Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool, [Touching her eyes with an herb. See, as thou wast wont to see: Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower Hath such force and blessed power. Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen. Oberon. There lies your love. Titania. How came these things to pass? O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now! Oberon. Silence, a while.-Robin, take off this head. Titania, musick call; and strike more dead Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. Titania. Musick, ho! musick, such as charmeth sleep. Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's eyes peep. Oberon. Sound, musick. [Still musick.] Come, my queen, take hands with me, And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark; Oberon. Then, my queen, in silence sad, We the globe can compass soon, Swifter than the wand'ring moon. Titania. Come, my lord; and in our flight, Tell me how it came this night, That I sleeping here was found, With these mortals, on the ground. [Exeunt. [Horns sound within. Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train. Theseus. Go, one of you, find out the forester;— And since we have the vaward1 of the day, Despatch, I say, and find the forester.- Of hounds and echo in conjunction. Hippolyta. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, The skies, the fountains, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 1 ! Forepart. 2 Theseus. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew; Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, Each under each. A cry more tuneable Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : Judge, when you hear.-But, soft; what nymphs are these? Egeus. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep: And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is; This Helena, old Nedar's Helena: I wonder of their being here together. Theseus. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe The rite of May; and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity. But, speak, Egeus; is not this the day. That Hermia should give answer of her choice? Theseus. Go, bid the huntsman wake them with their horns. Horns, and shouts within. DEMETRIUS, LYSANDER, HERMIA, and HELENA, wake and start up. Theseus. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past; Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? Lysander. Pardon, my lord. Theseus. [He and the rest kneel to THESEUS. I pray you all, stand up. I know, you are two rival enemies; How comes this gentle concord in the world, Lysander. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, 2 The flews are the large chaps of a hound. But, as I think (for truly would I speak,- I came with Hermia hither: our intent Egeus. 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 Of my consent that she should be your wife. Demetrius. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, Of this their purpose hither to this wood; And I in fury hither follow'd them; But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, Theseus. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met: Egeus, I will overbear your will; For in the temple, by and by with us, And, for the morning now is something worn, [Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, 3 Love. Demetrius. These things seem small and undistinguishable, Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. Hermia. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye When every thing seems double. So methinks: Helena. Demetrius. It seems to me, That yet we sleep, we dream.-Do not you think, Hermia. Yea; and my father. As they go out, BOTTOM awakes, [Exeunt. Bottom. 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! Odd'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. 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 the play, before the duke! Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit. |