following me.
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power
(But by some power it is), my love to Hermia
(Melted as the snow) seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gaud,
Which in my childhood I did dote upon;
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
The object and the pleasure of mine eye,
Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
Was I betrothed ere I [saw] Hermia;
But like a sickness did I loathe this food;
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.
The.
Fair lovers, you are fortunately met;
Of this discourse we more will hear anon.
Egeus, I will overbear your will;
For in the temple, by and by, with us
These couples shall eternally be knit.
And, for the morning now is something worn,
Our purpos’d hunting shall be set aside.
Away with us to Athens. Three and three,
We’ll hold a feast in great solemnity.
Come, Hippolyta.
[Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and Train.]
Dem.
These things seem small and undistinguishable,
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.
Her.
Methinks I see these things with parted eye,
When every thing seems double.
Hel.
So methinks;
And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own.
Dem.
Are you sure
That we are awake? It seems to me
That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
The Duke was here, and bid us follow him?
Her.
Yea, and my father.
Hel.
And Hippolyta.
Lys.
And he did bid us follow to the temple.
Dem.
Why then, we are awake. Let’s follow him,
And by the way let’s recount our dreams.
[Exeunt Lovers.]
Bot. [Awaking.] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is, ‘Most fair Pyramus.’ Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute the bellows-mender! Snout the tinker! Starveling! God’s my life, stol’n hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass, if he go about [t’] expound this dream. Methought I was—there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had—but man is but [a patch’d] fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballet of this dream. It shall be call’d ‘Bottom’s Dream,’ because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.
[Exit.]
¶
[Scene II]
Enter Quince, Thisby [Flute], and the rabble [Snout, Starveling].
Quin. Have you sent to Bottom’s house? Is he come home yet?
[Star.] He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported.
Flu. If he come not, then the play is marr’d. It goes not forward, doth it?
Quin. It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he.
Flu. No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens.
Quin. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a very paramour for a sweet voice.
Flu. You must say “paragon.” A paramour is (God bless us!) a thing of naught.
Enter Snug the joiner.
Snug. Masters, the Duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men.
Flu. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his life; he could not have scap’d sixpence a day. And the Duke had not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I’ll be hang’d. He would have deserv’d it. Sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing.
Enter Bottom.
Bot. Where are these lads? Where are these hearts?
Quin. Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!
Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask me not what; for if I tell you, I am [no] true Athenian. I will
