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Of this difcourfe we more will hear anon.-
Egeus, I will overbear your will;

For in the temple, by and by with us,
These couples fhall 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 folemnity.—
Come, Hippolyta.

[Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train. Dem. These things feem fmall, and undiftinguishable, Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.

Her. Methinks, I fee thefe things with parted eye, When every thing feems double.

Hel.

So methinks:

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,

Mine own, and not mine own.

Dem.

It feems 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.

Lyf. 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.

As they go out, BOTTOM awakes.

[Exeunt.

Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer: -my next is, Moft fair Pyramus.--Hey, ho!-Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout the tinker! Starveling! God's my life! ftolen hence, and left me afleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, -past the wit of man to fay what dream it was: Man is

but

but an afs, 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 patch'd fool, if he will offer to fay what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not feen; man's hand is not able to tafte, 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 call'd Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom; and I will fing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke: Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I fhall fing it at her death, [Exit,

SCENE II.

Athens. A Room in Quince's House.

Enter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING.

Quin. Have you fent to Bottom's houfe? is he come home yet?

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

Flu.. If he come not, then the play is marr'd; It goes not forward, doth it?

Quin. It is not poffible: you have not a man in all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he.

Flu. No; he hath fimply the best wit of any handycraft 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

Enter SNUG.

Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married:

if our fport had gone forward, we had all been made

men.

Flu. O fweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a-day during his life; he could not have 'scaped fix-pence a day: an the duke had not given him fixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hang'd; he would have deferv'd it: fix-pence 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. Mafters, I am to difcourfe 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.

Bottom.

All that I will tell you, is
Get your apparel together;

Quin. Let us hear, fweet Bot. Not a word of me. that the duke hath dined: good ftrings 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 preferr'd. In any cafe, let Thisby have clean linen; and let not him, that plays the lion, pare his nails, for they fhall hang out for the lion's claws. And, moft dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlick, for we are to utter fweet breath; and I do not doubt but to hear them fay, it is a sweet comedy. No more words; away; go, away. [Exeunt. ACT

ACT V. SCENE I.

The fame. An Apartment in the Palace of Thefeus.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, Lords, and Attendants.

Hip. 'Tis ftrange, my Thefeus, that these lovers speak

of.

The. More ftrange than true. I never may believe
Thefe antique fables, nor these fairy toys.

Lovers, and madmen, have fuch feething brains,
Such fhaping fantafies, that apprehend
More than cool reafon ever comprehends.
The lunatick, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact :

One fees more devils than vaft hell can hold;

That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantick,

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.

Such tricks hath strong imagination;

That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends fome bringer of that joy :
Or, in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear?

Hip. But all the story of the night told over,

And

And all their minds transfigur'd fo together,
More witnesseth than fancy's images,

And grows to fomething of great constancy;
But, howsoever, ftrange, 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!

Lyf.

More than to us

Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed!

The. Come now; what masks, what dances fhall we

have,

To wear away this long age of three hours,
Between our after-supper, and bed-time?
Where is our ufual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philoftrate.

Philoft.

Here, mighty Thefeus.

The. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening? What mask? what mufick? How fhall we beguile

The lazy time, if not with fome delight?

Philoft. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe ; Make choice of which your highness will fee firft.

[Giving a paper.

The. reads.] The battle with the Centaurs, to be fung
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.

We'll none of that: that have I told my love,
In glory of my kinfman Hercules.

The riot of the tipfy Bacchanals,

Tearing the Thracian finger in their rage,

That

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