When simpleness and duty tender it. Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake: I read as much, as from the rattling tongue Enter Philostrate. Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest. The. Let him approach. [flourish of trumpets. Enter Prologue. Pro. 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, That you should here re We are not here. pent you, The actors are at hand; and, by their show, You shall know all, that you are like to know The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. Lys. 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. Hip. Indeed he hath play'd on this prologue, like a child on a recorder; a sound, but not in government. The. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion, as in dumb show. Prol. Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show; [plain. But wonder on, till truth make all things This man is Pyramus, if you would know; This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. [sent This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth pre'Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder: [content And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are To whisper; at the which let no man wonder. This man, with lantern, 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 by name lion hight, 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, For all the rest, 'His dagger drew, and died. 'Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain, 'At large discourse, while here they do remain. [exeunt Prol. Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshire. The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. Dem. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do. Wall. In this same interlude, it doth befall, A That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; And such a wall, as I would have you think, ‹ That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, "Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisty, Did whisper often very secretly. [show This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth 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.' The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? Dem. It is the wittiest partition, that ever I heard discourse, my lord. The. Pyramus draws near the wall: silence! Enter Pyramus. Pyr. '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 I? No Thisby do I see. 'O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss; Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me!' The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. Pyr. 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 Thisbe. This. "O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, For parting my fair Pyramus and me: 'My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stonce 'Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee. Pyr. I see a voice; now will I to the ohink, To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. Thisby!' This. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.' [so; Wall. Thus have I, wall, my part discharged 6 And, being done, thus wall away doth go.' [exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning. Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. The. The best in this kind are but shadows: and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon 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, one 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.' [science. The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conDem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord: for his valour cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose. The. 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. Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon present?' Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. The. He is no crescent, and his horns are in. visible within the circumference. Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon present. "Myself the man i'th'moon do seem to be.' The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be put into the lantern: how is it else the man i'the moon? Lys. Proceed, moon. Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe. Enter Thisbe. This. This is old Ninny's tomb where is my love!' Lion. Oh! [the lion roars; Thisbe runs off. Dem. Well roared, lion. The. Well run, Thisbe. Hip. Well shone, moon. shines with a good grace. The. Well moused, lion. Truly, the moun [lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and erit Dem. And so comes Pyramus. Lys. And then the moon vanishes. Enter Pyramus. Pyr. 'Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams; 'I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright; For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, 'I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight. 'But stay;-O spite! But mark ;-poor knight, What dreadful dole is here? 'Eyes, do you see? How can it be? • Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!' The. This passion and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame? 'Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear 'Which is no, no-which was the fairest dame, That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that lcok'd with cheer. 'Come, tears, confound; The pap of Pyramus: Ay, that left pap, Where heart doth hop: Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light! ' Now, die, die, die, die, die. [dies, cx, Moonshine. This. 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 brows, This cherry nose, These yellow cowslip cheeks, Are gone, are gone: His eyes were green as leeks, Come, come to me, With shears his thread of silk. Tongue, not a word: Come, blade, my breast imbrue; And farewell, friends; Thus Thisby ends: Adieu, adieu, adieu.' [dies. The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and wall too. Bot. 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? The. 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 play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. [here a dance of clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath toll'd 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. Song and Dance. Obe. Now, until the break of day, Through this house gach fairy stray. And the blots of nature's hand Shail upon their children be And each several chamber bless, Make no stay in of di [exeunt Oberon, Titania, and If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends, ere long: Else the Puck a liar call. SCENE. For the first act, in Venice; during the rest of the play, at a sea-port in Cyprus. 1 SCENE I. VENICE A STREET. NDS АСТ І. In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, My mediators; for, certes, says he, And what was he? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; More than a spinster: unless the bookish theoric, And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof, calm'd By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster: He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I, (God bless the mark!) his Moor-ship's [hangman. ancient. Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of Preferment goes by letter, and affection, [service; Not by the old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge Whether I in any just term am affin'd [yourself, To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him then. I follow him to serve my turn upon him of lords, A Whip me such honest knaves: others there are, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. If't be your pleasure, and most wise consent, (As partly, I find, it is), that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull watch o'the night, Transported-with no worse nor better guard, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, But with a knave of common hire, a goudolier,— Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. Iago. Do; with like timorous accent, and dire As when, by night and negligence, the fire [yell, Is spied in populous cities. Rod. What ho! Brabantio! signior Brabantio, ho! [thieves! thieves! Iago. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! Thieves! thieves! Brabantio, above, at a window. Bra. What is the reason of this terrible sumWhat is the matter there? [mons? Rod. Signior, is all your family within? Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this? Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; Bra. What, have you lost your wits? [voice? Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is My house is not a grange. [Venice; Rod. Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. Iago. Zounds, sir, you are one of those, that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, you think we are ruffians: You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you: you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans. Bra. What profane wretch art thou? Jago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs. Bra. Thou art a villain. To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,— I say again, hath made a gross revolt; If she be in her chamber, or your house, Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho! [exit from above. Iago. Farewell; for I must leave you. It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produc'd (as, if I stay, I shall,) Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,However this may gall him with some check,Cannot with safety cast him; for he's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars (Which even now stand in act), that, for their Another of his fathom they have not, [souls, To lead their business: in which regard, Though I do hate him as I do hell-paius, Yet, for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Lead to the Sagittary the rais'd search; Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is: And what's to come of my despised time, Is nought but bitterness.Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her?-O, unhappy girl!— With the Moor, say'st thou !-Who would be a father? [ceiv'st me How didst thou know 'twas she?-O, thou de Past thought!-What said she to you?-Get more tapers! [you? Raise all my kindred.-Are they married, think Rod. Truly, I think, they are. Bra. O heaven!-How got she out?-O trea son of the blood! [minds Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters By what you see them act.Are there not enarins. By which the property of youth and maidhood |