In Athens, Duke Theseus was about to marry Hippolyta, the warrior queen. He told her that their wedding day was coming soon, in four days, but the old moon seemed to move very slowly. He said it felt as if the moon were keeping him waiting, like a grudging old woman who makes a young man wait for what he needs. Hippolyta answered that four days would pass quickly into night, four nights would pass quickly in dreams, and then the new moon would look like a silver bow in the sky and shine on their wedding feast.

Theseus sent for Philostrate, who was in charge of the Duke’s entertainments. He told Philostrate to wake up the young people of Athens and fill them with mirth and celebration. He said that sadness belonged at funerals, not at his wedding. Then he spoke to Hippolyta. He said he had won her love by fighting against her, but he promised to marry her with joy, triumph, and dancing.

While they were speaking, Egeus came in with his daughter Hermia, and with Lysander, Helena, and Demetrius. Egeus greeted the Duke and said he had come full of trouble. He complained against Hermia, his daughter. He said that Demetrius had his permission to marry her, but Hermia would not agree. He pointed to Lysander and said that Lysander had stolen Hermia’s heart. Egeus said Lysander had given her poems, exchanged love tokens with her, sung under her window by moonlight, and filled her imagination with false love. He said Lysander had used gifts such as bracelets, rings, trinkets, flowers, and sweet things, which are powerful over young hearts, and had turned Hermia’s obedience away from him.

Egeus asked Theseus to let him use the old law of Athens. He said Hermia was his daughter, and he could decide what would happen to her. If she would not marry Demetrius, she must either die or live a life of prayer and never marry.

Theseus asked Hermia what she had to say. He told her that her father had the right to decide for her. He said she should look at things with her father’s judgment, not only with her own eyes. He said Demetrius was a worthy young man. Hermia answered that Lysander was worthy too. Theseus said Lysander was worthy in himself, but because Hermia’s father did not choose him, Demetrius must be considered the better match.

Hermia said she wished her father could see things as she did. Theseus said her eyes must learn to look with her father’s judgment. Hermia asked the Duke to forgive her for speaking boldly in his presence. She said she did not know how it was proper for a young woman to speak her thoughts before such a great company, but she asked what the worst thing would be if she refused to marry Demetrius.

Theseus told her plainly that she must either die or live forever without the company of men. He told her to think carefully about her youth and her feelings. He asked whether she could bear to live as a nun, shut away in a quiet place, singing cold hymns to the moon, never marrying. He said that those who could master their own hearts and live that way were blessed, but he also said that a rose is happier when it is picked and used than when it withers on the bush without being loved.

Hermia said she would rather grow, live, and die that way than give her heart to a husband she did not choose. Theseus gave her time to think. He said that on the next new moon, which was also his wedding day, she must either die for disobeying her father, marry Demetrius, or swear to live alone forever at the temple of the goddess Diana.

Demetrius asked Hermia to be kind and told Lysander to give up his claim. Lysander answered that Demetrius had Egeus’s love, but he asked to have Hermia. Egeus said that what was his, his love would give to Demetrius, and he gave all his rights over Hermia to Demetrius.

Lysander said he was as well born as Demetrius, as rich, and richer in love. He said his fortune was as good as Demetrius’s, and, more than all that, Hermia loved him. He then said that Demetrius had once made love to Helena, the daughter of old Nedar, and had won her heart. He said Helena still loved Demetrius deeply, even though Demetrius had proved false and unfaithful.

Theseus said he had heard something like that before and had meant to speak to Demetrius about it, but his own affairs had made him forget. He told Demetrius and Egeus to come with him, because he had some private words for them. He told Hermia to prepare herself to obey her father, or else the law of Athens would give her up to death or to a life of prayer. Then he took Hippolyta with him, and Egeus and Demetrius followed.

When they were gone, Lysander asked Hermia why her cheeks were so pale. Hermia said they were pale because she needed rain, and she could water them with tears from her own eyes. Lysander said that, as far as he had ever read or heard, the course of true love never ran smoothly. Sometimes lovers were of different ranks in society, and Hermia said that was cruel if love was forbidden because of high birth. Sometimes love failed because of difference in age, and Hermia said that was cruel if one was too old to be bound to the young. Sometimes friends chose for them, and Hermia said it was terrible to choose love by another person’s eyes. Lysander said that even when lovers chose well, war, death, or sickness could attack their love and make it as brief as a sound, a shadow, a dream, or a flash of lightning in a dark night.

Hermia said that if true lovers had always been crossed, then they must learn patience, because trouble seemed to be a familiar companion to love, like thoughts, dreams, sighs, wishes, and tears. Lysander said that was good advice, and then he told Hermia his plan. He said he had a wealthy widow aunt who had no children and loved him like a son. Her house was seven leagues away from Athens, and the sharp Athenian law could not reach them there. He asked Hermia to steal out of her father’s house the next night and meet him in the wood a league outside the town, where they had once met Helena to keep the May morning festival.

Hermia swore by Cupid’s strongest bow, by his golden arrow, by the simplicity of Venus’s doves, by the power that knits souls and helps love, and by the fire that burned the queen of Carthage when the false Trojan sailed away. She swore that she would meet Lysander in that place the next day. Lysander told her to keep her promise, and then he saw Helena coming.

Helena came in, and Hermia greeted her. Helena said that Hermia called her fair, but she wished she could take back the word “fair,” because Demetrius loved Hermia’s fairness. She said Hermia’s eyes were like guiding stars, and her voice was sweeter than a lark’s song to a shepherd’s ear when wheat is green and hawthorn buds appear. She said sickness was catching, and she wished favor were catching too, so that she could catch Hermia’s voice, Hermia’s eyes, and Hermia’s sweet speech. She said that if the world were hers, except for Demetrius, she would give it all to be changed into Hermia. She asked Hermia to teach her how to look and how to win Demetrius’s heart.

Hermia said she frowned at Demetrius, yet he still loved her. Helena wished her own smiles could teach her frowns such skill. Hermia said she gave him curses, yet he gave her love. Helena wished her prayers could move such affection. Hermia said the more she hated him, the more he followed her. Helena said the more she loved him, the more he hated her. Hermia said Demetrius’s foolishness was not her fault. Helena said it was the fault of Hermia’s beauty, and she wished that fault were hers.

Hermia then told Helena that she and Lysander would leave Athens. She said that before she knew Lysander, Athens had seemed like a paradise to her, but now, because Lysander had turned her away, it seemed like hell. Lysander said they would tell Helena their plan. He said that the next night, when the moon looked down on the water and made the grass shine with dew, they would steal out through the gates of Athens. Hermia said they would meet in the wood where she and Helena had often lain on primrose beds and shared their secrets. She told Helena to pray for them and wished her good luck with Demetrius. Then Hermia and Lysander left.

Helena stayed alone and said how happy some people were compared with others. She said that in Athens people thought she was as fair as Hermia, but Demetrius did not think so. He refused to see what everyone else could see. She said that just as he made a mistake by loving Hermia’s eyes, she made a mistake by admiring him. She said love could turn base and vile things into things of form and dignity. She said love does not look with the eyes but with the mind, and that is why winged Cupid is painted blind. She said love has no taste for judgment, and because love is often cheated in choosing, it is said to be a child. She said that just as naughty boys break their promises in games, so the boy Love breaks his promises everywhere. She said that before Demetrius looked at Hermia, he had sworn that he was hers alone. But when Hermia’s beauty warmed him, his vows melted like hail.

Helena decided to tell Demetrius about Hermia’s flight. She thought he would go into the wood the next night to follow Hermia. She said that if she received thanks for telling him, it would be a costly reward, but she hoped to comfort herself by seeing him go there and come back.

Meanwhile, a group of working men from Athens met to plan a play. They were Peter Quince the carpenter, Nick Bottom the weaver, Francis Flute the bellows-mender, Tom Snout the tinker, Robin Starveling the tailor, and Snug the joiner. Quince asked whether everyone was there. Bottom said he should call them one by one from the list. Quince read the names of the men chosen to play before the Duke and Duchess on the Duke’s wedding night.

Quince said their play was the most lamentable comedy and the most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisbe. Bottom said it was a very good piece of work and merry. Quince called the names and gave the parts. Bottom was chosen to play Pyramus. Bottom asked whether Pyramus was a lover or a tyrant. Quince said he was a lover who killed himself for love. Bottom said that would need tears, and he would move storms if he performed it well. Then he said his chief humor was for a tyrant, and he could play Hercules or a part that would make rocks split and prison gates break. He said that was a tyrant’s style, but a lover was more pitying.

Quince called Flute and gave him the part of Thisbe. Flute asked whether Thisbe was a wandering knight. Quince said Thisbe was the lady whom Pyramus must love. Flute said he could not play a woman, because his beard was growing. Quince said he could wear a mask and speak in a small voice. Bottom said that if he could hide his face, he could play Thisbe too, in a monstrous little voice. Quince said no, Bottom must play Pyramus and Flute must play Thisbe.

Quince gave Starveling the part of Thisbe’s mother, Snout the part of Pyramus’s father, and himself the part of Thisbe’s father. He gave Snug the part of the lion. Snug asked whether the lion’s part was written down, because he was slow to learn. Quince said he could do it without study, because it was nothing but roaring. Bottom said he could play the lion too and roar so gently that the Duke would ask him to roar again. Quince said if he roared too terribly, he would frighten the Duchess and the ladies, and that would be enough to hang them all. The men agreed that frightening the ladies would be dangerous. Bottom said he would roar as gently as a sucking dove or a nightingale.

Quince said Bottom could play no part but Pyramus, because Pyramus was a sweet-faced, proper, lovely gentleman. Bottom asked what color beard he should wear. Quince said any color he liked. Bottom said he could wear a straw-colored beard, an orange-tawny beard, a purple-in-grain beard, or a French crown-colored beard, which was perfect yellow. Quince said some French crowns had no hair at all, and then Bottom would play bare-faced. Quince gave them their parts and asked them to learn them by the next night. He told them to meet in the palace wood, a mile outside the town, by moonlight, because if they rehearsed in the city, people would crowd around them and learn their plan. He said he would make a list of the props the play needed. Bottom said they would meet and rehearse most obscenely and courageously. Quince said they would meet at the Duke’s oak. Bottom said enough, and they left.

At another place, a fairy met Robin Goodfellow, also called Puck. Puck asked the fairy where she wandered. The fairy said she wandered over hill, over dale, through bush, through brier, over park, over pale, through flood, through fire. She said she was swifter than the moon’s sphere and served the fairy queen by putting dew on the grass. She said the tall cowslips were the queen’s pensioners, and the spots on their gold coats were rubies, fairy favors, in which their scents lived. She said she must go seek dewdrops and hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. She told Puck farewell and said the queen and all the elves would come there soon.

Puck said the fairy king was keeping his revels there that night. He told the fairy to be careful that the queen did not come within the king’s sight, because Oberon was very angry. He said Titania had stolen a lovely boy from an Indian king, and she had never had so sweet a changeling. Jealous Oberon wanted the boy to be a knight in his train, to follow him through the wild forests. But Titania kept the boy, crowned him with flowers, and made him all her joy. Puck said that because of their quarrel, the fairies no longer met in groves, greens, fountains, or starlight without fighting, and all the elves crept into acorn cups and hid there.

The fairy looked at Puck and said either she mistook his shape completely or he was the shrewd and knavish sprite called Robin Goodfellow. She asked whether he was the one who frightened village maidens, skimmed milk, worked at the quern, made the housewife churn in vain, made drink not foam, misled night wanderers, and laughed at their harm. She said people called him Hobgoblin and sweet Puck, and that he did their work and brought them good luck.

Puck said she spoke rightly. He said he was the merry wanderer of the night. He said he joked with Oberon and made him smile when he tricked a fat bean-fed horse by neighing like a young filly. He said he sometimes hid in a gossip’s bowl in the shape of a roasted crab, and when she drank, he bobbed against her lips and poured ale on her withered chin. He said he sometimes made a wise aunt mistake him for a three-footed stool, so that she slipped and fell, and the whole company laughed until they coughed and swore that no merrier hour had ever been wasted. Then he told the fairy to make room, because Oberon was coming. The fairy said her mistress was coming too, and she wished Oberon were gone.

Oberon, king of the fairies, came in with his train, and Titania, queen of the fairies, came in with hers. Oberon said, “Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.” Titania answered, “What, jealous Oberon?” She told the fairy to skip away, because she had forsworn his bed and company. Oberon told her to stay, rash wanton, and asked whether he was not her lord. Titania said then she must be his lady, but she knew when he had stolen away from fairy land and, in the shape of Corin, had sat all day playing on pipes of corn and singing love verses to amorous Phillida. She asked why he had come from the farthest steppe of India. She said it was because the bouncing Amazon, his mistress and warrior love, was to be married to Theseus, and he had come to give their marriage joy and prosperity.

Oberon asked how she could shamefully cast doubt on his honor by mentioning Hippolyta, when he knew her love for Theseus. He said she had led Theseus through the glimmering night from Perigenia, whom he had wronged, and had made him break his faith with Ariadne and Antiope. Titania said these were the forgeries of jealousy. She said that since the middle of summer, whenever they had met on hill, in dale, in forest, in meadow, by paved fountain, by rushy brook, or by the beach of the sea to dance their ringlets in the wind, Oberon’s quarrels had disturbed their sport. She said the winds, piping to them in vain, had sucked up contagious fogs from the sea in revenge. When those fogs fell on the land, every small river had become so proud that it had overflowed its banks. The ox had strained at his plow in vain, the ploughman had lost his sweat, and the green corn had rotted before it had a beard. The fold stood empty in the drowned field, and crows were fat with the dead flock. The nine men’s Morris dance was filled with mud, and the pretty mazes in the grass could not be found for lack of footsteps. Human mortals lacked their winter here, and no night was blessed with hymn or carol. The moon, the governor of floods, was pale in anger and washed the air so that rheumatic diseases abounded. Through this disturbance, the seasons were changed. Hoary-headed frosts fell in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, and on old Winter’s icy crown was set a fragrant chaplet of summer buds. Spring, summer, childing autumn, and angry winter changed their usual clothing, and the confused world did not know which was which. Titania said this progeny of evils came from their debate and dissension, and they were its parents and origin.

Oberon said she should amend it, because it lay in her. He asked why Titania should cross Oberon. He said he only begged a little changeling boy to be his henchman. Titania told him to set his heart at rest. She said the fairy land would not buy the boy from her. She said the boy’s mother had been a votress of her order, and in the spiced Indian air by night she had often sat gossiping by Titania’s side. They had sat together on Neptune’s yellow sands, watching the traders on the flood. They had laughed to see the sails swell and grow big-bellied with the wanton wind. The mother, with pretty swimming steps, had imitated the sails and sailed upon the land to fetch Titania trifles, returning as if from a voyage rich with merchandise. But she, being mortal, had died of that boy, and for her sake Titania reared up her boy. For her sake, Titania said, she would not part with him.

Oberon asked how long she intended to stay in the wood. Titania said perhaps until after Theseus’s wedding day. She said if he would patiently dance in their round and see their moonlight revels, he could go with them; if not, he should shun her, and she would spare his haunts. Oberon said give him the boy, and he would go with her. Titania said not for his fairy kingdom. She told the fairies to away, because if she stayed longer they would quarrel outright. Then she and her fairies left.

Oberon said she could go her way, but she would not leave that grove until he tormented her for this injury. He called his gentle Puck and asked whether Puck remembered when he sat on a promontory and heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back singing such sweet and harmonious breath that the rough sea grew calm at her song, and certain stars shot madly from their spheres to hear the sea-maid’s music. Puck said he remembered.

Oberon said that at that very time he had seen, though Puck could not, Cupid flying between the cold moon and the earth, all armed. Cupid had taken aim at a fair vestal throned by the west and had loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, as if it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. But Oberon had seen young Cupid’s fiery shaft quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon, and the imperial votress had passed on in maiden meditation, free from fancy. Yet Oberon had marked where the bolt of Cupid fell. It had fallen upon a little western flower, before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound, and maidens called it love-in-idleness. He told Puck to fetch that flower, the herb he had shown him once. He said the juice of it, laid on sleeping eyelids, would make man or woman madly dote upon the next live creature it saw. He told Puck to fetch the herb and return before the Leviathan could swim a league. Puck said he would put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes.

Oberon said that once he had the juice, he would watch Titania when she was asleep and drop the liquor in her eyes. The next thing she looked on when she woke, whether lion, bear, wolf, bull, meddling monkey, or busy ape, she would pursue with the soul of love. Before he took the charm from her sight, he would make her give up her page to him. Then he said someone was coming. He said he was invisible and would overhear their conference.

Demetrius came in, with Helena following him. Demetrius said he did not love her and told her not to pursue him. He asked where Lysander and fair Hermia were. He said he would stay one and the other stayed him. He said Helena had told him they had stolen into the wood, and he was there, mad within the wood, because he could not meet Hermia. He told her to get gone and follow him no more.

Helena said he drew her, hard-hearted Adamant, but he did not draw iron, because her heart was true as steel. She said if he left his power to draw, she would have no power to follow him. Demetrius asked whether he enticed her or spoke fair to her, or whether he plainly told her that he did not and could not love her. Helena said even for that she loved him the more. She said she was his spaniel, and the more he beat her, the more she would fawn on him. She asked him to use her as he used his spaniel, to spurn her, strike her, neglect her, lose her, only give her leave, unworthy as she was, to follow him. She asked what worse place she could beg in his love, though even that place would be a place of high respect to her, than to be used as he used his dog.

Demetrius said she tempted too much the hatred of his spirit, because he was sick when he looked on her. Helena said she was sick when she did not look on him. Demetrius said she impeached her modesty too much by leaving the city and committing herself into the hands of one who did not love her, trusting the opportunity of night and the ill counsel of a desert place with the rich worth of her virginity. Helena said his virtue was her privilege. She said it was not night when she saw his face, so she did not think she was in the night, nor did the wood lack worlds of company, because he, in her respect, was all the world. She asked how it could be said she was alone when all the world was there to look on her.

Demetrius said he would run from her and hide in the brakes and leave her to the mercy of wild beasts. Helena said the wildest beast did not have such a heart as he. She said he could run when he would, but the story would be changed: Apollo flew and Daphne held the chase, the dove pursued the griffin, and the mild hind made speed to catch the tiger. She said it was bootless speed when cowardice pursued and valour fled. Demetrius said he would not stay her questions and told her to let him go, or if she followed him, not to believe but that he would do her mischief in the wood. Helena said he did her mischief in the temple, in the town, in the field. She said his wrongs set a scandal on her sex, because women could not fight for love as men might. They should be wooed and were not made to woo. She said she would follow him and make a heaven of hell, to die upon the hand she loved so well.

Oberon, still invisible, said farewell, nymph. He said before Demetrius left that grove, Helena would flee from him and he would seek her love. He asked Puck whether he had the flower. Puck came in and said there it was. Oberon asked him to give it to him.

Oberon said he knew a bank where the wild thyme blew, where oxlips and nodding violets grew, overcanopied with luscious woodbine, sweet musk-roses, and eglantine. There Titania sometimes slept at night, lulled in flowers with dances and delight. There the snake threw off her enameled skin, weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in. With the juice of the flower, Oberon said he would streak Titania’s eyes and make her full of hateful fantasies. He told Puck to take some of the juice and seek through the grove. He said a sweet Athenian lady was in love with a disdainful youth, and Puck was to anoint his eyes when the next thing he espied might be the lady. He said Puck would know the man by the Athenian garments he wore. He told Puck to do it with care, so that the man might prove more fond on Helena than she was on her love, and to meet him before the first cock crowed. Puck said fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.

Titania came in with her train. She told the fairies to come, now a roundel and a fairy song. Then, for the third part of a minute, some were to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds, some to war with reemice for their leather wings to make small elf coats, and some to keep back the clamorous owl that nightly hooted and wondered at their quaint spirits. She told them to sing her to sleep, then go to their offices and let her rest.

The fairies sang a lullaby. They told spotted snakes with double tongue, thorny hedgehogs, newts, and blindworms not to come near their fairy queen. They asked Philomel to sing in their sweet lullaby, that no harm, spell, or charm might come near their lovely lady. One fairy told weaving spiders to come not there, and long-legged spinners, black beetles, worms, and snails to do no offense. Another fairy said hence away, now all was well, and one fairy stood aloof as sentinel.

Oberon came near Titania and whispered his charm. He said what she saw when she woke, she should take for her true love’s sake and languish for it. Be it ounce, cat, bear, pard, or boar with bristled hair, whatever appeared in her eye when she woke, it would be her dear. He said wake when some vile thing is near.

Lysander and Hermia came into the wood. Lysander said fair love, she fainted with wandering in the wood, and to speak truth, he had forgotten their way. He said they would rest if she thought it good and wait for the comfort of day. Hermia said it should be so, and told him to find a bed, because she would rest her head on that bank. Lysander said one turf would serve as a pillow for them both, one heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. Hermia said, by good Lysander, for her sake, he should lie further off and not lie so near.

Lysander said she must take the sense of his innocence. He said love took the meaning in love’s conference. He meant that his heart was knit to hers, so that they could make but one heart of it, two bosoms interchained with an oath, two bosoms and a single troth. He said she should not deny him bed-room by her side, because lying so, Hermia, he did not lie. Hermia said Lysander riddled prettily. She said much beshrew her manners and pride if Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. But she asked him, for love and courtesy, to lie further off in human modesty, such separation as might well be said to become a virtuous bachelor and a maid. She said so far be distant, and good night, sweet friend. She said his love never alter till his sweet life end. Lysander said amen to that fair prayer, and then end life when he ended loyalty. He said there was his bed, and sleep give her all his rest. Hermia said with half that wish the wisher’s eyes be pressed.

Puck came in. He said through the forest he had gone, but he had found no Athenian on whose eyes he might prove the flower’s force in stirring love. He said night and silence, and asked who was there. He said the man wore weeds of Athens, and this was he, as his master had said, who had despised the Athenian maid. He said here was the maiden sleeping sound on the dank and dirty ground. He said the pretty soul did not dare lie near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. He said churl, upon his eyes he would throw all the power the charm owed, and when he woke, love forbid sleep his seat on his eyelids. He said so awake when he was gone, for he must now to Oberon.

Demetrius and Helena came running. Helena said stay, though he kill her, sweet Demetrius. Demetrius charged her to go and not haunt him thus. Helena asked whether he would leave her in the dark, and he said stay on her peril, he alone would go. Helena said she was out of breath in that fond chase, and the more her prayer, the lesser her grace. She said happy was Hermia wherever she lay, because she had blessed and attractive eyes. She asked how Hermia’s eyes came so bright, not with salt tears, because if so, her own eyes were oftener washed than Hermia’s. She said no, she was as ugly as a bear, and beasts that met her ran away for fear, so no marvel though Demetrius flew her presence as a monster. She asked what wicked and dissembling glass had made her compare herself with Hermia’s eyes.

Then she saw Lysander on the ground. She asked whether he was dead or asleep. She saw no blood, no wound. She said Lysander, if he lived, good sir, awake. Lysander woke and said he would run through fire for her sweet sake. He said transparent Helena, nature showed art that through her bosom made him see her heart. He asked where Demetrius was and said how fit a word that vile name was to perish on his sword. Helena told him not to say so. She said what though he loved Hermia? Hermia still loved him, so he should be content. Lysander said content with Hermia? No, he repented the tedious minutes he had spent with her. He said not Hermia, but Helena he loved. He asked who would not change a raven for a dove. He said the will of man was by his reason swayed, and reason said Helena was the worthier maid. He said things growing were not ripe until their season, and he, being young, till now had not been ripe to reason. He said touching now the point of human skill, reason became the marshal to his will and led him to her eyes, where he overloved love’s stories written in love’s richest book.

Helena asked wherefore she was born to such keen mockery. She asked when, at his hands, she had deserved such scorn. She said it was not enough that she had never, no nor never could, deserve a sweet look from Demetrius’s eye, but he must flout her insufficiency. She said he did her wrong in such disdainful manner to woo her. She said fare you well, and perforce she must confess she thought him lord of more true gentleness. She said O that a lady of one man refused should of another therefore be abused. Then she left.

Lysander said she saw not Hermia. He told Hermia to sleep there and never come near Lysander. He said as a surfeit of the sweetest things brought the deepest loathing to the stomach, or as the heresies that men left were hated most by those they had deceived, so Hermia, his surfeit and heresy, should be hated by all, but most by him. He said all his powers addressed their love and might to honor Helena and to be her knight. Then he left.

Hermia woke and cried for help. She asked Lysander to help her pluck the crawling serpent from her breast. She said alas, for pity, what a dream was there. She asked Lysander to look how she quaked with fear. She said she thought a serpent ate her heart away, and he sat smiling at his cruel prey. She asked where Lysander was, removed, out of hearing, gone, no sound, no word. She said alack, where were you, speak, and if she heard, speak, of all loves, she had swooned almost with fear. She said no, then she well perceived he was not nigh, and either death or him she would find immediately. Then she left.

The mechanicals came into the wood. Bottom asked whether they were all met. Quince said pat, pat, and here was a marvelous convenient place for their rehearsal. He said this green plot should be their stage, this hawthorn brake their tiring house, and they would do it in action as they would do it before the Duke. Bottom called Peter Quince. Quince asked what he said, bully Bottom. Bottom said there were things in the comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that would never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself, which the ladies could not abide. He asked how they would answer that. Snout said byrlakin, a parlous fear. Starveling said he believed they must leave the killing out when all was done. Bottom said not a whit, he had a device to make all well. He said let them write a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say they would do no harm with their swords, and that Pyramus was not killed indeed. For the more better assurance, let them tell them that he, Pyramus, was not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver. That would put them out of fear. Quince said well, they would have such a prologue, and it should be written in eight and six. Bottom said no, make it two more, let it be written in eight and eight.

Snout asked whether the ladies would be afraid of the lion. Starveling said he feared it. Bottom said masters, they ought to consider with themselves to bring in, God shield them, a lion among ladies, which was a most dreadful thing, because there was not a more fearful wild fowl than a lion living, and they ought to look to it. Snout said therefore another prologue must tell he was not a lion. Bottom said nay, they must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion’s neck, and he himself must speak through, saying, or to the same effect, ladies or fair ladies, he wished them, requested them, intreated them not to fear, not to tremble, his life for theirs. If they thought he came there as a lion, it were pity of his life. No, he was no such thing, he was a man as other men were, and there let him name his name and tell them plainly he was Snug the joiner.

Quince said well, it should be so, but there were two hard things: to bring the moonlight into a chamber, because Pyramus and Thisbe met by moonlight. Snug asked whether the moon shone that night they played their play. Bottom said a calendar, a calendar, look in the almanack, find out moonshine, find out moonshine. Quince said yes, it did shine that night. Bottom said then they might leave a casement of the great chamber window open, and the moon might shine in at the casement. Quince said yes, or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lantern and say he came to disfigure or present the person of moonshine. Then there was another thing: they must have a wall in the great chamber, because Pyramus and Thisbe talked through the chink of a wall. Snout said they could never bring in a wall. He asked what Bottom said. Bottom said some man or other must present wall, and let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some roughcast about him to signify wall, or let him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny Pyramus and Thisbe should whisper.

Quince said if that might be, then all was well. He told them to sit down, every mother’s son, and rehearse their parts. He told Pyramus to begin, and when he had spoken his speech, enter into that brake, and so every one according to his cue.

Puck came in. He said what hempen homespuns had they swaggering there so near the cradle of the fairy queen. He asked what, a play toward, he would be an auditor, an actor too perhaps if he saw cause. Quince told Pyramus to speak and Thisbe to stand forth. Pyramus began, “Thisbe, the flowers of odious savors sweet.” Quince said odors, odorous. Pyramus said odors, savors sweet, so hath thy breath, my dearest Thisbe dear. But hark, a voice, stay thou but here a while, and by and by I will to thee appear. Then he went into the brake. Quince said a stranger Pyramus than e’er played here. Thisbe asked whether she must speak now. Quince said yes, marry must she, because he went but to see a noise that he heard and was to come again. Thisbe said most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, of color like the red rose on triumphant brier, most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely jewel, as true as truest horse that yet would never tire, I’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb. Quince said Ninus’ tomb, man, why must she not speak that yet, that she must answer to Pyramus. He said she spoke all her part at once, cues and all. He told Pyramus to enter, because his cue was past, it was never tire. Thisbe said O, as true as truest horse that yet would never tire. Pyramus said if I were fair, Thisbe, I were only thine.

Then Puck changed Bottom’s head into an ass’s head. Quince cried O monstrous, O strange, they were haunted. He told masters to fly, masters, help. Puck said he would follow them, he would lead them about a round, through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier. Sometime he would be a horse, sometime a hound, a hog, a headless bear, sometime fire, and neigh, bark, grunt, roar, and burn like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire at every turn. Then he left.

Bottom asked why they ran away. He said this was a knavery of them to make him afraid. Snout came in and said O Bottom, thou art changed, what do I see on thee. Bottom said what do you see, you see an ass head of your own, do you. Quince came in and said bless thee Bottom, bless thee, thou art translated. Then he left. Bottom said he saw their knavery. He said this was to make an ass of him and fright him if they could, but he would not stir from that place, do what they could. He said he would walk up and down there and sing, that they should hear he was not afraid. He sang about the woosel cock, black of hue, with orange-tawny bill, the throstle with his note so true, the wren with little quill, the finch, the sparrow, and the lark, the plainsong cuckoo gray, whose note full many a man did mark and dared not answer nay. He said indeed who would set his wit to so foolish a bird, who would give a bird the lie though he cried cuckoo never so.

Titania woke and said what angel woke her from her flowery bed. Bottom sang on. Titania said I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. Her ear was much enamored of his note, and her eye was enthralled to his shape, and his fair virtues’ force perforce moved her on the first view to say, to swear, she loved him. Bottom said methinks mistress, she should have little reason for that, and yet to say the truth, reason and love kept little company together nowadays. He said the more pity that some honest neighbors would not make them friends. Nay, he could gleek upon occasion. Titania said thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. Bottom said not so neither, but if he had wit enough to get out of that wood, he had enough to serve his own turn. Titania said out of that wood he should not desire to go, he should remain there whether he would or no. She said she was a spirit of no common rate, the summer still did tend upon her state, and she loved him, therefore go with her. She said she would give him fairies to attend on him, and they should fetch him jewels from the deep and sing while he on pressed flowers slept. She said she would purge his mortal grosseness so that he should like an airy spirit go. She called Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustardseed.

The fairies came and said ready, and I, and I, and I, where shall we go. Titania told them to be kind and courteous to that gentleman, hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes, feed him with apricocks and dewberries, with purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries, steal the honey bags from the humble bees, and for night tapers crop their waxen thighs and light them at the fiery glowworm’s eyes, to have her love to bed and to arise, and pluck the wings from painted butterflies to fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes. She told them to nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

One fairy said hail, mortal, hail. Another said hail. Another said hail. Bottom said I cry your worships mercy, heartily, he besought their worship’s name. Cobweb said Cobweb. Bottom said he should desire more acquaintance, good master Cobweb, if he cut his finger, he would make bold with him. He asked the honest gentleman’s name. Peaseblossom said Peaseblossom. Bottom said he prayed him commend him to mistress Squash, his mother, and to master Peascod, his father. Good master Peaseblossom, he should desire more acquaintance too. He asked his name. Mustardseed said Mustardseed. Bottom said good master Mustardseed, he knew his patience well. That same cowardly, giantlike ox-beef had devoured many a gentleman of his house. He promised his kindred had made his eyes water ere now. He desired more acquaintance, good master Mustardseed.

Titania said come wait upon him, lead him to her bower. She said the moon, she thought, looked with a watery eye, and when she wept, wept every little flower, lamenting some enforced chastity. She said tie up her lover’s tongue, bring him silently. Then they left.

Oberon and Puck came in. Oberon said he wondered if Titania were awake, and then what it was that next came in her eye, which she must dote on in extremity. He said here comes my messenger. He asked how now, mad spirit, what night rule now about that haunted grove. Puck said his mistress with a monster was in love. Near to her close and consecrated bower, while she was in her dull and sleeping hour, a crew of patches, rude mechanicals, who worked for bread on Athenian stalls, were met together to rehearse a play intended for great Theseus’s nuptial day. The shallowest thickskin of that barren sort, who Pyramus presented in their sport, forsook his scene and entered in a brake. When Puck took him at that advantage, he fixed an ass’s nose on his head. Anon his Thisbe must be answered, and forth came his minnick. When they spied him, as wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, or russet-pated choughes, many in sort rising and cawing at the gun’s report, severed themselves and madly swept the sky, so at his sight away his fellows flew, and at their stamp here and there one fell. He cried murder, and help from Athens called. Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong, made senseless things begin to do them wrong, for briers and thorns at their apparel snatch, some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch. Puck led them on in that distracted fear and left sweet Pyramus translated there. When in that moment, so it came to pass, Titania waked and straightway loved an ass.

Oberon said this fell out better than he could devise. He asked whether Puck had yet latched the Athenian’s eyes with the love juice, as he had bid him do. Puck said he took him sleeping, that was finished to, and the Athenian woman by his side, that when he waked, of force she must be eyed.

Demetrius and Hermia came in. Oberon said stand close, this was the same Athenian. Puck said this was the woman, but not this the man. Demetrius asked why she rebuked him that loved her so, and laid breath so bitter on her bitter foe. Hermia said now she but chided, but she should use him worse, for she feared he had given her cause to curse. She said if he had slain Lysander in his sleep, being over shoes in blood, plunge in the deep and kill her too. She said the sun was not so true unto the day as he to her. Would he have stolen away from sleeping Hermia? She would believe as soon that the whole earth might be bored, and that the moon might through the center creep and so displease her brother’s noontide with the Antipodes. It could not be but he had murdered him. She said so should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.

Demetrius said so should the murdered look, and so should he, pierced through the heart with her stern cruelty. Yet she, the murderer, looked as bright and clear as yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. Hermia asked what that had to do with her Lysander, and where he was. She said ah good Demetrius, would he give him to her. Demetrius said he had rather give his carcass to his hounds. Hermia said out dog, out cur, he drove her past the bounds of maiden patience. She asked whether he had slain him, and said henceforth he should never be numbered among men. She said O, once tell true, tell true even for her sake. Durst he have looked upon him being awake, and had he killed him sleeping? O brave touch, could not a worm, an adder do so much? An adder did it, for with double tongue than his, thou serpent, never adder stung.

Demetrius said she spent her passion on a misprised mood. He said he was not guilty of Lysander’s blood, nor was he dead for ought that he could tell. Hermia prayed him tell her then that he was well. Demetrius said and if he could, what should he get therefore. Hermia said a privilege never to see him more, and from his hated presence she would part, see him no more, whether he were dead or no. Then she left.

Demetrius said there was no following her in that fierce vein. He said there therefore for a while he would remain. He said sorrow’s heaviness did heavier grow, for debt that bankrupt slip did sorrow owe, which now in some slight measure it would pay, if for his tender there he made some stay. Then he lay down.

Oberon said what had Puck done, he had mistaken quite and laid the love juice on some true love’s sight. He said of his misprision must perforce ensue some true love turned, and not a false turned true. Puck said then fate overruled, that one man holding troth, a million failed, confounding oath on oath. Oberon told him about the wood go swifter than the wind, and Helena of Athens look him find. He said all fancy sick she was and pale of cheer, with sighs of love that cost the fresh blood dear. By some illusion see he bring her there, he would charm his eyes against she do appear. Puck said I go, I go, look how I go, swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.

Oberon said flower of this purple dye, hit with Cupid’s archery, sink in apple of his eye. When his love he doth espy, let her shine as gloriously as the Venus of the sky. When thou wak’st, if she be by, beg of her for remedy.

Puck came in and said captain of our fairy band, Helena was there at hand, and the youth mistook by him pleading for a lover’s fee. He asked whether they should see their fond pageant, Lord what fools these mortals be. Oberon said stand aside, the noise they made would cause Demetrius to awake. Puck said then will two at once woo one, that must needs be sport alone, and those things do best please him that befall prepost’rously.

Lysander and Helena came in. Lysander asked why she thought he wooed in scorn. He said scorn and derision never came in tears. He said look when he vowed, he wept, and vows so born in their nativity all truth appeared. He asked how these things in him could seem scorn to her, bearing the badge of faith to prove them true. Helena said he did advance his cunning more and more. When truth killed truth, O devilish holy fray. She said these vows were Hermia’s. Would he give her over? Weigh oath with oath, and they would nothing weigh. She said his vows to her and Hermia, put in two scales, would even weigh, and both as light as tales. Lysander said he had no judgment when to her he swore. Helena said nor none in her mind now he gave her over. Lysander said Demetrius loved her, and he loved not her.

Demetrius woke and said O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect divine, to what, my love, should he compare her eyes. He said crystal was muddy. He said O how ripe in show her lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grew. He said that pure concealed white, high Taurus snow, fanned with the eastern wind, turned to a crow when she held up her hand. He said O let him kiss that princess of pure white, that seal of bliss.

Helena said O spite, O hell, she saw they all were bent to set against her for their merriment. If they were civil and knew courtesy, they would not do her thus much injury. She asked whether they could not hate her, as she knew they did, but they must join in souls to mock her too. If they were men, as men they were in show, they would not use a gentle lady so, to vow and swear and superpraise her parts when she was sure they hated her with their hearts. She said they both were rivals and loved Hermia, and now both rivals to mock Helena. She said a trim exploit, a manly enterprise, to conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes with their derision. None of noble sort would so offend a virgin and extort a poor soul’s patience, all to make them sport.

Lysander said he was unkind, Demetrius, be not so, for he loved Hermia, this he knew he knew. He said hear, with all good will, with all his heart, in Hermia’s love he yielded him his part, and Helena’s love to him bequeath, whom he did love and will do till his death. Helena said never did mockers waste more idle breath. Demetrius said Lysander keep his Hermia, he would none. If ever he loved her, all that love was gone. He said his heart to her but as guestwise sojourned, and now to Helen was it home returned, there to remain. Lysander said Helen, it is not so. Demetrius said disparage not the faith he knew not, lest to his peril he abide it dear. He said look where his love came, yonder was his dear.

Hermia came in. She said dark night, that from the eye his function takes, the ear more quick of apprehension made. Wherein it did impair the seeing sense, it paid the hearing double recompense. She said she was not by her eye Lysander found, her ear, she thanked it, brought her to his sound. She asked why, unkindly, he had left her so. Lysander said why should he stay whom love did press to go. Hermia asked what love could press Lysander from her side. Lysander said Lysander’s love, that would not let him bide, fair Helena, who more engilded the night than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. He asked why she sought him, could not this make her know the hate he bore her made him leave her so. Hermia said he spake not as he thought, it could not be. Helena said lo, she was one of this confederacy. Now she perceived they had conjoined all three to fashion this false sport in spite of her. She said injurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid, had they conspired, had they with these contrived to bait her with this foul derision. She asked whether all the counsel they two had shared, the sisters’ vows, the hours they had spent, when they had chid the hasty-footed time for parting them, O, was all forgot, all school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence. She said they, Hermia, like two artificial gods, had with their needles created both one flower, both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, both warbling of one song, both in one key, as if their hands, their sides, voices, and minds had been incorporate. She said so they grew together, like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet an union in partition, two lovely berries moulded on one stem, so with two seeming bodies, but one heart, two of the first life coats in heraldry, due but to one and crowned with one crest. She asked whether Hermia would rend their ancient love asunder to join with men in scorning her poor friend. She said it was not friendly, it was not maidenly. Their sex, as well as she, might chide her for it, though she alone did feel the injury.

Hermia said she was amazed at her words, she scorned her not, it seemed Helena scorned her. Helena asked whether Hermia had not set Lysander, as in scorn, to follow her and praise her eyes and face, and made her other love, Demetrius, who even but now had spurned her with his foot, to call her goddess, nymph, divine, and rare, precious, celestial. She asked wherefore he spake this to her he hated, and wherefore Lysander denied Hermia’s love, so rich within his soul, and tendered her, forsooth, affection, but by Hermia’s setting on, by her consent. She asked what though she were not so in grace as Hermia, so hung upon with love, so fortunate, but miserable most to love unloved, Hermia should pity rather than despise. Hermia said she understood not what Helena meant by this. Helena said she did, persevere, counterfeit sad looks, make mouths upon her when she turned her back, wink each at other, hold the sweet jest up. She said this sport, well carried, should be chronicled. If they had any pity, grace, or manners, they would not make her such an argument. But fare ye well, it was partly her own fault, which death or absence soon should remedy.

Lysander said stay, gentle Helena, hear his excuse, his love, his life, his soul, fair Helena. Helena said O excellent. Hermia said sweet, do not scorn her so. Demetrius said if she could not entreat, he could compel. Lysander said he could compel no more than she intreat, his threats had no more strength than her weak praise. He said Helen, he loved her, by his life he did, he swore by that which he would lose for her to prove him false that said he loved her not. Demetrius said he said he loved her more than he could do. Lysander said if he said so, withdraw and prove it to. Demetrius said quick, come. Hermia asked Lysander whereunto tended all this. Lysander said away, thou Ethiopian. Demetrius said no, no, he would seem to break loose, take on as he would follow, but yet come not, he was a tame man, go. Lysander said hang off, thou cat, thou bur, vile thing, let loose, or he would shake her from him like a serpent. Hermia asked why he was grown so rude, what change was this, sweet love. Lysander said thy love, out, tawny Tartar, out, out loathed medicine, O hated potion, hence. Hermia asked whether he did not jest. Helena said yes, sooth, and so did she. Lysander said Demetrius, he would keep his word with him. Demetrius said he would he had his bond, for he perceived a weak bond held him, he would not trust his word. Lysander said what, should he hurt her, strike her, kill her dead, although he hated her, he would not harm her so. Hermia asked what, could he do her greater harm than hate, hate her wherefore, O me, what news, my love, am not I Hermia, are not you Lysander, she was as fair now as she was erewhile. Since night he loved her, yet since night he left her. Why then he left her, the gods forbid, in earnest, shall she say. Lysander said ay, by his life, and never did desire to see her more. Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt, be certain, nothing truer, it was no jest that he did hate her and love Helena.

Hermia said O me, thou juggler, thou canker blossom, thou thief of love, what, had she come by night and stolen his love’s heart from him. Helena said fine, i’ faith, had she no modesty, no maiden shame, no touch of bashfulness, what, would she tear impatient answers from her gentle tongue, fy, fy, thou counterfeit, thou puppet, thou. Hermia said puppet, why so, ay, that way went the game. Now she perceived she had made compare between their statures, she had urged her height, and with her personage, her tall personage, her height, forsooth, she had prevailed with him. She asked whether they were grown so high in his esteem because she was so dwarfish and so low. How low was she, thou painted maypole, speak, how low was she, she was not yet so low but that her nails could reach unto his eyes. Helena prayed them, though they mocked her, gentleman, let her not hurt her. She said she was never curst, she had no gift at all in shrewishness, she was a right maid for her cowardice, let her not strike her. She said they perhaps might think because she was something lower than herself, that she could match her. Hermia said lower, harke again. Helena said good Hermia, do not be so bitter with her, she evermore did love her, did ever keep her counsels, never wronged her, save that in love, unto Demetrius, she told him of her stealth unto this wood. He followed her, for love she followed him. But he had chid her hence and threatened her to strike her, spurn her, nay to kill her too. And now, if Hermia would let her quiet go, to Athens she would bear her folly back and follow her no further. Let her go, they saw how simple and how fond she was. Hermia said why, get you gone, who was it that hindered her. Helena said a foolish heart, that she left here behind. Hermia asked what, with Lysander. Helena said with Demetrius. Lysander said be not afraid, she should not harm her, Helena. Demetrius said no sir, she should not, though he took her part. Helena said O, when she was angry, she was keen and shrewd, she was a vixen when she went to school, and though she were but little, she was fierce. Hermia said little again, nothing but low and little, why would they suffer her to flout her thus, let her come to her. Lysander said get you gone, thou dwarf, thou minimus of hindring knotgrass made, thou bead, thou acorn. Demetrius said he was too officious in her behalf that scorned his services, let her alone, speak not of Helena, take not her part, for if he did intend never so little show of love to her, he should abide it. Lysander said now she held him not, now follow, if he durst, to try whose right, of his or his, was most in Helena. Demetrius said follow, nay, he would go with him, cheek by jowl. Hermia said thou mistress, all this coil is long of you, nay, go not back. Helena said she would not trust her, nor longer stay in her curst company. Her hands than hers were quicker for a fray, her legs were longer though, to run away. Hermia said she was amazed and knew not what to say. Then they left.

Oberon said this was Puck’s negligence, still he mistook, or else committed his knavery wilfully. Puck said believe him, king of shadows, he mistook. Had not Oberon told him he should know the man by the Athenian garments he had on, and so far blameless proved his enterprise, that he had nointed an Athenian’s eyes, and so far was he glad it so did sort, as this their jangling he esteemed a sport. Oberon said he saw these lovers seek a place to fight. He told Puck to hy 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 his tongue, then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong, and sometime rail he like Demetrius, and from each other look he lead them thus, till o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep with leaden legs and batty wings did 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 he in this affair did him employ, he would to his queen and beg her Indian boy, and then he would her charmed eye release from monster’s view, and all things should be peace.

Puck said my fairy lord, this must be done with haste, for night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, and yonder shone Aurora’s harbinger, at whose approach ghosts, wandering here and there, trooped home to churchyards, damned spirits all, that in crossways and floods had burial, already to their wormy beds were gone, for fear least day should look their shames upon, they wilfully themselves exile from light and must for aye consort with black-browed night. Oberon said but they were spirits of another sort. He said he with the morning’s love had oft made sport, and like a forester the groves might tread even till the eastern gate all fiery red, opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, turned into yellow gold his salt green streams. But notwithstanding, haste, make no delay, they might effect this business yet ere day. Puck said up and down, up and down, he would lead them up and down, he was feared in field and town, goblin, lead them up and down.

Lysander came in and asked where thou art, proud Demetrius, speak thou now. Puck said here, villain, drawn and ready, where art thou. Lysander said he would be with him straight. Puck said follow him then to plainer ground. Demetrius came in and said Lysander, speak again, thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled, speak in some bush, where dost thou hide thy head. Puck said 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, he will whip thee with a rod, he is defiled that draws a sword on thee. Demetrius said yea, art thou there. Puck said follow my voice, they will try no manhood here. Then they left.

Lysander said he went before him and still dared him on, when he came where he called, then he was gone. The villain was much lighter heeled than he, he followed fast, but faster he did fly, that fallen he was in dark uneven way, and there he would rest him. He said come, thou gentle day, for if but once she showed him her gray light, he would find Demetrius and revenge this spite.

Puck and Demetrius came in. Puck said ho, ho, ho, coward, why com’st thou not. Demetrius said abide him, if he durst, for well he wot he ran before him, shifting every place, and durst not stand nor look him in the face, where was he now. Puck said come hither, he was here. Demetrius said nay then he mocked him, he should buy this dear if ever he saw his face by daylight. Now go thy way, faintness constrained him to measure out his length on that cold bed, by day’s approach look to be visited. Then he lay down.

Helena came in. She said O weary night, O long and tedious night, abate thy hours, shine comforts from the east, that she might back to Athens by daylight from these that her poor company detested. She said sleep, that sometimes shut up sorrow’s eye, steal her a while from her own company. Then she slept.

Puck said yet but three, come one more, two of both kinds makes up four. He said here she came, curst and sad, Cupid was a knavish lad, thus to make poor females mad. Hermia came in. She said never so weary, never so in woe, bedabbled with the dew and torn with briers, she could no further crawl, no further go, her legs could keep no pace with her desires. There she would rest her till the break of day, heavens shield Lysander if they meant a fray. Puck said on the ground sleep sound, he would apply her eye, gentle lover, remedy. When she waked, she took true delight in the sight of her former lady’s eye, and the country proverb known, that every man should take his own, in her waking should be shown. Jack shall have Jill, nought shall go ill, the man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.

Titania came in with Bottom and the fairies, and Oberon behind them. Titania said come sit thee down upon that flowery bed, while she his amiable cheeks did coy, and stick musk-roses in his sleek smooth head, and kiss his fair large ears, her gentle joy. Bottom asked where was Peaseblossom. Peaseblossom said ready. Bottom said scratch his head, Peaseblossom, where was Monsieur Cobweb. Cobweb said ready. Bottom said Monsieur Cobweb, good Monsieur, get him his weapons in his hand and kill him a red-hipped humble bee on the top of a thistle, and good Monsieur bring him the honey bag. Do not fret himself too much in the action, Monsieur, and good Monsieur have a care the honey bag break not, he would be loath to have him overflowed with a honey bag, signior. Where was Monsieur Mustardseed. Mustardseed said ready. Bottom said give him his neaf, Monsieur Mustardseed, pray him leave his curtsy, good Monsieur. Mustardseed said what’s your will. Bottom said nothing, good Monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. He must to the barber’s, Monsieur, for methinks he was marvelous hairy about the face, and he was such a tender ass, if his hair did but tickle him, he must scratch.

Titania asked whether he would hear some music, her sweet love. Bottom said he had a reasonable good ear in music, let them have the tongs and the bones. Titania said or say, sweet love, what he desired to eat. Bottom said truly a peck of provender, he could munch his good dry oats, methinks he had a great desire to a bottle of hay, good hay, sweet hay had no fellow. Titania said she had a venturous fairy that should seek the squirrel’s hoard and fetch him new nuts. Bottom said he had rather have a handful or two of dried peas, but he prayed them let none of her people stir him, he had an exposition of sleep come upon him. Titania said sleep thou, and she would wind him in her arms, fairies be gone and be always away. She said so did the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle gently entwist, the female ivy so enrings the barky fingers of the elm. O, how she loved him, how she doted on him.

Puck came in. Oberon said welcome, good Robin, seest thou this sweet sight, her dotage now he did begin to pity. For meeting her of late behind the wood, seeking sweet favors for that hateful fool, he had upbraided her and fallen out with her. For she his hairy temples then had rounded with a 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 flowrets’ eyes like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. When he had at his pleasure taunted her, and she in mild terms begged his patience, he then did ask of her her changeling child, which straight she gave him, and her fairy sent to bear him to his bower in fairy land. And now he had the boy, he would undo that hateful imperfection of her eyes. He told gentle Puck to take that transformed scalp from off the head of that Athenian swain, that he, awaking when the other did, might 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 he would release the fairy queen.

He said be as thou wast wont to be, see as thou wast wont to see, Dian’s bud or Cupid’s flower hath such force and blessed power. Now, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen. Titania woke and said my Oberon, what visions have I seen, methought I was enamored of an ass. Oberon said there lies your love. Titania asked how came these things to pass, O how her eyes did loath his visage now. Oberon said silence a while, Robin take off this head, Titania music call, and strike more dead than common sleep of all these fine the sense. Titania said music, how music, such as charmeth sleep. Puck said now when thou wak’st with thine own fool’s eyes peep. Oberon said sound music, 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 said fairy king, attend and mark, he did hear the morning lark. Oberon said then my queen in silence sad, trip we after night’s shade, they the globe could compass soon, swifter than the wandering moon. Titania said come my lord, and in our flight tell me how it came this night that she sleeping there was found with these mortals on the ground. Then they left, and a wind horn sounded.

Theseus came in with all his train. He said go one of you, find out the forester, for now their observation was performed. And since they had the vaward of the day, his love should hear the music of his hounds. He told them to uncouple in the western valley, let them go, dispatch, he said, and find the forester. He said they would, fair queen, up to the mountains top and mark the musicall confusion of hounds and echo in conjunction. Hippolyta said she was with Hercules and Cadmus once, when in a wood of Crete they bayed the bear with hounds of Sparta, never did she hear such gallant chiding, for besides the groves, the skies, the fountains, every region near seemed all one mutual cry, she never heard so musical a discord, such sweet thunder. Theseus said his hounds were bred out of the Spartan kind, so flewed, so sanded, and their heads were hung with ears that swept away the morning dew, crook-kneed, and dewlapped like Thessalian bulls, slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth like bells, each under each. A cry more tunable was never hallowed to, nor cheered with horn, in Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly, judge when they heard. But soft, what nymphs were these.

Egeus said my lord, this was his daughter there asleep, and this Lysander, this Demetrius was, this Helena, old Nedar’s Helena. He wondered of their being there together. Theseus said no doubt they rose up early to observe the right of May, and hearing their intent, came there in grace of their solemnity. But speak, Egeus, was not this the day that Hermia should give answer of her choice. Egeus said it was, my lord. Theseus said go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. Shouts within, and they all started up. Wind horns sounded. Theseus said good morrow, friends, Saint Valentine is past, begin these wood birds but to couple now. Lysander said pardon, my lord. Theseus said I pray you all stand up, he knew they two were rival enemies, how came this gentle concord in the world, that hatred was so far from jealousy to sleep by hate and fear no enmity.

Lysander said my lord, he should reply amazedly, half sleep, half waking, but as yet he swore he could not truly say how he came there. But as he thought, for truly would he speak, and now he did bethink him, so it was, he came with Hermia thither, their intent was to be gone from Athens, where they might without the peril of the Athenian law. Egeus said enough, enough, my lord, he had enough, he begged the law, the law upon his head, they would have stolen away, they would, Demetrius, thereby to have defeated him and Egeus, him of his wife and Egeus of his consent, of his consent that she should be his wife.

Demetrius said my lord, fair Helen told him of their stealth, of this their purpose hither to this wood, and he in fury hither followed them, fair Helena in fancy following him. But my good lord, he wot not by what power, but by some power it was, his love to Hermia, melted as the snow, seemed to him now as the remembrance of an idle gaud, which in his childhood he did dote upon, and all the faith, the virtue of his heart, the object and the pleasure of his eye, was only Helena. To her, my lord, was he betrothed ere he saw Hermia, but like a sickness did he loath this food, but as in health come to his natural taste, now he did wish it, love it, long for it, and will forevermore be true to it.

Theseus said fair lovers, they were fortunately met, of this discourse they would more hear anon. Egeus, he would overbear his will, for in the temple by and by with them, these couples should eternally be knit. And for the morning now was something worn, their purposed hunting should be set aside. Away with them to Athens, three and three, they would hold a feast in great solemnity. Come Hippolyta.

Demetrius said these things seemed small and indistinguishable, like far off mountains turned into clouds. Hermia said methought she saw these things with parted eye, when everything seemed double. Helena said so methought, and she had found Demetrius like a jewel, mine own and not mine own. Demetrius asked whether they were sure that they were awake, it seemed to him that yet they slept, they dreamed, did not they think the Duke was there and bid them follow him. Hermia said yea, and my father. Helena said and Hippolyta. Lysander said and he did bid them follow to the temple. Demetrius said why then they were awake, let them follow him, and by the way let them recount their dreams.

Bottom woke and said when his cue came, call him, and he would answer, his next was most fair Pyramus. Hey ho, Peter Quince, Flute the bellows-mender, Snout the tinker, Starveling, God’s my life, stolen hence and left him asleep. He said he had had a most rare vision, he had had a dream past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man was but an ass if he went about to expound this dream. He thought he was, there was no man could tell what. He thought he was, and he thought he had, but man was but patched a fool if he would offer to say what he thought he had. The eye of man had not heard, the ear of man had not seen, man’s hand was not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report what his dream was. He said he would get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream, it should be called Bottom’s Dream, because it had no bottom, and he would sing it in the latter end of a play before the Duke. Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, he would sing it at her death.

Quince, Flute, Thisbe, and the rabble came in. Quince asked whether they had sent to Bottom’s house, was he come home yet. Flute said he could not be heard of, out of doubt he was transported. Thisbe said if he came not, then the play was marred, it went not forward, did it. Quince said it was not possible, they had not a man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he. Thisbe said no, he had simply the best wit of any handicraftsman in Athens. Quince said yea, and the best person to, and he was a very paramour for a sweet voice. Thisbe said they must say paragon, a paramour was, God bless them, a thing of nought.

Snug came in and said masters, the Duke was coming from the temple, and there were two or three lords and ladies more married. If their sport had gone forward, they had all been made men. Thisbe said O sweet bully Bottom, thus had he lost sixpence a day during his life, he could not have escaped sixpence a day, and the Duke had not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, he would be hanged, he would have deserved it, sixpence a day in Pyramus or nothing.

Bottom came in and asked where were these lads, where were these hearts. Quince said Bottom, O most courageous day, O most happy hour. Bottom said masters, he was to discourse wonders, but ask him not what, for if he told them, he was not true Athenian, he would tell them everything right as it fell out. Quince said let them hear, sweet Bottom. Bottom said not a word of him, all that he would tell them was that the Duke had dined. Get their apparel together, good strings to their beards, new ribands to their pumps, meet presently at the palace, every man look over his part, for the short and the long was, their play was preferred. In any case let Thisbe have clean linen, and let not him that played the lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion’s claws. And most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for they were to utter sweet breath, and he did not doubt but to hear them say it was a sweet comedy. No more words, away, go away.

Theseus, Hippolyta, and Philostrate came in. Hippolyta said it was strange, my Theseus, that these lovers spoke of. Theseus said more strange than true, he never might believe these antique fables nor these fairy toys. Lovers and madmen had such seething brains, such shaping fantasies, that apprehended more than cool reason ever comprehended. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet were of imagination all compact. One saw more devils than vast hell could hold, that was the madman. The lover, all as frantic, saw Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt. The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, did glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, and as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen turned them to shapes and gave to airy nothing a local habitation and a name. Such tricks had strong imagination, that if it would but apprehend some joy, it comprehended some bringer of that joy, or in the night, imagining some fear, how easy was a bush supposed a bear.

Hippolyta said but all the story of the night told over, and all their minds transfigured so together, more witnessed than fancy’s images, and grew to something of great constancy, but howsoever, strange and admirable.

The lovers came in, Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. Theseus said here came the lovers, full of joy and mirth, joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love accompany their hearts. Lysander said more than to them waited in their royal walks, their board, their bed. Theseus said come now, what masks, what dances should they have to wear away that long age of three hours between or after supper and bedtime, where was their usual manager of mirth, what revels were in hand, was there no play to ease the anguish of a torturing hour, call Philostrate. Philostrate said here, mighty Theseus. Theseus said say what abridgement he had for that evening, what mask, what music, how should they beguile the lazy time, if not with some delight. Philostrate said there was a brief how many sports were ripe, make choice of which his Highness would see first.

Theseus said the battle with the Centaurs to be sung by an Athenian eunuch to the harp, they would none of that, that had he told his love in glory of his kinsman Hercules. The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, tearing the Thracian singer in their rage, that was an old device, and it was played when he from Thebes came last a conqueror. The thrise three Muses mourning for the death of learning, late deceased in beggary, that was some satire keen and critical, not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus and his love Thisbe, very tragical mirth, merry and tragical, tedious and brief, that was hot ice and wondrous strange snow, how should they find the concord of this discord.

Philostrate said a play there was, my lord, some ten words long, which was as brief as he had known a play, but by ten words, my lord, it was too long, which made it tedious, for in all the play there was not one word apt, one player fitted. And tragical, my noble lord, it was, for Pyramus therein did kill himself, which when he saw rehearsed, he must confess made his eyes water, but more merry tears the passion of loud laughter never shed. Theseus asked what were they that did play it. Philostrate said hard-handed men that worked in Athens there, which never labored in their minds till now, and now had toiled their unbreathed memories with that same play against their nuptial. Theseus said and they would hear it. Philostrate said no, my noble lord, it was not for them, he had heard it over, and it was nothing, nothing in the world, unless they could find sport in their intents, extremely stretched and clogged with cruel pain to do them service. Theseus said he would hear that play, for never anything could be amiss when simpleness and duty tendered it. Go bring them in, and take your places, ladies.

Hippolyta said she loved not to see wretchedness o’ercharged, and duty in his service perishing. Theseus said why gentle sweet, she should see no such thing. He said they could do nothing in this kind, the kinder they to give them thanks for nothing, their sport should be to take what they mistook, and what poor duty cannot do, noble respect took it in might, not merit. Where he had come, great clerks had purposed to greet him with premeditated welcomes, where he had seen them shiver and look pale, make periods in the midst of sentences, throttle their practiced accent in their fears, and in conclusion dumbly have broke off, not paying him a welcome. Trust me, sweet, out of that silence yet he had picked a welcome, and in the modesty of fearful duty he read as much as from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence. Love therefore and tongue-tied simplicity in least spoke most to his capacity.

Philostrate said so please your Grace, the prologue was addressed. Duke said let him approach.

The prologue came in and said if they offended, it was with their good will, that they should think they came not to offend, but with good will, to show their simple skill, that was the true beginning of their end. Consider then, they came but in despite, they did not come as minding to content them, their true intent was, all for their delight, they were not there, that they should there repent them, the actors were at hand, and by their show they should know all that they were like to know.

Theseus said this fellow did not stand upon points. Lysander said he had rid his prologue like a rough colt, he knew not the stop, a good moral, my lord, it was not enough to speak, but to speak true. Hippolyta said indeed he had played on this prologue like a child on a recorder, a sound, but not in government. Theseus said his speech was like a tangled chain, nothing impaired, but all disordered, who was next.

Pyramus, Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion came in. The prologue said gentles, perchance they wondered at that show, but wonder on till truth make all things plain. This man was Pyramus, if they would know, this beautiful lady Thisbe was certain. This man with lime and roughcast did present wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder, and through wall’s chink, poor souls, they were content to whisper, at the which let no man wonder. This man with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn presented moonshine, for if they would 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 Thisbe, 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 came Pyramus, sweet youth and tall, and found his trusty Thisbe’s mantle slain, whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, he bravely broached his boiling bloody breast, and Thisbe, tarrying in mulberry shade, his dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain at large discourse while there they did remain.

Theseus said he wondered if the lion were to speak. Demetrius said no wonder, my lord, one lion may when many asses do. Lion, Thisbe, and Moonshine went out.

Wall said in this same interlude it doth befall that I, one Snout by name, presented a wall, and such a wall as he would have them think that had in it a crannied hole or chink, through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe, did whisper often very secretly. This lime, this roughcast, and this stone did show that he was that same wall, the truth was so, and this the cranny was, right and sinister, through which the fearful lovers were to whisper.

Theseus said would they desire lime and hair to speak better. Demetrius said it was the wittiest partition that ever he heard discourse, my lord. Theseus said Pyramus drew near the wall, silence.

Pyramus said O grim-looked night, O night with hue so black, O night which ever art when day is not, O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, he feared his Thisbe’s promise was forgot. And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, that stoodst 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. Thanks, courteous wall, Jove shield thee well for this. But what saw he, no Thisbe did he see, O wicked wall through whom he saw no bliss, curst be thy stones for thus deceiving him.

Theseus said the wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. Pyramus said no, in truth, sir, he should not, deceiving him was Thisbe’s cue, she was to enter now, and he was to spy her through the wall, they should see it would fall pat as he told them, yonder she came.

Thisbe came in and said O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans for parting my fair Pyramus and me, my cherry lips have often kissed thy stones, thy stones with lime and hair knit up again. Pyramus said I see a voice, now will I to the chink to spy and I can hear my Thisbe’s face, Thisbe. Thisbe said my love thou art, my love I think. Pyramus said think what thou wilt, I am thy lover’s grace, and like Limander am I trusty still. Thisbe said and I like Helen till the fates me kill. Pyramus said not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. Thisbe said as Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. Pyramus said O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall. Thisbe said I kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all. Pyramus said wilt thou at Ninus’ tomb meet me straightway. Thisbe said tide life, tide death, I come without delay.

Wall said thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so, and being done, thus Wall away doth go.

Duke said now is the Moonshiners used between the two neighbors. Demetrius said no remedy, my lord, when walls were so wilful to hear without warning. Duchess said this was the silliest stuff that ever she heard. Duke said the best in this kind were but shadows, and the worst were no worse, if imagination amended them. Duchess said it must be their imagination then, and not theirs. Duke said if they imagined no worse of them than they of themselves, they might pass for excellent men, here came two noble beasts in a man and a lion.

Lion and Moonshine came in. Lion said 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, it were pity on my life.

Duke said a very gentle beast and of a good conscience. Demetrius said the very best at a beast, my lord, that ever he saw. Lysander said this lion was a very fox for his valour. Duke said true, and a goose for his discretion. Demetrius said not so, my lord, for his valour could not carry his discretion, and the fox carried the goose. Duke said his discretion, he was sure, could not carry his valour, for the goose carried not the fox, it was well, leave it to his discretion, and let them listen to the Moon.

Moonshine said this lantern doth the horned moon present. Demetrius said he should have worn the horns on his head. Duke said he was no crescent, and his horns were invisible within the circumference. Moonshine said this lantern doth the horned moon present, myself, the man i’ the moon, do seem to be. Duke said this was the greatest error of all the rest, the man should be put into the lantern, how was it else the man i’ the moon. Demetrius said he durst not come there for the candle, for, you saw, it was already in snuff. Duchess said she was aweary of that Moon, would he would change. Duke said it appeared by his small light of discretion that he was in the wane, but yet in courtesy, in all reason, they must stay the time. Lysander said proceed, Moon. Moonshine said all that he had to say was to tell them that the lantern was the moon, he the man i’ the moon, this thorn bush his thorn bush, and this dog his dog. Demetrius said why, all these should be in the lantern, for all these were in the moon, but silence, here came Thisbe.

Thisbe came in and said this is old Ninus’ tomb, where is my love. Lion roared. Demetrius said well roared, lion. Duke said well run, Thisbe. Duchess said well shone, Moon, truly the Moon shone with a good grace. Duke said well moused, lion. Demetrius said and then came Pyramus. Lysander said and so the lion vanished.

Pyramus came in and said sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams, I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright, for by thy gracious, golden, glittering beams, I trust to take of truest Thisbe sight. But stay, O spite, but mark, poor knight, what dreadful dole is here, eyes do you see, how can it be, O dainty duck, O dear, thy mantle good, what, stained with blood, approach ye furies fell, O fates, come, come, cut thread and thrum, quail, crush, conclude, and quell.

Duke said this passion and the death of a dear friend would go near to make a man look sad. Duchess said beshrew her heart, but she pitied the man. Pyramus said O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame, since lion vile hath here deflowered my dear, which is, no, no, which was the fairest dame that lived, that loved, that liked, that looked 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.

Demetrius said no die, but an ace for him, for he was but one. Lysander said less than an ace, man, for he was dead, he was nothing. Duke said with the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and yet prove an ass. Duchess said how chance Moonshine was gone before, Thisbe came back and found her lover. Duke said she would find him by starlight, here she came, and her passion ended the play. Duchess said methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus, she hoped she would be brief. Demetrius said a moth would turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe was the better, he for a man, God warn them, she for a woman, God bless them. Lysander said she had spied him already with those sweet eyes. Demetrius said and thus she means, videlicet.

Thisbe said 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 shorn with shears his thread of silk. Tongue, not a word, come trusty sword, come blade, my breast imbrew, and farewell friends, thus Thisbe ends, adieu, adieu, adieu.

Duke said Moonshine and Lion were left to bury the dead. Demetrius said ay, and Wall too. Lion said no, he assured them, the wall was down that parted their fathers. He asked whether it would please them to see the epilogue or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of their company.

Duke said no epilogue, he prayed them, for their play needed no excuse, never excuse, for when the players were all dead, there needed none to be blamed. Marry, if he that wrote it had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe’s garter, it would have been a fine tragedy, and so it was truly and very notably discharged. But come their Bergomask, let their epilogue alone. The iron tongue of midnight had told twelve, lovers to bed, it was almost fairy time. He feared they should outsleep the coming morn as much as they that night had overwatched. That palpable, gross play had well beguiled the heavy gate of night. Sweet friends, to bed, a fortnight hold they that solemnity in nightly revels and new jollity. Then they left.

Puck came in. He said now the hungry lion roars, and the wolf beholds the moon, whilst the heavy ploughman snores, all with weary task foredone. 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 was the time of night that the graves, all gaping wide, every one let forth his sprite in the churchway paths to glide. And they fairies, that did run by the triple Hecate’s team, from the presence of the sun, following darkness like a dream, now were frolic, not a mouse should disturb that hallowed house. He said he was sent with broom before to sweep the dust behind the door.

Oberon and Titania came in with all their train. Oberon said 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 him sing and dance it trippingly. Titania said first rehearse their song by rote, to each word a warbling note, hand in hand with fairy grace, will they sing and bless that place.

Oberon said now until the break of day through that house each fairy stray to the best bride bed will they, which by them 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 gate, and each several chamber bless through that palace with sweet peace, ever shall in safety rest and the owner of it blest. Trip away, make no stay, meet them all by break of day. Then they left.

Puck said if they shadows had offended, think but this, and all is mended, that they had but slumbered there while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream, gentles, do not reprehend, if they pardon, they will mend. And as he was an honest Puck, if they had unearned luck now to scape the serpent’s tongue, they would make amends ere long, else the Puck a liar call. So good night unto them all. Give them their hands, if they were friends, and Robin should restore amends.