yet?

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is transported.

Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, doth it?

Quin. It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he.

Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens.

Quin. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a very paramour for a sweet voice. Flu. You must say, paragon.

A

paramour is, God bless us, a thing of nought.

Enter Snug. Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward, we had all been made

men.

Flu. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a-day during his life. He could not have 'scaped sixpence a-day; an the duke had not given him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged; he would have deserved it. Sixpence a-day, in Pyramus, or nothing.

Enter BOTTOM. Bot. Where are these lads? Where are these hearts?

Quin. Bottom !-0 most courageous day! O most happy hour!

Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask me not what; for, if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out.

Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.

Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you, is, that the duke hath dined. Get your apparel together; good strings to your beards, new ribands to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look o'er his part; for the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen; and let not him, that plays the lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I do not doubt but to hear them say, It is a sweet comedy. No more words; away; go, away.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The same.

An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, 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,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact."
One sees more devils than vast hell 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 forins of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation, and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination,
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,

It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or, in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush supposed a bear!

Hip. But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigured so together,
More witnesseth than fancy's images,
And grows to something of great constancy;
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and HELENA.

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 on 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,
Between our after-supper, and bed-time?
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand ? Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philostrate.

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.

[Giving a paper. The. [Reads.] The battle with the Centaurs, to be

sung By an Athenian eunuch to the harp. We'll none of that; that have I told my love,

In glory of my kinsman Hercules.

The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. .
That is an old device; and it was played
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

The thrice three Muses mourning for the death

Of learning, late deceased in beggary. That is some satire, keen, and critical, Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.

A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus,

And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical! Tedious 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 rehearsed, 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 labored in their minds till now;
And now have toiled their unbreathed memories
With this same play, against your nuptial.

The. And we will hear it.
Philost.

No, my noble lord,
It is not for you. I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Unless you can find sport in their intents,
Extremely stretched, and conned with cruel pain,
To do you service.