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Now much beshrew my manners, and my pride,
If Hermia meant to say, Lysander ly’d.
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
Lye further off: in human modesty
Such separation, as, may well be said,
Becomes a virtuous batchelor and a maid:
So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend :
Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end !

Lyf. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I;
And then end life, when I end loyalty !
Here is my bed : Sleep

bed: Sleep give thee all his rest! Her. With half that with the wisher's eyes be press'd!

[They sleep.

Enter Puck.

Puck. Through the forest have I gone,

But Athenian found I none,
On whose eyes I might 'approve
This flower's force in stirring love.
Night and silence ! who is here?
Weeds of Athens he doth wear :
This is he, my master said,
Despised the Athenian maid ;
And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
On the dank and dirty ground,
Pretty soul ! she durst not lye
Near this lack-love, this kill-court'sy.
Chur), upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth 'owe:
When thou wakost, let love forbid
Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid.
So awake, when I am gone;
For I must now to Oberon.


much beshrew]-ill befall,

i approve)-make trial of.



Enter Demetrius and Helena running. Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. Hel. O, wilt thou 'darkling leave me? do not so. Dem. Stay on thy peril; I alone will go.

[ Exit Demetrius. Hel. O, I am out of breath, in this fond chace! The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is Hermia, whereloe'er she lies; For the hath blessed, and attractive eyes. How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears: If so, my eyes are oftner wash'd than hers. No, no, I am as ugly as a bear; For beasts, that meet me, run away for fear : Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius Do, as a monster, Ay my presence thus. What wicked and dissembling glass of mine Made me compare with Hermia's "sphery eyne? But who is here? Lysander! on the ground ! Dead ? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound :Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet fake.

[Waking Transparent Helena ! Nature here shews art, That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius ? Oh, how fit a word Is that vile name, to perish on my sword!

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so: What though he love your Hermia ? Lord, what though? Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content,

darkling)-in the dark. *the lefser is my grace.)—the less favourably am I received.

phery gres?)-eyes bright as the tars,


Lyf. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
Not Hermia now, but Helena I love:
Who will not change a raven for a dove?
The will of man is by his reason fway'd;
And reason says, you are the worthier maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their season ;
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;
And * touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshall to my will,
And leads me to your eyes; where ' I o'erlook
Love's stories, written in love's richest book.

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born ?
When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn ?
Is’t not enough, is't not enough, young man,
That I did never, no, nor never can,
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,
But you must fout

my insufficiency?
Good troth, you do me wrong, good footh, you do,
In such disdainful manner me to woo.
But fare you well : perforce I must confess,
I thought you lord of more true ? gentleness.
Oh, that a lady, of one man refus'd,
Should, of another, therefore be abus'd! [Exit.

Lyf. She sees not Hermia :-Hermia, seep thou there ; And never may'st thou come Lysander near ! For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things, The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; Or, as the heresies, that men do leave, Are hated most of those they did deceive;

* touching now the point of human skill, &c.]-my senses being arrived at their full perfection, my will now follows reason.

y o'erlook]-peruse.

* gentleness.)- generosity, possessed more of the spirit of a gentleman.


So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy,
Of all be hated; but the most, of me!
And all my powers, address your love and might,
To honour Helen, and to be her knight! [Exit.
Her. [starting from seep.] Help me, Lysander, help me!

do thy best,
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast !
Ay me, for pity !-what a dream was here?
Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear :
Methought, a serpent eat my heart away,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey :
Lysander ! what, remov'd ? Lysander ! lord !
What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word?
Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ;
Speak, 'of all loves; I swoon almost with fear,
No ?-then I well perceive you are not nigh :
Or death, or you, I'll find immediately.


А стІІІ.


The Wood.

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snowt, and Starveling.

The Queen of Fairies lying asleep.
Bot. Are we all met ?

Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal : This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tyring-house; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the duke.

of all loves ;]~I adjure you, as you love me; by all means.
Pat, Pat;]-moft opportunely.
brake)-thicket, or buih,


Bot. Peter Quince,
Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom ?

Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?

Snout. «By’rlakin, a parlous fear.

Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, when all is done.

Bot. Not a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue : and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords; and that Pyramus is not kill'd indeed : and, for the more better assurance tell them, that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver : This will put them out of fear.

Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue, and it shall be written in eight and fix.

Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written in eight and eight.

Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ?
Star. I fear it, I promise you.

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves ; to bring in, God shield us! a lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl, than your lion, living; and we ought to look to it.

Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell, he is not a lion.

Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the fame defect,--Ladies, or fair ladies, I would with you, or, I would request you, or, I would entreat you, not to fear, not to tremble:

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By'rlakin, a parlous fear.]-ladykin, or little lady, a perilous fear. e eight and fox.]-lines, or the measure used in sonnets.


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