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When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in ;-and take your places, ladies.
[exit Philostrate.
Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And duty in his service perishing. [thing.
The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such
Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind.
The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for

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.

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.


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'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


'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


Enter Thisbe.

This. "O wall, full often hast thou heard my


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!'

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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


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?

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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?

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• 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;
'Out, sword, and wound

The pap of Pyramus:

Ay, that left pap,

Where heart doth hop:

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!

' Now, die, die, die, die, die. [dies, cx, Moonshine.

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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:
'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;

And farewell, friends;

Thus Thisby ends:

Adieu, adieu, adieu.'


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.

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Song and Dance.

Obe. Now, until the break of day,

Through this house gach 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 truc 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,

Shail 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 ya
E'er shall it in safety rest,
And the owner of it blest.
Trip away;

Make no stay in of di
Meet me all by break of day.

[exeunt Oberon, Titania, and
Puck. If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, (and all is mended)
That you have but slumber'd 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'm an honest Puck,

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If we have unearned luck

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,

We will make amends, ere long:

Else the Puck a liar call.

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SCENE. For the first act, in Venice; during the rest of the play, at a sea-port in Cyprus.




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In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Oft capp'd to him;and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them, with & bombast circumstance,
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion, nonsuits

My mediators; for, certes, says he,
I have already chose my officer.

And what was he?

Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,

A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows

More than a spinster: unless the bookish theoric,
Wherein the toged consuls can propose
As masterly as he mere prattle, without practice,
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the elec-

And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof,
At Rhodes, at Cyprus; and on other grounds,
Christian and heathen,-must be be-lee'd and


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.


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.
Iago. O, sir, content you;

I follow him to serve my turn upon him of
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
For nought but provender: and, when he's old,
cashier'd ;



Whip me such honest knaves: others there are,
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves;
And, throwing but shows of services on their
[lin'd their coats,
Do well thrive by them, and, when they have
Do themselves homage: these fellows have some
And such a one do I profess myself. [soul;
For, sir,

It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after

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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,—
Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,
As it may lose some colour.

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?


Rod. Signior, is all your family within?
Iago. Are your doors lock'd?

Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this?
Iago. Zounds, sir, you are robb'd; for shame,
put on your gown;

Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
Even now, very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise;
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:
Arise, I say.

Bra. What, have you lost your wits?
Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my
Bra. Not I; what are you?
Rod. My name is-Roderigo.
Bra. The worse welcome:


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Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is My house is not a grange.


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,—
If this be known to you, and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
But, if you know not this, my manners tell me,
We have your wrong rebuke.
Do not believe,
That, from the sense of all civility,
I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:
Your daughter,-if you have not given her

I say again, hath made a gross revolt;
Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes,
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger,
Of here and every where: straight satisfy

If she be in her chamber, or your house,
Let loose on me the justice of the state
For thus deluding you.

Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho!
Give me a taper;-call up all my people :-
This accident is not unlike my dream,
Belief of it oppresses me already;
Light, I say! light!

[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,
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely
find him,

Lead to the Sagittary the rais'd search;
And there will I be with him. So, farewell. [erit.
Enter, below, Brabantio, and Servants, with

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

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