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 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
imaginationThat, 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 suppos'd a bear?
HIPPOLYTA. But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigur'd 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
THESEUS. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.
Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love
Accompany your hearts!
LYSANDER. More than to us
Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!
THESEUS. Come now; what masques, 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.
PHILOSTRATE. Here,
mighty Theseus.
THESEUS. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening?
What masque? what music? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some delight?
PHILOSTRATE. There is a brief how many sports are ripe;
Make choice of which your Highness will see first.
[Giving a paper]
THESEUS. '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 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.
'A
tedious brief scene of young Pyramus
And his love Thisby; 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?
PHILOSTRATE. 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 rehears'd, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The
passion of loud
laughter never shed.
THESEUS. What are they that do play it?
PHILOSTRATE. Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,
Which never labour'd in their minds till now;
And now have toil'd their unbreathed memories
With this same play against your
nuptial.
THESEUS. And we will hear it.
PHILOSTRATE. 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 stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain,
To do you service.
THESEUS. I will hear that play;
For never anything can be amiss
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in; and take your places, ladies.
Exit PHILOSTRATE
HIPPOLYTA. I love not to see wretchedness o'er-charged,
And duty in his service perishing.
THESEUS. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.
HIPPOLYTA. He says they can do nothing in this kind.
THESEUS. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
Our sport shall be to take what they mistake;
And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect
Takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated
welcomes;
Where I have seen them
shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis'd
accent in their fears,
And, in
conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a
welcome. Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence yet I pick'd a
welcome;
And in the
modesty of
fearful duty
I read as much as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
Love,
therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
In least speak most to my capacity.
Re-enter PHILOSTRATE
PHILOSTRATE. SO please your Grace, the Prologue is address'd.
THESEUS. Let him approach. [Flourish of
trumpets]
Enter QUINCE as the PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE. 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 band; and, by their show,
You shall know all, that you are like to know,
THESEUS. This fellow doth not stand upon points.
LYSANDER. 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.
HIPPOLYTA. Indeed he hath play'd on this
prologue like a child on a
recorder- a sound, but not in government.
THESEUS. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing im paired,
but all disordered. Who is next?
Enter, with a
trumpet before them, as in dumb show,
PYRAMUS and THISBY, WALL, MOONSHINE, and LION
PROLOGUE. 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 Walls chink, poor souls, they are content
To
whisper. At the which let no man wonder.
This man, with lanthorn, 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 PROLOGUE, PYRAMUS, THISBY,
LION, and MOONSHINE
THESEUS. I wonder if the lion be to speak.
DEMETRIUS. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do.
WALL. In this same interlude it doth befall
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall;
And such a wall as I would have you think
That had in it a crannied hole or chink,
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
Did
whisper often very secretly.
This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show
That I am that same wall; the truth is so;
And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
Through which the
fearful lovers are to
whisper.
THESEUS. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?
DEMETRIUS. It is the wittiest
partition that ever I heard
discourse, my lord.
Enter PYRAMUS
THESEUS. Pyramus draws near the wall; silence.
PYRAMUS. O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black!
O night, which ever art when day is not!
O night, O night, alack, alack, alack,
I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot!
And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
That stand'st between her father's ground and mine;
Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,
Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.
[WALL holds up his fingers]
Thanks,
courteous wall. Jove
shield thee well for this!
But what see what see I? No Thisby do I see.
O
wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,
Curs'd he thy stones for thus deceiving me!
THESEUS. The wall,
methinks, being
sensible, should curse again.
PYRAMUS. 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 THISBY
THISBY. O wall, full often hast thou beard 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.
PYRAMUS. I see a voice; now will I to the chink,
To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face.
Thisby!
THISBY. My love! thou art my love, I think.
PYRAMUS. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace;