ACT V. SCENE I. Athens. 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.     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 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;     And like Limander am I trusty still.   THISBY. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.   PYRAMUS. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.   THISBY. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.   PYRAMUS. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.   THISBY. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.   PYRAMUS. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?   THISBY. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.                                        Exeunt PYRAMUS and THISBY   WALL. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;     And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.           Exit WALL   THESEUS. Now is the moon used between the two neighbours.   DEMETRIUS. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear     without warning.   HIPPOLYTA. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.   THESEUS. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are     no worse, if imagination amend them.   HIPPOLYTA. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.   THESEUS. If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves,     they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a     man and a lion.                     Enter LION and MOONSHINE    LION. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear     The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,     May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,     When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.     Then know that I as Snug the joiner am     A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam;     For, if I should as lion come in strife     Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.   THESEUS. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.   DEMETRIUS. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.   LYSANDER. This lion is a very fox for his valour.   THESEUS. True; and a goose for his discretion.   DEMETRIUS. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his     discretion, and the fox carries the goose.   THESEUS. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for     the goose carries not the fox. It is well. Leave it to his     discretion, and let us listen to the Moon.   MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present-   DEMETRIUS. He should have worn the horns on his head.   THESEUS. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the     circumference.   MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;     Myself the Man i' th' Moon do seem to be.   THESEUS. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should     be put into the lantern. How is it else the man i' th' moon?   DEMETRIUS. He dares not come there for the candle; for, you see, it     is already in snuff.   HIPPOLYTA. I am aweary of this moon. Would he would change!   THESEUS. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is     in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay     the time.   LYSANDER. Proceed, Moon.   MOON. All that I have to say is to tell you that the lanthorn is     the moon; I, the Man i' th' Moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush;     and this dog, my dog.   DEMETRIUS. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all these     are in the moon. But silence; here comes Thisby.                          Re-enter THISBY    THISBY. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?   LION. [Roaring] O-                           [THISBY runs off]   DEMETRIUS. Well roar'd, Lion.   THESEUS. Well run, Thisby.   HIPPOLYTA. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good     grace.            [The LION tears THISBY'S Mantle, and exit]   THESEUS. Well mous'd, Lion.                          Re-enter PYRAMUS    DEMETRIUS. And then came Pyramus.   LYSANDER. And so the lion vanish'd.   PYRAMUS. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;     I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;     For, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams,     I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.              But stay, O spite!              But mark, poor knight,            What dreadful dole is here!              Eyes, do you see?              How can it he?            O dainty duck! O dear!              Thy mantle good,              What! stain'd with blood?            Approach, ye Furies fell.              O Fates! come, come;              Cut thread and thrum;            Quail, crush, conclude, and quell.   THESEUS. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go     near to make a man look sad.   HIPPOLYTA. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.   PYRAMUS. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?     Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear;     Which is- no, no- which was the fairest dame     That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer.              Come, tears, confound;              Out, sword, and wound            The pap of Pyramus;              Ay, that left pap,              Where heart doth hop.               [Stabs himself]            Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.              Now am I dead,              Now am I fled;            My soul is in the sky.              Tongue, lose thy light;              Moon, take thy flight.             [Exit MOONSHINE]            Now die, die, die, die, die.                   [Dies]   DEMETRIUS. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.   LYSANDER. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.   THESEUS. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and yet     prove an ass.   HIPPOLYTA. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisby comes back     and finds her lover?                         Re-enter THISBY    THESEUS. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her     passion ends the play.   HIPPOLYTA. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a     Pyramus; I hope she will be brief.   DEMETRIUS. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which     Thisby, is the better- he for a man, God warrant us: She for a     woman, God bless us!   LYSANDER. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.   DEMETRIUS. And thus she moans, videlicet:-   THISBY.      Asleep, my love?                What, dead, my dove?              O Pyramus, arise,                Speak, speak. Quite dumb?                Dead, dead? A tomb              Must cover thy sweet eyes.                These lily lips,                This cherry nose,              These yellow cowslip cheeks,                Are gone, are gone;                Lovers, make moan;              His eyes were green as leeks.                O Sisters Three,                Come, come to me,              With hands as pale as milk;                Lay them in gore,                Since you have shore              With shears his thread of silk.                Tongue, not a word.                Come, trusty sword;              Come, blade, my breast imbrue.      [Stabs herself]                And farewell, friends;                Thus Thisby ends;              Adieu, adieu, adieu.                         [Dies]   THESEUS. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.   DEMETRIUS. Ay, and Wall too.   BOTTOM. [Starting up] No, I assure you; the wall is down that     parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the Epilogue, or     to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company?   THESEUS. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse.     Never excuse; for when the players are all dead there need none     to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus, and     hang'd himself in Thisby's garter, it would have been a fine     tragedy. And so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd. But     come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue alone.     [A dance]     The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.     Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.     I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn,     As much as we this night have overwatch'd.     This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd     The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.     A fortnight hold we this solemnity,     In nightly revels and new jollity.                    Exeunt                       Enter PUCK with a broom    PUCK.      Now the hungry lion roars,              And the wolf behowls the moon;              Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,              All with weary task fordone.              Now the wasted brands do glow,              Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,              Puts the wretch that lies in woe              In remembrance of a shroud.              Now it is the time of night              That the graves, all gaping wide,              Every one lets forth his sprite,              In the church-way paths to glide.              And we fairies, that do run              By the triple Hecate's team              From the presence of the sun,              Following darkness like a dream,              Now are frolic. Not a mouse              Shall disturb this hallowed house.              I am sent with broom before,              To sweep the dust behind the door.           Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with all their train    OBERON.    Through the house give glimmering light,              By the dead and drowsy fire;              Every elf and fairy sprite              Hop as light as bird from brier;              And this ditty, after me,              Sing and dance it trippingly.   TITANIA.      First, rehearse your song by rote,                 To each word a warbling note;                 Hand in hand, with fairy grace,                 Will we sing, and bless this place.             [OBERON leading, the FAIRIES sing and dance]    OBERON.    Now, until the break of day,              Through this house each fairy stray.              To the best bride-bed will we,              Which by us shall blessed be;              And the issue there create              Ever shall be fortunate.              So shall all the couples three              Ever true in loving be;              And the blots of Nature's hand              Shall not in their issue stand;              Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,              Nor mark prodigious, such as are              Despised in nativity,              Shall upon their children be.              With this field-dew consecrate,              Every fairy take his gait,              And each several chamber bless,              Through this palace, with sweet peace;              And the owner of it blest              Ever shall in safety rest.              Trip away; make no stay;              Meet me all by break of day.    Exeunt all but PUCK   PUCK.      If we shadows have offended,              Think but this, and all is mended,              That you have but slumb'red here              While these visions did appear.              And this weak and idle theme,              No more yielding but a dream,              Gentles, do not reprehend.              If you pardon, we will mend.              And, as I am an honest Puck,              If we have unearned luck              Now to scape the serpent's tongue,              We will make amends ere long;              Else the Puck a liar call.              So, good night unto you all.              Give me your hands, if we be friends,              And Robin shall restore amends.                Exit  THE END