« ForrigeFortsett »
Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
Flu. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. You must take Thisby on you.
Flu. What is Thisby? A wandering knight?
Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.
Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will.
Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too. I'll speak in a monstrous little voice, Thisne, ThisneAh, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear! And lady dear!
Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus; and, Flute, you Thisby.
Bot. Well, proceed.
Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor.
Star. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother. -Tom Snout, the tinker.
Snout. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father; -Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part:-and, I hope, here is a play fitted.
Snug. Have you the lion's part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study.
Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
Bot. Let me play the lion too. I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I will make the duke say, Let him roar again, Let him roar again.
Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek; and that were enough to hang us all.
All. That would hang us every mother's son.
Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any suckling dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.
Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man, a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day, a most lovely, gentleman-like man; therefore you must needs play Pyramus.
Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in?
Quin. Why, what you will.
Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-colored beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-color beard, your perfect yellow.
Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play bare-faced. But, masters, here are your parts; and I am to entreat you, request you, and de sire you, to con them by to-morrow night, and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moon-light. There will we rehearse; for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with company, and our devices known. In the mean time, I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not.
Bot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains; be perfect; adieu. Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. Bot. Enough; hold, or cut bow-strings.
SCENE I. A Wood near Athens.
Enter a Fairy at one door, and PUCK at another.
Puck. How now, spirit! whither wander you?
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire.
In those freckles live their savors.
Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night. Take heed the queen come not within his sight, For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, Because that she, as her attendant, hath A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king. She never had so sweet a changeling; And jealous Oberon would have the child. Knight of his train, to trace the forest wild. But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy, Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy; And now they never meet in grove, or green, By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen, But they do square; that all their elves, for fear, Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.
Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite, Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, Called Robin Good-fellow. Are you not he, That fright the maidens of the villagery; Skim milk; and sometimes labor in the quern, And bootless make the breathless housewife churn; And sometime make the drink to bear no barm; Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, You do their work; and they shall have good luck. Are not you he?
Thou speak'st aright;
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe:
But room, Faery; here comes Oberon.
Fai. And here my mistress.-'Would that he were gone'
Enter OBERON, at one door, with his Train, and TITANIA, at another, with hers.
Obe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania.
Tita. What, jealous Oberon? Fairy, skip hence;
Obe. Tarry, rash wanton. Am not I thy lord?
Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night
And make him with fair Ægle break his faith,
Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
The human mortals want their winter here;
From our debate, from our dissension.
We are their parents and original.
Obe. Do you amend it, then; it lies in you.
To be my henchman.
To fetch me trifles, and return again,
If you will patiently dance in our round,
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.
Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. Tita. Not for thy fairy-kingdom. -Fairies, away. We shall chide down-right, if I longer stay.
[Exeunt TITANIA and her Train.