A Midsummer Night's Dream - 3

Look where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.
Enter Hermia.
HERMIA.
Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
It pays the hearing double recompense.
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?
LYSANDER.
Why should he stay whom love doth press to go?
HERMIA.
What love could press Lysander from my side?
LYSANDER.
Lysander’s love, that would not let him bide,
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.
Why seek’st thou me? Could not this make thee know
The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?
HERMIA.
You speak not as you think; it cannot be.
HELENA.
Lo, she is one of this confederacy!
Now I perceive they have conjoin’d all three
To fashion this false sport in spite of me.
Injurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid!
Have you conspir’d, have you with these contriv’d,
To bait me with this foul derision?
Is all the counsel that we two have shar’d,
The sisters’ vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us—O, is all forgot?
All school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence?
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
Have with our needles created both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
Both warbling of one song, both in one key,
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,
Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet a union in partition,
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
Due but to one, and crownèd with one crest.
And will you rent our ancient love asunder,
To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
It is not friendly, ’tis not maidenly.
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
Though I alone do feel the injury.
HERMIA.
I am amazèd at your passionate words:
I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me.
HELENA.
Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face?
And made your other love, Demetrius,
Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,
To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,
Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
To her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander
Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
And tender me, forsooth, affection,
But by your setting on, by your consent?
What though I be not so in grace as you,
So hung upon with love, so fortunate,
But miserable most, to love unlov’d?
This you should pity rather than despise.
HERMIA.
I understand not what you mean by this.
HELENA.
Ay, do. Persever, counterfeit sad looks,
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back,
Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up.
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
You would not make me such an argument.
But fare ye well. ’Tis partly my own fault,
Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.
LYSANDER.
Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!
HELENA.
O excellent!
HERMIA.
Sweet, do not scorn her so.
DEMETRIUS.
If she cannot entreat, I can compel.
LYSANDER.
Thou canst compel no more than she entreat;
Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.
Helen, I love thee, by my life I do;
I swear by that which I will lose for thee
To prove him false that says I love thee not.
DEMETRIUS.
I say I love thee more than he can do.
LYSANDER.
If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.
DEMETRIUS.
Quick, come.
HERMIA.
Lysander, whereto tends all this?
LYSANDER.
Away, you Ethiope!
DEMETRIUS.
No, no. He will
Seem to break loose. Take on as you would follow,
But yet come not. You are a tame man, go!
LYSANDER.
Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! Vile thing, let loose,
Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent.
HERMIA.
Why are you grown so rude? What change is this,
Sweet love?
LYSANDER.
Thy love? Out, tawny Tartar, out!
Out, loathèd medicine! O hated potion, hence!
HERMIA.
Do you not jest?
HELENA.
Yes, sooth, and so do you.
LYSANDER.
Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.
DEMETRIUS.
I would I had your bond; for I perceive
A weak bond holds you; I’ll not trust your word.
LYSANDER.
What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
Although I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.
HERMIA.
What, can you do me greater harm than hate?
Hate me? Wherefore? O me! what news, my love?
Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?
I am as fair now as I was erewhile.
Since night you lov’d me; yet since night you left me.
Why then, you left me—O, the gods forbid!—
In earnest, shall I say?
LYSANDER.
Ay, by my life;
And never did desire to see thee more.
Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;
Be certain, nothing truer; ’tis no jest
That I do hate thee and love Helena.
HERMIA.
O me! You juggler! You cankerblossom!
You thief of love! What! have you come by night
And stol’n my love’s heart from him?
HELENA.
Fine, i’ faith!
Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
Fie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you!
HERMIA.
Puppet! Why so? Ay, that way goes the game.
Now I perceive that she hath made compare
Between our statures; she hath urg’d her height;
And with her personage, her tall personage,
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him.
And are you grown so high in his esteem
Because I am so dwarfish and so low?
How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak,
How low am I? I am not yet so low
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.
HELENA.
I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
Let her not hurt me. I was never curst;
I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
I am a right maid for my cowardice;
Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,
Because she is something lower than myself,
That I can match her.
HERMIA.
Lower! Hark, again.
HELENA.
Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.
I evermore did love you, Hermia,
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong’d you,
Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
I told him of your stealth unto this wood.
He follow’d you; for love I follow’d him;
But he hath chid me hence, and threaten’d me
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:
And now, so you will let me quiet go,
To Athens will I bear my folly back,
And follow you no further. Let me go:
You see how simple and how fond I am.
HERMIA.
Why, get you gone. Who is’t that hinders you?
HELENA.
A foolish heart that I leave here behind.
HERMIA.
What! with Lysander?
HELENA.
With Demetrius.
LYSANDER.
Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.
DEMETRIUS.
No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.
HELENA.
O, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd.
She was a vixen when she went to school,
And though she be but little, she is fierce.
HERMIA.
Little again! Nothing but low and little?
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
Let me come to her.
LYSANDER.
Get you gone, you dwarf;
You minimus, of hind’ring knot-grass made;
You bead, you acorn.
DEMETRIUS.
You are too officious
In her behalf that scorns your services.
Let her alone. Speak not of Helena;
Take not her part; for if thou dost intend
Never so little show of love to her,
Thou shalt aby it.
LYSANDER.
Now she holds me not.
Now follow, if thou dar’st, to try whose right,
Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.
DEMETRIUS.
Follow! Nay, I’ll go with thee, cheek by jole.
[_Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius._]
HERMIA.
You, mistress, all this coil is long of you.
Nay, go not back.
HELENA.
I will not trust you, I,
Nor longer stay in your curst company.
Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray.
My legs are longer though, to run away.
[_Exit._]
HERMIA.
I am amaz’d, and know not what to say.
[_Exit, pursuing Helena._]
OBERON.
This is thy negligence: still thou mistak’st,
Or else commit’st thy knaveries willfully.
PUCK.
Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
Did not you tell me I should know the man
By the Athenian garments he had on?
And so far blameless proves my enterprise
That I have ’nointed an Athenian’s eyes:
And so far am I glad it so did sort,
As this their jangling I esteem a sport.
OBERON.
Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight.
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;
The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron,
And lead these testy rivals so astray
As one come not within another’s way.
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius.
And from each other look thou lead them thus,
Till o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep.
Then crush this herb into Lysander’s eye,
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
To take from thence all error with his might
And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.
When they next wake, all this derision
Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision;
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,
With league whose date till death shall never end.
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
I’ll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;
And then I will her charmèd eye release
From monster’s view, and all things shall be peace.
PUCK.
My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast;
And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger,
At whose approach, ghosts wandering here and there
Troop home to churchyards. Damnèd spirits all,
That in cross-ways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
They wilfully themselves exile from light,
And must for aye consort with black-brow’d night.
OBERON.
But we are spirits of another sort:
I with the morning’s love have oft made sport;
And, like a forester, the groves may tread
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,
Opening on Neptune with fair blessèd beams,
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.
But, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay.
We may effect this business yet ere day.
[_Exit Oberon._]
PUCK.
Up and down, up and down,
I will lead them up and down.
I am fear’d in field and town.
Goblin, lead them up and down.
Here comes one.
Enter Lysander.
LYSANDER.
Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.
PUCK.
Here, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou?
LYSANDER.
I will be with thee straight.
PUCK.
Follow me then to plainer ground.
[_Exit Lysander as following the voice._]
Enter Demetrius.
DEMETRIUS.
Lysander, speak again.
Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?
Speak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?
PUCK.
Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,
Telling the bushes that thou look’st for wars,
And wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child!
I’ll whip thee with a rod. He is defil’d
That draws a sword on thee.
DEMETRIUS.
Yea, art thou there?
PUCK.
Follow my voice; we’ll try no manhood here.
[_Exeunt._]
Enter Lysander.
LYSANDER.
He goes before me, and still dares me on;
When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
The villain is much lighter-heel’d than I:
I follow’d fast, but faster he did fly,
That fallen am I in dark uneven way,
And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day!
[_Lies down._] For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
I’ll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.
[_Sleeps._]
Enter Puck and Demetrius.
PUCK.
Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com’st thou not?
DEMETRIUS.
Abide me, if thou dar’st; for well I wot
Thou runn’st before me, shifting every place,
And dar’st not stand, nor look me in the face.
Where art thou?
PUCK.
Come hither; I am here.
DEMETRIUS.
Nay, then, thou mock’st me. Thou shalt buy this dear
If ever I thy face by daylight see:
Now go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
To measure out my length on this cold bed.
By day’s approach look to be visited.
[_Lies down and sleeps._]
Enter Helena.
HELENA.
O weary night, O long and tedious night,
Abate thy hours! Shine, comforts, from the east,
That I may back to Athens by daylight,
From these that my poor company detest.
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye,
Steal me awhile from mine own company.
[_Sleeps._]
PUCK.
Yet but three? Come one more.
Two of both kinds makes up four.
Here she comes, curst and sad.
Cupid is a knavish lad
Thus to make poor females mad.
Enter Hermia.
HERMIA.
Never so weary, never so in woe,
Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers,
I can no further crawl, no further go;
My legs can keep no pace with my desires.
Here will I rest me till the break of day.
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!
[_Lies down._]
PUCK.
On the ground
Sleep sound.
I’ll apply
To your eye,
Gentle lover, remedy.
[_Squeezing the juice on Lysander’s eye._]
When thou wak’st,
Thou tak’st
True delight
In the sight
Of thy former lady’s eye.
And the country proverb known,
That every man should take his own,
In your waking shall be shown:
Jack shall have Jill;
Nought shall go ill;
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.
[_Exit Puck._]

ACT IV
SCENE I. The Wood
Lysander, Demetrius, Helena and Hermia still asleep.
Enter Titania and Bottom; Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed and
other Fairies attending; Oberon behind, unseen.
TITANIA.
Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.
BOTTOM.
Where’s Peaseblossom?
PEASEBLOSSOM.
Ready.
BOTTOM.
Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where’s Monsieur Cobweb?
COBWEB.
Ready.
BOTTOM.
Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get you your weapons in your hand and
kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good
monsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the
action, monsieur; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break
not; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior.
Where’s Monsieur Mustardseed?
MUSTARDSEED.
Ready.
BOTTOM.
Give me your neaf, Monsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy,
good monsieur.
MUSTARDSEED.
What’s your will?
BOTTOM.
Nothing, good monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must
to the barber’s, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the
face; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must
scratch.
TITANIA.
What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?
BOTTOM.
I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let us have the tongs and the
bones.

TITANIA.
Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.
BOTTOM.
Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks
I have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no
fellow.
TITANIA.
I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
The squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.
BOTTOM.
I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let
none of your people stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon
me.
TITANIA.
Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away.
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
Gently entwist, the female ivy so
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
O, how I love thee! How I dote on thee!
[_They sleep._]
Oberon advances. Enter Puck.
OBERON.
Welcome, good Robin. Seest thou this sweet sight?
Her dotage now I do begin to pity.
For, meeting her of late behind the wood,
Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,
I did upbraid her and fall out with her:
For she his hairy temples then had rounded
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds
Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls,
Stood now within the pretty flouriets’ eyes,
Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.
When I had at my pleasure taunted her,
And she in mild terms begg’d my patience,
I then did ask of her her changeling child;
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
To bear him to my bower in fairyland.
And now I have the boy, I will undo
This hateful imperfection of her eyes.
And, gentle Puck, take this transformèd scalp
From off the head of this Athenian swain,
That he awaking when the other do,
May all to Athens back again repair,
And think no more of this night’s accidents
But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
But first I will release the Fairy Queen.
[_Touching her eyes with an herb._]
Be as thou wast wont to be;
See as thou was wont to see.
Dian’s bud o’er Cupid’s flower
Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen.
TITANIA.
My Oberon, what visions have I seen!
Methought I was enamour’d of an ass.
OBERON.
There lies your love.
TITANIA.
How came these things to pass?
O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!
OBERON.
Silence awhile.—Robin, take off this head.
Titania, music call; and strike more dead
Than common sleep, of all these five the sense.
TITANIA.
Music, ho, music, such as charmeth sleep.
PUCK.
Now when thou wak’st, with thine own fool’s eyes peep.
OBERON.
Sound, music.
[_Still mucic._]
Come, my queen, take hands with me,
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.
Now thou and I are new in amity,
And will tomorrow midnight solemnly
Dance in Duke Theseus’ house triumphantly,
And bless it to all fair prosperity:
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.
PUCK.
Fairy king, attend and mark.
I do hear the morning lark.
OBERON.
Then, my queen, in silence sad,
Trip we after night’s shade.
We the globe can compass soon,
Swifter than the wand’ring moon.
TITANIA.
Come, my lord, and in our flight,
Tell me how it came this night
That I sleeping here was found
With these mortals on the ground.
[_Exeunt. Horns sound within._]
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train.
THESEUS.
Go, one of you, find out the forester;
For now our observation is perform’d;
And since we have the vaward of the day,
My love shall hear the music of my hounds.
Uncouple in the western valley; let them go.
Dispatch I say, and find the forester.
[_Exit an Attendant._]
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain’s top,
And mark the musical confusion
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.
HIPPOLYTA.
I was with Hercules and Cadmus once,
When in a wood of Crete they bay’d the bear
With hounds of Sparta. Never did I hear
Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves,
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem’d all one mutual cry. I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
THESEUS.
My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,
So flew’d, so sanded; and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
Crook-knee’d and dewlap’d like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but match’d in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla’d to, nor cheer’d with horn,
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly.
Judge when you hear.—But, soft, what nymphs are these?
EGEUS.
My lord, this is my daughter here asleep,
And this Lysander; this Demetrius is;
This Helena, old Nedar’s Helena:
I wonder of their being here together.
THESEUS.
No doubt they rose up early to observe
The rite of May; and, hearing our intent,
Came here in grace of our solemnity.
But speak, Egeus; is not this the day
That Hermia should give answer of her choice?
EGEUS.
It is, my lord.
THESEUS.
Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.
Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia and Helena wake
and start up.
Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past.
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?
LYSANDER.
Pardon, my lord.
He and the rest kneel to Theseus.
THESEUS.
I pray you all, stand up.
I know you two are rival enemies.
How comes this gentle concord in the world,
That hatred is so far from jealousy
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?
LYSANDER.
My lord, I shall reply amazedly,
Half sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear,
I cannot truly say how I came here.
But, as I think (for truly would I speak)
And now I do bethink me, so it is:
I came with Hermia hither. Our intent
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might be,
Without the peril of the Athenian law.
EGEUS.
Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough.
I beg the law, the law upon his head.
They would have stol’n away, they would, Demetrius,
Thereby to have defeated you and me:
You of your wife, and me of my consent,
Of my consent that she should be your wife.
DEMETRIUS.
My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
Of this their purpose hither to this wood;
And I in fury hither follow’d them,
Fair Helena in fancy following me.
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,
(But by some power it is) my love to Hermia,
Melted as the snow, seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gaud
Which in my childhood I did dote upon;
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
The object and the pleasure of mine eye,
Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
Was I betroth’d ere I saw Hermia.
But like a sickness did I loathe this food.
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.
THESEUS.
Fair lovers, you are fortunately met.
Of this discourse we more will hear anon.
Egeus, I will overbear your will;
For in the temple, by and by with us,
These couples shall 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 solemnity.
Come, Hippolyta.
[_Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train._]
DEMETRIUS.
These things seem small and undistinguishable,
Like far-off mountains turnèd into clouds.
HERMIA.
Methinks I see these things with parted eye,
When everything seems double.
HELENA.
So methinks.
And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own.
DEMETRIUS.
Are you sure
That we are awake? It seems to me
That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
The Duke was here, and bid us follow him?
HERMIA.
Yea, and my father.
HELENA.
And Hippolyta.
LYSANDER.
And he did bid us follow to the temple.
DEMETRIUS.
Why, then, we are awake: let’s follow him,
And by the way let us recount our dreams.
[_Exeunt._]
BOTTOM.
[_Waking._] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is
‘Most fair Pyramus.’ Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender!
Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God’s my life! Stol’n 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 it was. 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.
QUINCE.
Have you sent to Bottom’s house? Is he come home yet?
STARVELING.
He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported.
FLUTE.
If he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, doth it?
QUINCE.
It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge
Pyramus but he.
FLUTE.
No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens.
QUINCE.
Yea, and the best person too, and he is a very paramour for a sweet
voice.

FLUTE.
You must say paragon. A paramour is, God bless us, a thing of naught.
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.
FLUTE.
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.
BOTTOM.
Where are these lads? Where are these hearts?
QUINCE.
Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!
BOTTOM.
Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for if I tell
you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you everything, right as it
fell out.
QUINCE.
Let us hear, sweet Bottom.
BOTTOM.
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 Thisbe 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 garlick, 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. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords and Attendants.
HIPPOLYTA.
’Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.
THESEUS.
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 forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.