Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit of any nandicraft 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: & 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!-O 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 ribbons 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 ine 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 One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth t✔ heaven; And, as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Such tricks hath strong imagination; It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Hip. But all the story of the night told over, (1) Are made of mere imagination. (2) Stability But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. Lys. To wear away this long age of three hours, Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. The. Say, what abridgement! 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,2 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, The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. That is an old device; and it was play'd When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. The thrice three Muses mourning for the death Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary. That is some satire, keen, and critical, Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. (1) Pastime. (2) Short account. A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, Which is as brief as I have known a play: Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess, Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here, Which never labour'd in their minds till now; And now have toil'd their unbreath'd1 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; The. 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. (1) Unexercised. 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 Enter Philostrate. Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest.1 The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. Enter 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, The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt, (1) Ready. |