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Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be > Without the peril of the Athenian law.
Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough; I beg the law, the law, upon his head.
They would have stol'n 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 wife.
Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power
The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met:
[Exeunt The. Hip. Ege. and train, Dem. These things seem small, and undistinguish
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.
When every thing seems double.
Hel. So methinks: And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, Mine own, and not mine own.
Dem. It seems to me That yet we sleep, we dream.-Do not you think, The duke was here, and bid us follow him? And Hippolyta.
Her. Yea; and my father.
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 us recount our dreams.
As they go out, Bottom awakes.
Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer: my next is, Most fair Pyramus.-Hey, ho!-Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender; Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God's my life! stolen 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 to 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 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; man's hand is not able to taste, his tongne 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 be called 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.
Athens. A room in Quince's House.
Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and 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 marred; 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.
Fiu. 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 nought.
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 'scaped sixpence a-day: an the duke had not given him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged; he would have deserved it: sixpence a-day, in Pyramus, or nothing.
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 tell you every thing, right as it fell out.
Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.
Bot. 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 o'er his part, for, the short and the long is, our play is preferred. any case, let Thisby have clean linen; and let not him, that plays the lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's 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 away.
SCENE I. The Same. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus.
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords, and Attendants.
Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.
The. 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 than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatick, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's
Hip. But all the story of the night told over,
Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena.
The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love, Accompany your hearts!
More than to us Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed. The. Come now; what masks, what dances shall we have,
To wear away this long age of three hours,
Are made of mere imagination. + Stability,