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twg_000000023400 | and start up. Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past. Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? LYSANDER. Pardon, my lord. He and the rest kneel to Theseus. THESEUS. I pray you all, stand up. I know you two are rival enemies. How comes this gentle concord in the world, That hatred is so far from jealousy To sleep by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023401 | hate, and fear no enmity? LYSANDER. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, Half sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear, I cannot truly say how I came here. But, as I think (for truly would I speak) And now I do bethink me, so it is: I came with Hermia hither. Our intent Was to be gone from Athens, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023402 | where we might be Without the peril of the Athenian law. EGEUS. Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough. I beg the law, the law upon his head. They would have stoln away, they would, Demetrius, Thereby to have defeated you and me: You of your wife, and me of my consent, Of my consent that she should be your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023403 | wife. DEMETRIUS. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, Of this their purpose hither to this wood; And I in fury hither followd them, Fair Helena in fancy 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023404 | 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 betrothd ere I saw Hermia. But like a sickness did I loathe this food. But, as in health, come | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023405 | to my natural taste, Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, And will for evermore be true to it. THESEUS. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023406 | the morning now is something worn, Our purposd hunting shall be set aside. Away with us to Athens. Three and three, Well hold a feast in great solemnity. Come, Hippolyta. [_Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train._] DEMETRIUS. These things seem small and undistinguishable, Like far-off mountains turnd into clouds. HERMIA. Methinks I see these things with parted eye, When everything | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023407 | seems double. HELENA. So methinks. And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, Mine own, and not mine own. DEMETRIUS. 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? HERMIA. Yea, and my father. HELENA. And Hippolyta. LYSANDER. And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023408 | he did bid us follow to the temple. DEMETRIUS. Why, then, we are awake: lets follow him, And by the way let us recount our dreams. [_Exeunt._] BOTTOM. [_Waking._] 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! Gods my life! Stoln hence, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023409 | 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 to expound this dream. Methought I wasthere is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I hadbut man is but a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023410 | patched 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, mans 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 ballad of this dream: it shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023411 | be called Bottoms 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. Athens. A Room in Quinces House Enter Quince, Flute, Snout and Starveling. QUINCE. Have you sent to Bottoms house? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023412 | Is he come home yet? STARVELING. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported. FLUTE. If he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, doth it? QUINCE. It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he. FLUTE. No, he hath simply the best wit | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023413 | of any handicraft man in Athens. QUINCE. Yea, and the best person too, and he is a very paramour for a sweet voice. FLUTE. You must say paragon. A paramour is, God bless us, a thing of naught. Enter Snug. SNUG Masters, the Duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023414 | If our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men. FLUTE. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his life; he could not have scaped sixpence a day. An the Duke had not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, Ill be hanged. He would have deserved it: sixpence a day in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023415 | Pyramus, or nothing. Enter Bottom. BOTTOM. Where are these lads? Where are these hearts? QUINCE. Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour! BOTTOM. Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for if I tell you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you everything, right as it fell out. QUINCE. Let us hear, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023416 | sweet Bottom. BOTTOM. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the Duke hath dined. Get your apparel together, good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look oer his part. For the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In any case, let | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023417 | Thisbe have clean linen; and let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lions claws. And most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I do not doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy. No more words. Away! Go, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023418 | away! [_Exeunt._] ACT V SCENE I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords and Attendants. HIPPOLYTA. Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. THESEUS. More strange than true. I never may believe These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023419 | than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; That is the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helens beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poets eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023420 | heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poets pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy. Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023421 | bush supposed a bear? HIPPOLYTA. But all the story of the night told over, And all their minds transfigurd so together, More witnesseth than fancys images, And grows to something of great constancy; But, howsoever, strange and admirable. Enter lovers: Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia and Helena. THESEUS. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. Joy, gentle friends, joy and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023422 | fresh days of love Accompany your hearts! LYSANDER. More than to us Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed! THESEUS. Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have, To wear away this long age of three hours Between our after-supper and bed-time? Where is our usual manager of mirth? What revels are in hand? Is there no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023423 | play To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? Call Philostrate. PHILOSTRATE. Here, mighty Theseus. THESEUS. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening? What masque? What music? How shall we beguile The lazy time, if not with some delight? PHILOSTRATE. There is a brief how many sports are ripe. Make choice of which your Highness will see first. [_Giving | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023424 | a paper._] THESEUS. [_Reads_] The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung By an Athenian eunuch to the harp. Well none of that. That have I told my love In glory of my kinsman Hercules. The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage? That is an old device, and it was playd When I from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023425 | Thebes came last a conqueror. The thrice three Muses mourning for the death Of learning, late deceasd in beggary. That is 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 is hot ice and wondrous strange snow. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023426 | How shall we find the concord of this discord? PHILOSTRATE. A play there is, my lord, some ten words long, Which 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023427 | my noble lord, it is. For Pyramus therein doth kill himself, Which, when I saw rehearsd, I must confess, Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears The passion of loud laughter never shed. THESEUS. What are they that do play it? PHILOSTRATE. Hard-handed men that work in Athens here, Which never labourd in their minds till now; And now | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023428 | have toild their unbreathd memories With this same play against your nuptial. THESEUS. And we will hear it. PHILOSTRATE. 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 stretchd and connd with cruel pain To do you service. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023429 | THESEUS. I will hear that play; For never anything can be amiss When simpleness and duty tender it. Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies. [_Exit Philostrate._] HIPPOLYTA. I love not to see wretchedness oercharged, And duty in his service perishing. THESEUS. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. HIPPOLYTA. He says they can do nothing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023430 | in this kind. THESEUS. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023431 | periods in the midst of sentences, Throttle their practisd 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 pickd 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023432 | and tongue-tied simplicity In least speak most to my capacity. Enter Philostrate. PHILOSTRATE. So please your grace, the Prologue is addressd. THESEUS. Let him approach. Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Prologue. PROLOGUE 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023433 | 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023434 | THESEUS. This fellow doth not stand upon points. LYSANDER. 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. HIPPOLYTA. Indeed he hath played on this prologue like a child on a recorder; a sound, but not in government. THESEUS. His | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023435 | speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion as in dumb show. PROLOGUE 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 Thisbe is certain. This man, with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023436 | lime and rough-cast, doth present Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder; And through Walls chink, poor souls, they are content To whisper, at the which let no man wonder. This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, Presenteth Moonshine, for, if you will know, By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn To meet at Ninus | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023437 | 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 comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, And finds his trusty Thisbes mantle slain; Whereat with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023438 | blade, with bloody blameful blade, He bravely broachd 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 here they do remain. [_Exeunt Prologue, Pyramus, Thisbe, Lion and Moonshine._] THESEUS. I wonder if the lion be to speak. DEMETRIUS. No | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023439 | wonder, my lord. One lion may, when many asses do. WALL. In this same interlude it doth befall That I, one Snout by name, present a wall: And such a wall as I would have you think That had in it a crannied hole or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe, Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023440 | this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper. THESEUS. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? DEMETRIUS. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord. THESEUS. Pyramus draws near | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023441 | the wall; silence. Enter Pyramus. PYRAMUS. O grim-lookd night! O night with hue so black! O night, which ever art when day is not! O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, I fear my Thisbes promise is forgot! And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, That standst between her fathers ground and mine; Thou wall, O wall, O | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023442 | sweet and lovely wall, Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne. [_Wall holds up his fingers._] Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this! But what see I? No Thisbe do I see. O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss, Cursd be thy stones for thus deceiving me! THESEUS. The wall, methinks, being sensible, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023443 | should curse again. PYRAMUS. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving me is Thisbes cue: she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes. Enter Thisbe. THISBE. O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, For parting my fair | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023444 | Pyramus and me. My cherry lips have often kissd thy stones, Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee. PYRAMUS. I see a voice; now will I to the chink, To spy an I can hear my Thisbes face. Thisbe? THISBE. My love thou art, my love I think. PYRAMUS. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lovers | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023445 | grace; And like Limander am I trusty still. THISBE. And I like Helen, till the fates me kill. PYRAMUS. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. THISBE. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. PYRAMUS. O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall. THISBE. I kiss the walls hole, not your lips at all. PYRAMUS. Wilt thou at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023446 | Ninnys tomb meet me straightway? THISBE. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay. WALL. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. [_Exeunt Wall, Pyramus and Thisbe._] THESEUS. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. DEMETRIUS. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023447 | HIPPOLYTA. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. THESEUS. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. HIPPOLYTA. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. THESEUS. If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023448 | noble beasts in, a man and a lion. Enter Lion and Moonshine. LION. 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, one Snug the joiner, am A lion fell, nor else no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023449 | lions dam; For if I should as lion come in strife Into this place, twere pity on my life. THESEUS. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. DEMETRIUS. The very best at a beast, my lord, that eer I saw. LYSANDER. This lion is a very fox for his valour. THESEUS. True; and a goose for his discretion. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023450 | DEMETRIUS. Not so, my lord, for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the fox carries the goose. THESEUS. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well; leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the hornd moon present. DEMETRIUS. He | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023451 | should have worn the horns on his head. THESEUS. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the hornd moon present; Myself the man i the moon do seem to be. THESEUS. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should be put into the lantern. How is it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023452 | else the man i the moon? DEMETRIUS. He dares not come there for the candle, for you see, it is already in snuff. HIPPOLYTA. I am aweary of this moon. Would he would change! THESEUS. It appears by his small light of discretion that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023453 | time. LYSANDER. Proceed, Moon. MOON. All that I have to say, is to tell you that the lantern is the moon; I the man i the moon; this thorn-bush my thorn-bush; and this dog my dog. DEMETRIUS. Why, all these should be in the lantern, for all these are in the moon. But silence; here comes Thisbe. Enter Thisbe. THISBE. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023454 | This is old Ninnys tomb. Where is my love? LION. Oh! [_The Lion roars, Thisbe runs off._] DEMETRIUS. Well roared, Lion. THESEUS. Well run, Thisbe. HIPPOLYTA. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. [_The Lion tears Thisbes mantle, and exit._] THESEUS. Well moused, Lion. DEMETRIUS. And then came Pyramus. LYSANDER. And so the lion vanished. Enter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023455 | Pyramus. PYRAMUS. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams; I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright; For, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams, 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023456 | dear! Thy mantle good, What, stained with blood? Approach, ye Furies fell! O Fates, come, come; Cut thread and thrum; Quail, rush, conclude, and quell! THESEUS. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. HIPPOLYTA. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. PYRAMUS. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023457 | frame, Since lion vile hath here deflowerd my dear? Which isno, nowhich was the fairest dame That livd, that lovd, that likd, that lookd 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023458 | soul is in the sky. Tongue, lose thy light! Moon, take thy flight! Now die, die, die, die, die. [_Dies. Exit Moonshine._] DEMETRIUS. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. LYSANDER. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead, he is nothing. THESEUS. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023459 | prove an ass. HIPPOLYTA. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? THESEUS. She will find him by starlight. Enter Thisbe. Here she comes, and her passion ends the play. HIPPOLYTA. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus. I hope she will be brief. DEMETRIUS. A mote will turn the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023460 | balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better: he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us! LYSANDER. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. DEMETRIUS. And thus she means, _videlicet_ THISBE. Asleep, my love? What, dead, my dove? O Pyramus, arise, Speak, speak. Quite dumb? Dead, dead? A tomb Must cover thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023461 | 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 shore With shears his thread of silk. Tongue, not a word: Come, trusty sword, Come, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023462 | blade, my breast imbrue; And farewell, friends. Thus Thisbe ends. Adieu, adieu, adieu. [_Dies._] THESEUS. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. DEMETRIUS. Ay, and Wall too. BOTTOM. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023463 | company? THESEUS. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbes garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023464 | come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue alone. [_Here a dance of Clowns._] The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. Lovers, to bed; tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn As much as we this night have overwatchd. This palpable-gross play hath well beguild The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. A fortnight | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023465 | hold we this solemnity In nightly revels and new jollity. [_Exeunt._] Enter Puck. PUCK. Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task fordone. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023466 | is the time of night That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide. And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecates team From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic; not a mouse Shall disturb this hallowd house. I am sent with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023467 | broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door. Enter Oberon and Titania with their Train. OBERON. 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 me, Sing and dance it trippingly. TITANIA. First rehearse your song by rote, To each | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023468 | word a warbling note; Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will we sing, and bless this place. [_Song and Dance._] OBERON. Now, until the break of day, Through this house each fairy stray. To the best bride-bed will we, Which by us shall blessd be; And the issue there create Ever shall be fortunate. So shall all the couples three | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023469 | Ever true in loving be; And the blots of Natures 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 gait, And each several chamber bless, Through this palace, with sweet peace; And the owner of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023470 | it blest. Ever shall it in safety rest, Trip away. Make no stay; Meet me all by break of day. [_Exeunt Oberon, Titania and Train._] PUCK. If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumberd here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023471 | dream, Gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend. And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearnd luck Now to scape the serpents tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call. So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023472 | [_Exit._] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING Contents ACT I Scene I. Before Leonatos House. Scene II. A room in Leonatos house. Scene III. Another room in Leonatos house. ACT II Scene I. A hall in Leonatos house. Scene II. Another room in Leonatos house. Scene III. Leonatos Garden. ACT III Scene I. Leonatos Garden. Scene II. A Room in Leonatos House. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023473 | Scene III. A Street. Scene IV. A Room in Leonatos House. Scene V. Another Room in Leonatos House. ACT IV Scene I. The Inside of a Church. Scene II. A Prison. ACT V Scene I. Before Leonatos House. Scene II. Leonatos Garden. Scene III. The Inside of a Church. Scene IV. A Room in Leonatos House. Dramatis Person DON PEDRO, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023474 | Prince of Arragon. DON JOHN, his bastard Brother. CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence. BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua. LEONATO, Governor of Messina. ANTONIO, his Brother. BALTHASAR, Servant to Don Pedro. BORACHIO, follower of Don John. CONRADE, follower of Don John. DOGBERRY, a Constable. VERGES, a Headborough. FRIAR FRANCIS. A Sexton. A Boy. HERO, Daughter to Leonato. BEATRICE, Niece | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023475 | to Leonato. MARGARET, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero. URSULA, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero. Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c. SCENE. Messina. ACT I SCENE I. Before Leonatos House. Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice and others, with a Messenger. LEONATO. I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina. MESSENGER. He is very near by this: he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023476 | was not three leagues off when I left him. LEONATO. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action? MESSENGER. But few of any sort, and none of name. LEONATO. A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio. MESSENGER. Much | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023477 | deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro. He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing in the figure of a lamb the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better bettered expectation than you must expect of me to tell you how. LEONATO. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023478 | glad of it. MESSENGER. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him; even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness. LEONATO. Did he break out into tears? MESSENGER. In great measure. LEONATO. A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those that are so | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023479 | washed; how much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping! BEATRICE. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no? MESSENGER. I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army of any sort. LEONATO. What is he that you ask for, niece? HERO. My cousin means Signior | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023480 | Benedick of Padua. MESSENGER. O! he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he was. BEATRICE. He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the flight; and my uncles fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023481 | how many hath he killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. LEONATO. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but hell be meet with you, I doubt it not. MESSENGER. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. BEATRICE. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it; he is a very | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023482 | valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent stomach. MESSENGER. And a good soldier too, lady. BEATRICE. And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord? MESSENGER. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues. BEATRICE. It is so indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man; but for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023483 | the stuffing,well, we are all mortal. LEONATO. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her; they never meet but theres a skirmish of wit between them. BEATRICE. Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023484 | whole man governed with one! so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother. MESSENGER. Ist possible? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023485 | BEATRICE. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block. MESSENGER. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. BEATRICE. No; and he were, I would burn my study. But I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023486 | a voyage with him to the devil? MESSENGER. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. BEATRICE. O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023487 | pound ere he be cured. MESSENGER. I will hold friends with you, lady. BEATRICE. Do, good friend. LEONATO. You will never run mad, niece. BEATRICE. No, not till a hot January. MESSENGER. Don Pedro is approached. Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar and Others. DON PEDRO. Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the fashion | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023488 | of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. LEONATO. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your Grace, for trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave. DON PEDRO. You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your daughter. LEONATO. Her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023489 | mother hath many times told me so. BENEDICK. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her? LEONATO. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child. DON PEDRO. You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady, for you are like an honourable father. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023490 | BENEDICK. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is. BEATRICE. I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you. BENEDICK. What! my dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living? BEATRICE. Is it possible Disdain should die while she hath such | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023491 | meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain if you come in her presence. BENEDICK. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023492 | BEATRICE. A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me. BENEDICK. God keep your Ladyship still in that mind; so some gentleman or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023493 | other shall scape a predestinate scratched face. BEATRICE. Scratching could not make it worse, and twere such a face as yours were. BENEDICK. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. BEATRICE. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours. BENEDICK. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023494 | your way, i Gods name; I have done. BEATRICE. You always end with a jades trick: I know you of old. DON PEDRO. That is the sum of all, Leonato: Signior Claudio, and Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him we shall stay here at the least a month, and he heartly prays some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023495 | occasion may detain us longer: I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. LEONATO. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. [To Don John] Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the Prince your brother, I owe you all duty. DON JOHN. I thank you: I am not of many | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023496 | words, but I thank you. LEONATO. Please it your Grace lead on? DON PEDRO. Your hand, Leonato; we will go together. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio.] CLAUDIO. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato? BENEDICK. I noted her not; but I looked on her. CLAUDIO. Is she not a modest young lady? BENEDICK. Do you question me, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023497 | as an honest man should do, for my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex? CLAUDIO. No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment. BENEDICK. Why, i faith, methinks shes too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023498 | great praise; only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome, and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. CLAUDIO. Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me truly how thou likest her. BENEDICK. Would you buy her, that you enquire after her? CLAUDIO. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000023499 | Can the world buy such a jewel? BENEDICK. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad brow, or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song? CLAUDIO. In | 60 | gutenberg |
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