is as brief as I have known a play;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,
Which makes it tedious; for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself;
Which when I saw rehears’d, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.
The.
What are they that do play it?
Phil.
Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,
Which never labor’d in their minds till now;
And now have toiled their unbreathed memories
With this same play, against your nuptial.
The.
And we will hear it.
Phil.
No, my noble lord,
It is not for you. I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Unless you can find sport in their intents,
Extremely stretch’d, and conn’d with cruel pain,
To do you service.
The.
I will hear that play;
For never any thing can be amiss,
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go bring them in; and take your places, ladies.
[Exit Philostrate.]
Hip.
I love not to see wretchedness o’ercharged,
And duty in his service perishing.
The.
Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.
Hip.
He says they can do nothing in this kind.
The.
The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
Our sport shall be to take what they mistake;
And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect
Takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practic’d accent in their fears,
And in conclusion dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence yet I pick’d a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
In least speak most, to my capacity.
[Enter Philostrate.]
Phil.
So please your Grace, the Prologue is address’d.
The.
Let him approach.
[Flourish trumpet.]
Enter [Quince for] the Prologue.
Pro.
If we offend, it is with our good will.
That you should think, we come not to offend,
But with good will. To show our simple skill,
That is the true beginning of our end.
Consider then, we come but in despite.
We do not come, as minding to content you,
Our true intent is. All for your delight
We are not here. That you should here repent you,
The actors are at hand; and, by their show,
You shall know all, that you are like to know.
The.
This fellow doth not stand upon points.
Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true.
Hip. Indeed he hath play’d on this prologue like a child on a recorder—a sound, but not in government.
The. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impair’d, but all disorder’d. Who is next?
Enter [with a Trumpet before them] Pyramus and Thisby and Wall and Moonshine and Lion.
Pro.
Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
But wonder on till truth make all things plain.
This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
This beauteous lady Thisby is certain.
This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present
Wall,
