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{Khe Hake Cngltsft Classics; 
 
 ■ 
 
 " 
 
 SHAKSPERE'S 
 
 A MIDSUMMER- 
 NIGHT'S DREAM 
 
 EDITED 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON, Ph.D. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN HARVARD 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 CHICAGO 
 SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 
 

 Copyright, 1910 
 By Scott, Foresman and Company 
 
 CU256115 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The aim in the volumes of this series is to present 
 a satisfactory text of each play, modernized in spell- 
 ing and punctuation, with as full an equipment of 
 explanation and comment as is necessary for thorough 
 intelligibility. The first section of the introduction 
 is intended to give the student an idea of the place 
 of the play in the history of the English drama in 
 general, and of Shakspere's development in particular. 
 
 The text of the present edition has been based on 
 the earlier of the two quartos of 1600, with occasional 
 readings from later editions. Special pains have been 
 taken, since this play is so largely spectacular, to make 
 clear which of the stage-directions are taken from 
 contemporary editions and which are the conjectures 
 of modern editors, the latter being throughout 
 enclosed in square brackets. A slight change from 
 customary usage in the name of one of the characters 
 may be noted. From an examination of the original 
 editions it seems clear that Puck is not intended by 
 the author to be the proper name of Robin Good- 
 fellow, but a descriptive appellation, like Clown or 
 Constable, though, as in these instances, it occurs at 
 times in stage-directions and speech-tags instead of 
 the proper name. "Robin Goodfellow" has accord- 
 ingly been uniformly used in the directions, bracketed 
 
10 PREFACE 
 
 when this involved a departure from the quarto 
 reading. 
 
 Some plays, as has been pointed out in previous 
 volumes, afford a special opportunity for the discus- 
 sion of plot and others of character. The present 
 comedy affords the teacher an uncommon opening to 
 exhibit Shakspere's power of creating a distinctive 
 atmosphere, and the exuberance of his poetic imagi- 
 nation. The attention of the student may well be 
 drawn to the apparent incongruity of the different 
 groups constituting the dramatis persons: the courtly 
 dignity of Theseus and his circle, the romantic abandon 
 of the lovers, the homeliness of speech and manner of 
 Bottom and his mates, the immaterial grace of the 
 fairies. Thinking of these groups separately, we 
 seem to see the drama moving on a series of distinct 
 planes. Yet the action of each is brought into suffi- 
 cient relation with all the others ; the incongruity, so 
 far as it survives, only increases the delightful humor ; 
 and the whole is so skilfully removed from the tests 
 of common sense and reason, and clothed in such an 
 iridescent veil of poetry, that the play remains a 
 unique triumph in its kind. 
 
 For further details on the life and work of Shak- 
 spere, the following may be referred to: Dowden's 
 Shaksperc Primer, and Shakspere, His Mind and 
 Art; Sidney Lee's Life of William Shakespeare 
 (revised edition, 1909) ; and Shakspere and His 
 Predecessors, by F. S. Boas. For a general account 
 of the English drama of the period see A. W. 
 
PREFACE 11 
 
 Ward's History of English Dramatic Literature 
 (revised edition, 1899) and F. E. Schelling's Eliza- 
 bethan Drama, both of which are rich in bibliography. 
 For questions of language and grammar, see A. 
 Schmidt's Shakespeare Lexicon; J. Bartlett's Con- 
 cordance to Shakespeare, and E. A. Abbott's Shakes- 
 pearian Grammar. As usual, Dr. H. H. Furness's 
 Variorum edition of the present play is a compendium 
 of the results of scholarship on the subject. 
 
 I again wish to thank Mr. R. G. Martin for sub- 
 stantial assistance. 
 
 W. A. N. 
 Harvard University, August, 1909. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Preface 9 
 
 Introduction 
 
 I. Shakspere and the English Drama 15 
 
 II. A Midsummer-Night* s Drtam 32 
 
 Text , 45 
 
 Notes. 133 
 
 Word Index 155 
 
 13 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 I. SHAKSPERE AND THE ENGLISH DRAMA 
 
 The wonderful rapidity of the development of the 
 English drama in the last quarter of the sixteenth 
 century stands in striking contrast to the slowness of 
 its growth before that period. The religious drama, 
 out of which the modern dramatic forms were to 
 spring, had dragged through centuries with compara- 
 tively little change, and was still alive when, in 1576, 
 the first theatre was built in London. By 1600 
 Shakspere had written more than half his plays and 
 stood completely master of the art which he brought 
 to a pitch unsurpassed in any age. Much of this 
 extraordinary later progress was due to contemporary 
 causes; but there entered into it also certain other 
 elements which can be understood only in the light 
 of the attempts that had been made in the three or 
 four preceding centuries. 
 
 In England, as in'Greece, the drama sprang from 
 
 religious ceremonial. The Mass, the centre of the 
 
 public worship of the Roman church, 
 
 The Drama . . . 
 
 before contained dramatic material in the 
 
 Shakspere. gestures of the officiating priests, in 
 
 the narratives contained in the Lessons, and in the 
 responsive singing and chanting. Latin, the language 
 
 15 
 
16 INTRODUCTION 
 
 in which the services were conducted, was unintel- 
 ligible to the mass of the people, and as early as the 
 fifth century the clergy had begun to use such devices 
 as tableaux vivants of scenes like the marriage in 
 Cana and the Adoration of the Magi to make com- 
 prehensible important events in Bible history. Later, 
 the Easter services were illuminated by representa- 
 tions of the scene at the sepulchre on the morning of 
 the Resurrection, in w T hich a wooden, and afterwards 
 a stone, structure was used for the tomb itself, and 
 the dialogue was chanted by different speakers repre- 
 senting respectively the angel, the disciples, and the 
 women. From such beginnings as this there gradu- 
 ally evolved the earliest form of the Miracle Play. 
 
 As the presentations became more elaborate, the 
 place of performance was moved first to the church- 
 yard, then to the fields, and finally to the streets and 
 open spaces of the towns. With this change of 
 locality went a change in the language and in the 
 actors and an extension of the field from which the 
 subjects were chosen. Latin gave way to the ver- 
 nacular, and the priests to laymen ; and miracle plays 
 representing the lives of patron saints were given by 
 schools, trade gilds, and other lay institutions. A 
 further development appeared when, instead of single 
 plays, whole series such as the extant York, Chester, 
 and Coventry cycles were given, dealing in chrono- 
 logical order with the most important events in Bible 
 history from the Creation to the Day of Judgment. 
 
 The stage used for the miracle play as thus devel- 
 
SHAKSPERE AND ENGLISH DRAMA 17 
 
 oped was a platform mounted on wheels, which was 
 moved from space to space through the streets. Each 
 trade undertook one or more plays, and, when pos- 
 sible, these were allotted with reference to the nature 
 of the particular trade. Thus the play representing 
 the visit of the Magi bearing gifts to the infant 
 Christ was given to the goldsmiths, and the Building 
 of the Ark to the carpenters. The costumes were 
 conventional and frequently grotesque. Judas always 
 wore red hair and a red beard ; Herod appeared as a 
 fierce Saracen ; the devil had a terrifying mask and a 
 tail ; and divine personages wore gilt hair. 
 
 Meanwhile the attitude of the church towards 
 these performances had changed. Priests were for- 
 bidden to take part in them, and as early as the four- 
 teenth century we find sermons directed against them. 
 The secular management had a more important 
 result in the introduction of comic elements. Figures 
 such as Noah's wife and Herod became frankly 
 farcical, and whole episodes drawn from contem- 
 porary life and full of local color were invented, in 
 which the original aim of edification was displaced 
 by an explicit attempt at pure entertainment. Most 
 of these features were characteristic of the religious 
 drama in general throughout Western Europe. But 
 the local and contemporary elements naturally tended 
 to become national ; and in England we find in these 
 humorous episodes the beginnings of native comedy. 
 
 Long before the miracle plays had reached their 
 height, the next stage in the development of the 
 
18 INTRODUCTION 
 
 drama had begun. Even in very early performances 
 there had appeared, among the dramatis persona 
 drawn from the Scriptures, personifications of 
 abstract qualities such as Righteousness, Peace, 
 Mercy, and Truth. In the fifteenth century this 
 allegorical tendency, which was prevalent also in the 
 non-dramatic literature of the age, resulted in the 
 rise of another kind of play, the Morality, in which 
 all the characters were personifications, and in which 
 the aim, at first the teaching of moral lessons, later 
 became frequently satirical. Thus the most powerful 
 of all the Moralities, Sir David Lindesay's Satire of 
 the Three Estates, is a direct attack upon the corrup- 
 tion in the church just before the Reformation. 
 
 The advance implied in the Morality consisted not 
 so much in any increase in the vitality of the char- 
 acters or in the interest of the plot (in both of which, 
 indeed, there was usually a falling off), as in the fact 
 that in it the drama had freed itself from the bondage 
 of having to choose its subject matter from one set of 
 sources — the Bible, the Apocrypha, and the Lives of 
 the Saints. This freedom was shared by the Inter- 
 lude, a form not always to be distinguished from the 
 Morality, but one in which the tendency was to sub- 
 stitute for personified abstractions actual social types 
 such as the Priest, the Pardoner, or the Palmer. A 
 feature of both forms was the Vice, a humorous 
 character who appeared under the various disguises of 
 Hypocrisy, Fraud, and the like, and whose function 
 it was to make fun, chiefly at the expense of the Devil. 
 
SHAKSPERE AND ENGLISH DRAMA 19 
 
 The Vice is historically important as having be- 
 queathed some of his characteristics to the Fool of the 
 later drama. 
 
 John Hey wood, the most important writer of Inter- 
 ludes, lived well into the reign of Elizabeth, and even 
 the miracle play persisted into the reign of her suc- 
 cessor in the seventeenth century. But long before it 
 finally disappeared it had become a mere medieval 
 survival. A new England had meantime come into 
 being and new forces were at work, manifesting 
 themselves in a dramatic literature infinitely beyond 
 anything even suggested by the crude forms which 
 have been described. 
 
 The great European intellectual movement known 
 as the Renaissance had at last reached England, and 
 it brought with it materials for an unparalleled 
 advance in all the living forms of literature. Italy 
 and the classics., especially, supplied literary models 
 and material. Not only were translations from these 
 sources abundant, but Italian players visited England, 
 and performed before Queen Elizabeth. France and 
 Spain, as well as Italy, flooded the literary market 
 with collections of tales, from which, both in the 
 original languages and in such translations as are 
 found in Paynter's Palace of Pleasure (published 
 1566-67), the dramatists drew materials for their 
 plots. 
 
 These literary conditions, however, did not do 
 much beyond offering a means of expression. For a 
 
20 INTRODUCTION 
 
 movement so magnificent in scale as that which pro- 
 duced the Elizabethan Drama, something is needed 
 besides models and material. In the present instance 
 this something is to be found in the state of exaltation 
 which characterized the spirit of the English people 
 in the days of Queen Elizabeth. Politically, the 
 nation was at last one after the protracted divisions 
 of the Reformation, and its pride was stimulated by 
 its success in the fight with Spain. Intellectually, it 
 was sharing with the rest of Europe the exhilaration 
 of the Renaissance. New lines of action in all parts 
 of the world, new lines of thought in all departments 
 of scholarship and speculation, were opening up; and 
 the whole land was throbbing with life. 
 
 In its very beginnings the new movement in Eng- 
 land showed signs of that combination of native 
 tradition and foreign influence which was to char- 
 acterize it throughout. The first regular English 
 comedy, Udall's Ralph Roister Doister was an adapta- 
 tion of the plot of the Miles Glorias us of Plautus to 
 contemporary English life. After a short period of 
 experiment by amateurs working chiefly under the 
 influence of Seneca, we come on a band of professional 
 playwrights who not only prepared the way for 
 Shakspere, but in some instances produced works of 
 great intrinsic worth. The mythological dramas of 
 Lyly with the bright repartee of their prose dialogue 
 and the music of their occasional lyrics, the interest- 
 ing experiments of Greene and Peele, and the horrors 
 of the tragedy of Kyd, are all full of suggestions of 
 
SHAKSPERE AND ENGLISH DRAMA 21 
 
 what was to come. But by far the greatest of Shaks- 
 pere's forerunners was Christopher Marlowe, who 
 not only has the credit of fixing blank verse as the 
 future poetic medium for English tragedy, but who in 
 his plays from Tamb uridine to Edivard II. con- 
 tributed to the list of the great permanent master- 
 pieces of the English drama. 
 
 It was in the professional society of these men that 
 
 Shakspere found himself when he came to London. 
 
 Born in the provincial town of Strat- 
 
 Shakspere's ford-on-Avon in the heart of England, 
 
 Early Life. 
 
 he was baptized on April 26, 1564 
 (May 6th, according to our reckoning). The exact 
 day of his birth is unknown. His father was John 
 Shakspere, a fairly prosperous tradesman, who may 
 be supposed to have followed the custom of his class 
 in educating his son. If this were so, William would 
 be sent to the Grammar School, already able to read, 
 when he was seven, and there he would be set to 
 work on Latin Grammar, followed by reading, up to 
 the fourth year, in Cato's Maxims, iTsop's Fables, 
 and parts of Ovid, Cicero, and the medieval poet 
 Mantuanus. If he continued through the fifth and 
 sixth years, he would read parts of Vergil, Horace, 
 Terence, Plautus, and the Satirists. Greek was not 
 usually taught in the Grammar Schools. Whether 
 he went through this course or not we have no means 
 of knowing, except the evidence afforded by the use 
 of the classics in his works, and the famous dictum of 
 his friend, Ben Jonson, that he had "small Latin and 
 
22 INTRODUCTION 
 
 less Greek." What we are sure of is that he was a 
 boy of remarkable acuteness of observation, who used 
 his chances for picking up facts of all kinds ; for only 
 thus could he have accumulated the fund of informa- 
 tion which he put to such a variety of uses in his 
 writings. 
 
 Throughout the poet's boyhood the fortunes of 
 John Shakspere kept improving until he reached the 
 position of High Bailiff or Mayor of Stratford. 
 When William was about thirteen, however, his 
 father began to meet with reverses, and these are 
 conjectured to have led to the boy's being taken from 
 school early and set to work. What business he was 
 taught we do not know, and indeed we have little 
 more information about him till the date of his mar- 
 riage in November, 1582, to Anne Hathaway, a 
 woman from a neighboring village, w T ho was seven 
 years his senior. Concerning his occupations in the 
 years immediately preceding and succeeding his mar- 
 riage several traditions have come down, — of his 
 having been apprenticed as a butcher, of his having 
 taken part in poaching expeditions, and the like — but 
 none of these is based upon sufficient evidence. About 
 1585 he left Stratford, and probably by the next year 
 he had found his way to London. 
 
 How soon and in what capacity he first became 
 attached to the theatres we are again unable to say, 
 but by 1592 he had certainly been engaged in 
 theatrical affairs long enough to give some occasion 
 for the jealous outburst of a rival playwright, Robert 
 
SHAKSPERE AND ENGLISH DRAMA 23 
 
 Greene, who in a pamphlet posthumously published 
 in that year, accused him of plagiarism. Henry 
 Chettle, the editor of Greene's pamphlet, shortly 
 after apologized for his connection with the charge, 
 and bore witness to Shakspere's honorable reputation 
 as a man and to his skill both as an actor and a 
 dramatist. 
 
 Robert Greene, who thus supplies us with the 
 earliest extant indications of his rival's presence in 
 London, was in many ways a typical figure among 
 the playwrights with whom Shakspere worked during 
 this early period. A member of both universities, 
 Greene came to the metropolis while yet a }^oung 
 man, and there led a life of the most diversified 
 literary activity, varied with bouts of the wildest 
 debauchery. He was a writer of satirical and contro- 
 versial pamphlets, of romantic tales, of elegiac, 
 pastoral, and lyric poetry, a translator, a dramatist,— 
 in fact, a literary jack-of-all-trades. The society in 
 which he lived consisted in part of "University Wits" 
 like himself, m part of the low men and women who 
 haunted the vile taverns of the slums to prey upon 
 such as he. "A world of blackguardism dashed with 
 genius," it has been called and the phrase is fit 
 enough. Among such surroundings Greene lived, 
 and among them he died, bankrupt in body and 
 estate, the victim of his own ill-governed passions. 
 
 In conjunction with such men as this Shakspere 
 began his life-work. His first dramatic efforts were 
 made in revising the plays of his predecessors with a 
 
24 INTRODUCTION 
 
 view to their revival on the stage; and in Titus 
 Andronicus and the first part of Henry VI. we have 
 examples of this kind of work. The next step was 
 probably the production of plays in collaboration 
 with other writers, and to this practice, which he 
 almost abandoned in the middle of his career, he 
 seems to have returned in his later years in such plays 
 as Pericles, Henry VIII., and The Two Noble Kins- 
 men. How far Shakspere was of this dissolute set to 
 which his fellow-workers belonged it is impossible to 
 tell; but we know that by and by, as he gained 
 mastery over his art and became more and more 
 independent in work and in fortune, he left this 
 sordid life behind him, and aimed at the establish- 
 ment of a family. In half a dozen years from the 
 time of Greene's attack, he had reached the top of 
 his profession, was a sharer in the profits of his 
 theatre, and had invested his savings in land and 
 houses in his native town. The youth who ten 
 years before had left Stratford poor and burdened 
 with a wife and three children, had now become 
 "William Shakspere, Gentleman." 
 
 During these years Shakspere's literary work was 
 not confined to the drama, which, indeed, was then 
 hardly regarded as a form of literature. In 1593 he 
 published Venus and Adonis, and in 1594, Lucrece, 
 two poems belonging to a class of highly wrought 
 versions of, classical legends which was then fashion- 
 able, and of which Marlowe's Hero and Leander is 
 the other most famous example. For several years, 
 
SHAKSPERE AND ENGLISH DRAMA 25 
 
 too, in the last decade of the sixteenth century and 
 the first few years of the seventeenth, he was com- 
 posing a series of sonnets on love and friendship, in 
 this, too, following a literary fashion of the time. 
 Yet these give us more in the way of self-revelation 
 than anything else he has left. From them we seem 
 to be able to catch glimpses of his attitude towards 
 his profession, and one of them makes us realize so 
 vividly his perception of the tragic risks of his sur- 
 roundings that it is set down here : 
 
 O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, 
 
 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
 That did not better for my life provide 
 
 Than public means which public manners breeds. 
 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 
 And almost thence my nature is subdued 
 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand : 
 
 Pity me then and wish I were renewed ; 
 Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
 
 Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection ; 
 No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
 
 Nor double penance to correct correction. 
 Pity me, then dear friend, and I assure ye 
 
 Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 
 
 It does not seem possible to avoid the inferences 
 lying on the surface of this poem ; but whatever con- 
 fessions it may imply, it serves, too, to give us the 
 assurance that Shakspere did not easily and blindly 
 yield to the temptations that surrounded the life of 
 the theatre of his time. 
 
26 INTRODUCTION 
 
 For the theatre of Shakspere's day was no very 
 
 reputable affair. Externally it appears to us now 
 
 a very meagre apparatus — almost 
 
 The 
 
 Elizabethan absurdly so, when we reflect on the 
 
 Theatre. grandeur of the compositions for 
 
 which it gave occasion. A roughly circular wooden 
 building, with a roof over the stage and over the 
 galleries, but with the pit often open to the wind and 
 weather, having very little scenery and practically no 
 attempt at the achievement of stage-illusion, such 
 was the scene of the production of some of the greatest 
 imaginative works the world has seen. Nor was the 
 audience very choice. The more respectable citizens 
 of Puritan tendencies frowned on the theatre to such 
 an extent that it was found advisable to place the 
 buildings outside the city limits, and beyond the 
 jurisdiction of the city fathers. The pit was thronged 
 with a motley crowd of petty tradesfolk and the dregs 
 of the town ; the gallants of the time sat on stools on 
 the stage, "drinking" tobacco and chaffing the actors, 
 their efforts divided between displaying their wit and 
 their clothes. The actors were all male, the women's 
 parts being taken by boys whose voices were not yet 
 broken. The costumes, frequently the cast-off cloth- 
 ing of the gallants, were often gorgeous, but seldom 
 appropriate. Thus the success of the performance 
 had to depend upon the excellence of the piece, the 
 merit of the acting, and the readiness of appreciation 
 of the audience. 
 
 This last point, however, was more to be relied 
 
SHAKSPERE AND ENGLISH DRAMA 27 
 
 upon than a modern student might Imagine. Despite 
 their dubious respectability, the Elizabethan play- 
 goers must have been of wonderfully keen intellectual 
 susceptibilities. For clever feats in the manipulation 
 of language, for puns, happy alliterations, delicate 
 melody such as we find in the lyrics of the times, for 
 the thunder of the pentameter as it rolls through the 
 tragedies of Marlowe, they had a practiced taste. 
 Qualities which we now expect to appeal chiefly to 
 the literary student were keenly relished by men who 
 could neither read nor write, and who at the same 
 time enjoyed jokes w T hich would be too broad, and 
 stage massacres which would be too bloody, for a 
 modern audience of sensibilities much less acute in 
 these other directions. In it all we see how far- 
 reaching was the w-onderful vitality of the time. 
 
 This audience Shakspere knew thoroughly, and 
 in his writing he showed himself always, with what- 
 ever growth in permanent artistic 
 Dramatic qualities, the clever man of business 
 
 Development. w f tn h{ s e ye on the market. Thus we 
 can trace throughout the course of his production two 
 main lines : one indicative of the changes of theatrical 
 fashions ; one, more subtle and more liable to mis- 
 interpretation, showing the progress of his own 
 spiritual growth. 
 
 The chronology of Shakspere's plays will probably 
 never be made out with complete assurance, but 
 already much has been ascertained ( 1 ) from external 
 evidence such as dates of acting or publication, and 
 
28 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
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 ^ 
 
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SHAKSPERE AND ENGLISH DRAMA 29 
 
 allusions in other works, and (2) from internal 
 evidence such as references to books or events of 
 known date, and considerations of meter and lan- 
 guage. The arrangement on page 28 represents what 
 is probably an approximately correct view of the 
 chronological sequence of his works, though scholars 
 are far from being agreed upon many of the details. 
 
 The first of these groups contains three comedies 
 of a distinctly experimental character, and a number 
 of chronicle-histories, some of which, like the three 
 parts of Henry VI., were almost certainly written in 
 collaboration with other playwrights. The comedies 
 are light, full of ingenious plaj^s on words, and the 
 verse is often rhymed. The first of them, at least, 
 shows the influence of Lyly. The histories also betray 
 a considerable delight in language for its own sake, 
 and the Marlowesque blank verse, at its best eloquent 
 and highly poetical, not infrequently becomes ranting, 
 while the pause at the end of each line tends to 
 become monotonous. No copy of Romeo and Juliet 
 in its earliest form is known to be in existence, and 
 the extent of Shakspere's share in Titus Andronicus 
 is still debated. 
 
 The second period contains a group of comedies 
 marked by brilliance in the dialogue ; wholesomeness, 
 capacity, and high spirits in the main characters, and 
 a pervading feeling of good-humor. The histories 
 contain a larger comic element than in the first period, 
 and are no longer suggestive of Marlowe. Rhymes 
 have become less frequent, and the blank verse has 
 
30 INTRODUCTION 
 
 freed itself from the bondage of the end-stopped line. 
 
 The plays of the third period are tragedies, or 
 comedies with a prevailing tragic tone. Shakspere 
 here turned his attention to those elements in life 
 which produce perplexity and disaster, and in this 
 series of masterpieces we have his most magnificent 
 achievement. His power of perfect adaptation of 
 language to thought and feeling had now reached its 
 height, and his verse had become thoroughly flexible 
 without having lost strength. 
 
 In the fourth period Shakspere returned to comedy. 
 These plays written during his last years in London, 
 are again romantic in subject and treatment, and 
 technically seem to show the influence of the earlier 
 successes of Beaumont and Fletcher. But in place of 
 the high spirits which characterized the comedies of 
 the earlier periods we have a placid optimism, and a 
 recurrence of situations which are more ingenious 
 than plausible, and which are marked externally by 
 reunions and reconciliations and internally by 
 repentance and forgiveness. The verse is singularly 
 sweet and highly poetical ; and the departure from 
 the end-stopped line has now gone so far that we see 
 clearly the beginnings of that tendency which went 
 to such an extreme in some of Shakspere's successors 
 that it at times became hard to distinguish the metre 
 at all. 
 
 In Two Noble Kinsmen and Henry VIII., Shaks- 
 pere again worked in partnership, the collaborator 
 being, in all probability, John Fletcher. 
 
SHAKSPERE AND ENGLISH DRAMA 31 
 
 Nothing that we know of Shakspere's life from 
 external sources justifies us in saying, as has fre- 
 quently been said, that the changes of mood in his 
 work from period to period corresponded to changes 
 in the man Shakspere. As an artist he certainly 
 seems to have viewed life now in this light, now in 
 that; but it is worth noting that the period of hij 
 gloomiest plays coincides with the period of his great- 
 est worldly prosperity. It has already been hinted, 
 too, that much of his change of manner and subject 
 was dictated by the variations of theatrical fashion 
 and the example of successful contemporaries. 
 
 Throughout nearly the whole of these marvelously 
 fertile years Shakspere seems to have stayed in Lon- 
 don ; but from 1610 to 1612 he was 
 Shakspere's making Stratford more and more his 
 place of abode, and at the same time 
 he was beginning to write less. After 1611 he wrote 
 only in collaboration ; and having spent about five 
 years in peaceful retirement in the town from which 
 he had set out a penniless youth, and to which he 
 returned a man of reputation and fortune, he died on 
 April 23, 1616. His only son, Hamnet, having died 
 in boyhood, of his immediate family there survived 
 him his wife and his two daughters, Susanna and 
 Judith, both of whom were well married. He lies 
 buried in the parish church of Stratford. 
 
32 INTRODUCTION 
 
 II. A Midsummer-Night's Dream 
 
 It is probable that the comedy of A Midsummer- 
 Night's Dream was written about 1594 or 1595, but 
 this date is the result of fairly plausible 
 conjecture rather than of certain infer- 
 ence. We know that it was in existence before 1598, 
 for in that year appeared a book called Palfadis 
 Tamia, by Francis Meres, containing an explicit 
 mention of the play. Meres's book is a kind of critical 
 compilation, with a "Comparative Discourse of our 
 English Poets with the Greek, Latin, and Italian 
 Poets," and the passage in which the name of the 
 present play occurs is so important for the chronology 
 of Shakspere's works that it is worth while to quote 
 it verbatim : 
 
 As the soul of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythag- 
 oras: so the sweet witty soul of Ovid lives in mellifluous 
 and honey-tongued Shakespeare. Witness his Venus and 
 Adonis; his Lucrece ; his sugared Sonnets, among his private 
 friends, etc. 
 
 As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for Comedy 
 and Tragedy among the Latins ; so Shakespeare among the 
 English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage. 
 For Comedy: witness his Gentlemen of Verona; his Errors; 
 his Love's Labour's Lost; his Love's Labour's Won 1 ; his 
 Midsummer-Night's Dream; and his Merchant of Venice. 
 
 1 This play has not been certainly identified. If it is not lost, it 
 may be represented in a revised form by All's Well that Ends Well. 
 
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 33 
 
 For Tragedy: his Richard II., Richard III., Henry IV., 
 King John, Titus Andronicus, and his Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 As Epius Stolo said that the Muses would speak with 
 Plautus's tongue, if they would speak Latin: so I say that 
 the Muses would speak with Shakespeare's fine filed phrase; 
 if they would speak English. 
 
 The supposed allusions in A Midsummer-Night's 
 Dream to contemporary publications and events are of 
 little assistance in fixing a more definite date than is 
 supplied by Meres's reference. Two passages pointed 
 out in the notes have been believed by some editors 
 to have been suggested by lines in Spenser, but the 
 connection is uncertain. The long speech by Titania 
 in II. i. 88-114 is more important in this connection. 
 It is quite probable that this remarkably detailed 
 description of extraordinary weather does refer to the 
 wet and stormy summer which brought distress upoj 
 English farmers in 1594. It is recorded also that 
 the same year, in a spectacle presented before 
 Scottish court, a Moor was substituted for a lion to 
 prevent a panic in the audience ; and some critics 
 have found here a source of Snout's apprehension 
 that the ladies may "be afeard of the lion." These 
 trifling indications at least harmonize with the 
 evidence from the meter and the general impression 
 of the degree of maturity implied in the style and 
 characterization of the play as a whole ; and there is 
 no apparent reason for doubting that it was first per- 
 formed about the date of Richard II., and probably 
 shortly before the Merchant of Venice. 
 
 pon 
 
 i 
 
34 INTRODUCTION 
 
 In 1600 two separate editions of A Midsummer- 
 
 Night's Dream were published, and on the earlier of 
 
 these, called from its publisher the 
 
 Source of the ut?- \ r\ » .1 *. • 
 
 Text fisher Quarto, the present text is 
 
 based. The second or " Roberts " 
 quarto is a reproduction of the first with a few minor 
 changes, and the version in the First Folio Edition, 
 in which Shakspere's plays were collected in 1623, 
 was taken from the second quarto, with the addition 
 of more detailed stage-directions and of the division 
 into acts. 
 
 A Midsummer-Night's Dream is one of the two 
 
 or three plays of Shakspere for the main plot of 
 
 which no original has been found. The 
 
 Source of the . 111 re • r tt ■ J 
 
 piot tangled love-anairs or Hermia and 
 
 Helena, Demetrius and Lysander, 
 belong to a type of incident occurring with great 
 frequency in romantic fiction, and it is reasonable to 
 suppose that this series of situations, the least interest- 
 ing though structurally the most important in the 
 comedy, was contrived by Shakspere himself as a 
 framework for the fantasy and humor in which lies 
 its chief charm. In the Diana of Montemayor, a 
 popular Spanish collection of romantic tales from 
 which Shakspere drew part of the plot of The Two 
 Gentlemen of Verona, there is found a love-potion 
 whose effects remotely resemble those of the juice of 
 love-in-idleness. The marriage festivities of Theseus, 
 the references to the "rite of May" and the hunting 
 scene in IV. i, 107 ff., and the name of Philostrate, 
 
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 35 
 
 are probably taken from Chaucer's Knight's Tale, 
 and the dramatist may have got further information 
 about the Athenian "Duke" from Plutarch's Life of 
 Theseus, to which we know he had access in Sir 
 Thomas North's translation. 
 
 The story of Pyramus and Thisbe, caricatured by 
 the artisans, was accessible in Chaucer's Legend of 
 Good Women, in the Elizabethan translation of 
 Ovid's Metamorphoses by Golding — used elsewhere 
 by Shakspere — and in various contemporary works. 
 The mutilated form in which the story is presented 
 here males it impossible to fix on any one of these 
 as a source, and the dramatist may well have used 
 merely what he happened to remember of the tale. 
 It is perhaps worth noting that the main theme of 
 this story is practically identical with that of Romeo 
 and Juliet, which Shakspere had recently treated 
 tragically. 
 
 His memory and his imagination are certainly the 
 main source of the fairy material of the play. The 
 name Titania is used by Ovid for Diana, and Oberon 
 was familiar in the romance oiHuon of Bordeaux, in 
 The Faerie Queene, and in Robert Greene's James IV. 
 The Puck, Robin Goodfellow, had already appeared 
 in literature also, but he was a household name in 
 England. But these more or less literary elements 
 are slight compared with the lore about fairies with 
 w T hich Shakspere, like every English boy of his time, 
 must have become familiar as a child. Yet it is clear 
 that on the popular beliefs about fairyland the drama- 
 
36 INTRODUCTION 
 
 tist's imagination has performed important changes, 
 changes which in turn have affected popular belief, so 
 that the fairy-stories which a modern child knows are 
 partly due to pure tradition, partly to tradition modi- 
 fied by Shakspere. Shakspere had, of course, no theories 
 about fairies; it was his imagination not his reason 
 that refashioned them. It will help us to keep from 
 getting too definite notions about them if we read 
 along with the woodland scenes of this play the great 
 speech by Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet, where the 
 mysterious people are imagined on a scale that would 
 have made stage representation impossible. 
 
 O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you 
 She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes 
 In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 Cn the fore-finger of an alderman, 
 Drawn with a team of little atomies 
 Over men's noses as they lie asleep ; 
 Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, 
 The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, 
 Her traces of the smallest spider web, 
 Her collars of the moonshine's watery beams, 
 Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, 
 Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat, 
 Not half so big as a round little worm 
 Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid ; 
 Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut 
 Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 
 Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. 
 And in this state she gallops night by night 
 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love ; 
 On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies straight; 
 O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; 
 
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 37 
 
 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, 
 Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 
 Because their breath with sweetmeats tainted are. 
 Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
 And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; 
 And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail 
 Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, 
 Then he dreams of another benefice. 
 Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, 
 And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
 Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 
 Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, 
 And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two 
 And sleeps again. This is that very Mab 
 That plats the manes of horses in the night, 
 And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 
 Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. 
 
 Such fafries, it is clear, could hardly have been 
 brought into the personal relations with Bottom 
 which are so amusingly depicted in A Midsummer- 
 Night's Dream, and they must be regarded as the 
 product of the poet's imagination elaborating another 
 side of the inconsistent and variable popular tradition. 
 
 A consideration of the most prominent elements in 
 
 A Midsummer-Night' s Dream makes it fairly clear 
 
 that it was not planned in the first 
 
 Occasion of \ r r , ■,. 
 
 the Play. place tor performance on a public 
 
 stage. The comparative weakness of 
 interest in the main plot, the opportunities for 
 spectacle, and the abundance of song and dance, sug- 
 gest rather a court festivity; while the marriage of 
 
38 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Theseus at the beginning and the wedding-song at 
 the close, point to some nobleman's marriage as the 
 particular occasion. From the flattery of Queen 
 Elizabeth in II. i. 157-164 and the praise of chastity 
 in I. i. 74-75, it may be further inferred that the 
 Queen herself was present. The marriage of the 
 Earl of Derby to Elizabeth Vere at the court at 
 Greenwich in 1595, and that of the Earl of Bedford 
 to Lucy Harington in 1594, have been suggested as 
 offering appropriate opportunities for the display of 
 such a pageant as this fairy drama. 
 
 Owing to its lyric quality A Midsummer-Night' s 
 
 Dream contains a very large proportion of rhyme, 
 
 nearly one-third of the play being so 
 
 Meter. . 
 
 written. In most of Shakspere's plays 
 the rhymes occur in decasyllabic couplets and occa- 
 sional songs; in this there is much greater variety. 
 Rhyming couplets are frequently used in descriptive 
 passages or love scenes. The ten-syllabled lines are 
 sometimes arranged in triplets (II. ii. 110-112; III. 
 ii. 159-161), or in quatrains with alternate rhymes 
 (III. i. 105-8; III. ii. 122-5, 128-31, 442-5). The 
 fairies speak often in a trochaic measure, usually in 
 lines of four syllables, and the rhythm thus obtained 
 is particularly effective for its suggestion of delicate 
 lightness. 
 
 Prose is used by the artisans in ordinary conversa- 
 tion always, by the lovers and the group in the court 
 of Theseus only in Act V. when they are jesting over 
 the interlude, by the fairies never. It is, therefore, 
 
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 39 
 
 employed in this play solely for humorous purposes. To 
 heighten the comedy effect, prose and verse are some- 
 times used side by side contrastingly, as in the scenes 
 between Titania and Bottom (III. i. 127 ff. and 
 IV. i. 1-44). 
 
 The blank verse of the play is that which, since 
 Marlowe, had been the standard meter of the English 
 drama. The normal type of the blank verse has five 
 iambic feet, that is, ten syllables with the accent fall- 
 ing on the even syllables. From this regular form, 
 however, Shakspere deviates with great freedom, the 
 commonest variations being the following : 
 
 1. The addition of an eleventh syllable, e. g.: 
 
 There will | I stay | for thee. | My good | Lysan | der, 
 
 I. i. 168. 
 
 Tell you, | I do | not, nor | I can | not love [ you, II. i. 201, 
 Things grow | ing are | not ripe | until | their sea | son, 
 
 II. ii. 117. 
 
 Occasionally this extra syllable occurs in the 
 middle of the line., at the main pause known as the 
 caesura, which is found most frequently, but not 
 always, after the third foot, e. g.: 
 
 Not for | thy fair | y King | dom. || Fairies, | away, 11. i. 
 144. 
 
 2. Frequently what seems an extra syllable is to be 
 slurred in reading; e. g., "spirit" and "whether" in 
 the following lines are monosyllables : 
 
 Awake | the pert | and nim | ble spirit | of mirth | , I. i. 13. 
 Whether, if | you yield | not to | your fath | er's choice I , 
 I. i. 69. 
 
40 INTRODUCTION 
 
 In 
 
 Either death | or you ] I'll find | imme | diately J , II. ii. 156. 
 
 "either" is a monosyllable and "immediately" has 
 four syllables. In some lines it is doubtful whether a 
 syllable is to be slurred or sounded as a light extra 
 syllable, as e. g., "it" in 
 
 Our sex, | as well | as I, | may chide | you for it, III. ii. 218. 
 
 Conversely, a dissyllable may sometimes be pro- 
 nounced as a trisyllable; e. g., 
 
 That is, | hot ice | and won | d(e)rous | strange snow | , 
 V. i. 59. 
 
 3. Sometimes an emphatic syllable, or one accom- 
 panied by a pause, stands alone as a foot, without an 
 unaccented syllable; e. g., 
 
 For part | ing us, | — O, | is all | forgot | , III. ii. 201. 
 
 4. Short lines, lacking one or more feet, occur ; e. g., 
 
 And kill me too, III. ii. 49. 
 
 Takes it in might, not merit, V. i. 92. 
 
 5. Long lines of twelve syllables occur; e. g., 
 Uncouple in the western valley, let them go, IV. i. 106. 
 And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect, V. i. 91. 
 
 6. Frequently, especially in the first foot, a trochee 
 is substituted for an iambus, i. e., the accent falls on 
 the odd instead of the even syllable ; e . g., 
 
 Turn' 'd her | obedience, which is due to me, I. i. 37. 
 Sick'ness | is catching; O, were favour so, I. i. 186. 
 A privilege | nev'er ] to see me more, III. ii. 79. 
 
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 41 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that the pronuncia- 
 tion of some words has changed since Shakspere's 
 time. Thus "business" has three syllables, in 
 
 I must employ you in some bus-i-ness, I. i. 124. 
 
 "Edict" is accented on the last syllable in 
 
 It stands as an edict' in destiny, I. i. 151. 
 
 And "antique" on the first in 
 
 These an'tique fables, nor these fairy toys, V. i. 3. 
 
 Words ending in "-ion" could have a dissyllabic 
 termination ; e. g., 
 
 So quick bright things come to confus-i-on, I. i. 149. 
 
 Although differences between the language of 
 
 Shakspere and that of our own day are obvious to 
 
 the most casual reader, there is a risk 
 
 Language. . 
 
 that the student may underestimate 
 the extent of these differences, and, assuming that 
 similarity of form implies identity of meaning, miss 
 the true interpretation. The most important instances 
 of change of meaning are explained in the notes ; but 
 a clearer view of the nature and extent of the con- 
 trast between the language of A Midsummer-Night' s 
 Dream and modern English will be gained by a 
 classification of the most frequent features of this 
 contrast. Some of the Elizabethan usages are merely 
 results of the carelessness and freedom which the 
 more elastic standards of the Elizabethan time per- 
 mitted ; others are forms of expression at that time 
 quite accurate, but now become obsolete. 
 
42 INTRODUCTION 
 
 (1) Nouns, (a) Abstract nouns are often used 
 in the plural; e. g., "solemnities," Li. 11 ; "shames," 
 III. ii. 385. 
 
 (b) Nouns are sometimes used as adjectives; e. g., 
 "the Carthage queen," I. i. 173; or as verbs; e. g., 
 "versing love," II. i. 67, 
 
 (2) Pronouns, (a) The possessive "its" did 
 not come into common use until after the middle of 
 the seventeenth century, and in Shakspere, as in other 
 early writers, we have "his"; e. g., "the green corn 
 Hath rotted ere his youth," II. i. 95 ; "Dark night, 
 that from the eye his function takes," III. ii. 177. 
 
 (b) Confusion between the personal and reflexive 
 forms is common ; e. g., "Lysander and myself shall 
 meet," Li. 217. 
 
 (c) The ethical dative is commoner in Shakspere 
 than in modern speech; e. g., "roar you as gently," 
 I. ii. 81 ; "kill me a red-hipp'd humble-bee," IV. 
 i. 11. 
 
 (d) The modern distinction among the relative 
 pronouns, who, which, that, as, is not observed ; e. g., 
 "every man's name, which is thought fit," I. ii. 4. 
 
 (e) The objective case of the personal pronoun is 
 sometimes used reflexively where modern English 
 requires no object; e. g., "We'll rest us" II. ii. 37; 
 "sit thee down," IV. i. 1. 
 
 (3) Adjectives, (a) Double comparatives and 
 superlatives occur; e. g., "What worser place," II. i. 
 208; "for the more better assurance," III. i. 19. 
 
 (b) Adjectives are sometimes used as nouns; e.g., 
 
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 43 
 
 "Demetrius loves your fair, O happy fair!" I. i. 182; 
 "Gentles," V. i. 126. 
 
 (4) Verbs, (a) A singular verb is often found 
 with a plural subject; e. g., "Where oxlips and the 
 nodding violet groivs," II. i. 250; "virtues . . . doth 
 move me," III. i. 139. 
 
 (b) The "n" is frequently dropped from the 
 ending of the past participle of strong verbs; e. g., 
 "spoke," I. i. 112; "broke," I. i. 175. 
 
 (c) Verbs of motion are at times omitted; e. g., 
 "thou shalt not from this grove," II. i. 146; "I'll to 
 my queen," III. ii. 375. 
 
 (d) "Be" is sometimes used for "are" in the plural 
 of the present indicative; e. g., "Those be rubies," 
 
 II. i. 12; "whereon these sleepers be" IV. i. 85. 
 
 (e) "To" is sometimes used with the infinitive 
 where it is omitted now, and conversely; e. g., "How r 
 long within this wood intend you^stay?" II. i. 138. 
 
 (/) The infinitive with "to" is occasionally used 
 in place of the construction with a participle or a 
 gerund ; e . g., "make a heaven of hell, To die upon 
 the hand," II. i. 244; "rivals, to mock Helena," 
 
 III. ii. 156. 
 
 (g) A verb now only intransitive may be used 
 transitively; e. g., "her mantle she did fall" V. i. 141. 
 
 (5) Adverbs. (a) Double negatives are used 
 with a merely intensive force; e.g., "nor never," II. ii. 
 126; "nor none," III. ii. 135; "I do not, nor I can- 
 not love you," II. i. 201. 
 
 (b) The form of the adjective is often used for 
 
44 INTRODUCTION 
 
 the adverb; e. g., "that kills himself most gallant for 
 love," I. ii. 23; "So quick bright things come to con- 
 fusion," I. i. 149. 
 
 (6) Prepositions. (a) These are sometimes 
 omitted; e. g., "Steal forth thy father's house," I. i. 
 164; "fly my presence," II. ii. 97. 
 
 ib) A preposition is occasionally used where a 
 modern verb takes a direct object; e. g., "marry with 
 Demetrius," I. i. 40; "admiring of his qualities," 
 I. i. 231 ; "warbling of one song," III. ii. 206. 
 
 (c) The usa^e of prepositions is often different 
 from that of today; e. g., "Against our nuptial, and 
 confer with you Of something," I. i. 125 ; "Or in the 
 beached margent of the sea," II. i. 85; "More fond 
 on her than she upon her love," II. i. 266. 
 
 (7) Conjunctions. These are often omitted; 
 e. g., "look^you arm yourself," I. i. 117; "As v it 
 should pierce," II. i. 160. 
 
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAxM 
 
[DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 Theseus, duke of Athens. 
 Egeus, father to Hermia. 
 Lysander, betrothed to Hermia. 
 Demetrius, in love with Hermia. 
 Philostrate, master of the revels to Theseus. 
 
 Quince, a carpenter, 
 Bottom, a weaver, 
 Flute, a bellows-mender, 
 Snout, a tinker, 
 Snug, a joiner, 
 Starveling, a tailor, 
 
 presenting 
 
 Prologue. 
 
 Pyramus. 
 
 Thisbe. 
 
 Wall. 
 
 Lion. 
 
 Moonshine. 
 
 Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus. 
 
 Hermia, daughter to Egeus, betrothed to Lysander. 
 
 Helena, in love with Demetrius. 
 
 Oberon, king of the fairies. 
 
 Titania, queen of the fairies. 
 
 Robin Goodfellow, a Puck. 
 
 Peaseblossom, 
 
 Cobweb, 
 
 Moth, 
 
 mustardseed, 
 
 fairies. 
 
 Other fairies attending their King and Queen. 
 Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. 
 
 Scene: Athens, and a wood near 
 
 it.] 
 
 46 
 
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 
 ACT I. 
 
 [Scene I. Athens. The palace of Theseus.] 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, [Philostrate,] with 
 others. 
 
 The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
 Draws on apace. Four happy days bring in 
 Another moon ; but, O, methinks how slow 
 This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires, 
 5 Like to a step-dame or a dowager 
 Long withering out a young man's revenue. 
 
 Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in 
 night; 
 Four nights will quickly dream away the time ; 
 And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
 10 New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
 Of our solemnities. 
 
 The. Go, Philostrate, 
 
 Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
 Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; 
 Turn melancholy forth to funerals ; 
 15 The pale companion is not for our pomp. 
 
 [Exit Philostrate.] 
 Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, 
 And w T on thy love, doing thee injuries; 
 
48 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM i.i. 
 
 But I will wed thee in another key, 
 
 With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 
 
 Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, <W Demetrius. 
 
 Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned Duke! 
 
 The. Thanks, good Egeus; what's the news with 
 thee ? 
 
 Ege. Full of, vexation come I, with complaint 
 Against my child, my daughter Hermia. 
 Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, 
 This man hath my consent to marry her. 2 s 
 
 Stand forth, Lysander: and, my gracious Duke, 
 This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child. 
 Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, 
 And interchang'd love-tokens with my child. 
 Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung 30 
 
 With faining voice verses of faining love, 
 And stolen the impression of her fantasy 
 W'ith bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, 
 Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, — messengers 
 Of strong prevailment in unhard'ned youth. 35 
 
 With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart, 
 Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, 
 To stubborn harshness ; and, my gracious Duke, 
 Be it so she will not here before your Grace 
 Consent to marry with Demetrius, 40 
 
 I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, 
 As she is mine, I may dispose of her; 
 Which shall be either to this gentleman 
 Or to her death, according to our law 
 
i. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 49 
 
 Immediately provided in that case. 
 
 The. What say you, Hermia? Be advis'd, fair 
 maid. 
 To you your father should be as a god, 
 One that compos'd your beauties, yea, and one 
 To whom you are but as a form in wax 
 By him imprinted, and within his power 
 To leave the figure or disfigure it. 
 Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 
 
 Her. So is Lysander. 
 
 The . In himself he is ; 
 
 But in this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
 The other must be held the worthier. 
 
 Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes. 
 
 The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment 
 look. 
 
 Her. I do entreat your Grace to pardon me. 
 I know not by what power I am made bold, 
 Nor how it may concern my modesty, 
 In such a presence here to plead my thoughts ; 
 But I beseech your Grace that I may know 
 The worst that may befall me in this case, 
 If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 
 
 The. Either to die the death or to abjure 
 For ever the society of men. 
 Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, 
 Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
 Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
 You can endure the livery of a nun, 
 For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
 
50 A MIDSUMMER-XIGHT'S DREAM i. i. 
 
 To live a barren sister all your life, 
 
 Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
 
 Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood 
 
 To undergo such maiden pilgrimage ; ?5 
 
 But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, 
 
 Than that which withering on the virgin thorn 
 
 Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness. 
 
 Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, 
 Ere I will yield my virgin patent up so 
 
 Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
 My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 
 
 The. Take time to pause; and, by the next new 
 moon — 
 The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, 
 For everlasting bond of fellowship — 85 
 
 Upon that day either prepare to die 
 For disobedience to your father's will, 
 Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would, 
 Or on Diana's altar to protest 
 For aye austerity and single life. 90 
 
 Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield 
 Thy crazed title to my certain right. 
 
 Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius, 
 Let me have Hermia's ; do you marry him. 
 
 Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love, 95 
 And what is mine my love shall render him. 
 And she is mine, and all my right of her 
 I do estate unto Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, 
 As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; 10c 
 
i. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 51 
 
 My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, 
 
 If not with vantage, as Demetrius' ; 
 
 And which is more than all these boasts can be, 
 
 I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia. 
 
 Why should not I then prosecute my right? 
 
 Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, 
 
 Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
 
 And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, 
 
 Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, 
 
 Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 
 
 The. I must confess that I have heard so much, 
 And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; 
 But, being over-full of self-affairs, 
 My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come ; 
 And come, Egeus ; you shall go with me, 
 I have some private schooling for you both. 
 For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
 To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 
 Or else the law of Athens yields you up — 
 Which by no means we may extenuate — 
 To death, or to a vow of single life. 
 Come, my Hippolyta; what cheer, my love? 
 Demetrius and Egeus, go along. 
 I must employ you in some business 
 Against our nuptial, and confer with you 
 Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 
 
 Ege. With duty and desire we follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia. 
 
 Lys. How now, my love! why is your cheek so 
 pale? 
 
52 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM i. i. 
 
 How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? 
 
 Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could well 130 
 Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. 
 
 Lys. Ay me ! for aught that I could ever read 
 Could ever hear by tale or history, 
 The course of true love never did run smooth ; 
 But, either it was different in blood, — 135 
 
 He r. O cross ! too high to be enthrall'd to low. 
 
 Lys. Or else misgraffed in respect of years, — 
 
 Her. O spite ! too old to be engag'd to young. 
 
 Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends, — 
 
 Her. O hell ! to choose love by another's eyes. 140 
 
 Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
 War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, 
 Making it momentany as a sound, 
 Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, 
 Brief as the lightning in the collied night, 145 
 
 That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
 And ere a man hath power to say "Behold !" 
 The jaws of darkness do devour it up; 
 So quick bright things come to confusion. 
 
 Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, 150 
 1: ;tands as an edict in destiny. 
 Then let us teach our trial patience,, 
 Because it is a customary cross, 
 As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, 
 Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers. 155 
 
 Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, 
 Hermia. 
 I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
 
i. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 53 
 
 Of great revenue, and she hath no child. 
 
 From Athens is her house remote seven leagues; 
 
 loo And she respects me as her only son. 
 
 There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee; , 
 And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
 Cannot pursue us. If thou lov'st me then, 
 Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night; 
 
 165 And in the wood, a league without the town, 
 Where I did meet thee once with Helena 
 To do observance to a morn of May, 
 There will I stay for thee. 
 
 Her. My good Lysander ! 
 
 I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow, 
 
 170 By his best arrow with the golden head. 
 By the simplicity of Venus' doves, 
 By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, 
 And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, 
 When the false Troyan under sail w T as seen, 
 
 175 By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
 In number more than ever women spoke. 
 In that same place thou hast appointed me 
 To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 
 
 Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes 
 Helena. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 iso Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away? 
 Hel. Call you me fair ? That fair again unsay. 
 Demetrius loves your fair, O happy fair! 
 Your eyes are lode-stars, and your tongue's sweet air 
 
54 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM i. i. 
 
 More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear 
 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 1&5 
 
 Sickness is catching; O, were favour so, 
 
 Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; 
 
 My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, 
 
 My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
 
 Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 190 
 
 The rest I'll give to be to you translated. 
 
 O, teach me how you look, and with what art 
 
 You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
 
 Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 
 
 Hel. O that your frowns would teach my smiles 195 
 such skill ! 
 
 Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 
 
 Hel. O that my prayers could such affection move ! 
 
 Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 
 
 Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 
 
 Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 200 
 
 Hel. None, but your beauty. Would that fault 
 were mine! 
 
 Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face ; 
 Lysander and myself will fly this place. 
 Before the time I did Ljsander see, 
 
 Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me ; 205 
 
 O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, 
 That he hath turned a heaven unto a hell ! 
 
 Lys. Helen, to you our minds we w T ill unfold. 
 To-morrow night, when Phcebe doth behold 
 Her silver visage in the watery glass, 210 
 
 Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
 
i. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 55 
 
 A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal, 
 Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 
 Her. And in the wood,, where often you and I 
 
 215 Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, 
 Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, 
 There my Lysander and myself shall meet ; 
 And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, 
 To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
 
 220 Farewell, sweet playfellow ! Pray thou for us ; 
 
 And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! 
 
 Keep w T ord, Lysander; we must starve our sight 
 
 From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight. 
 
 Lys. I w T ill, my Hermia. 
 
 [Exit Herm. 
 
 Helena, adieu : 
 225 As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Hel. How happy some o'er other some can be ! 
 
 Through Athens I am thought as fair as sjie. 
 
 But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so ; 
 
 He will not know what all but he do know; 
 230 And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 
 
 So I, admiring of his qualities. 
 
 Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
 
 Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
 
 Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, 
 235 And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 
 
 Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; 
 
 Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste ; 
 
 And therefore is Love said to be a child, 
 
56 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM i. ii. 
 
 Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
 
 As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 240 
 
 So the boy Love is perjur'd every where: 
 
 For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, 
 
 He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine; 
 
 And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, 
 
 So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 245 
 
 I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight ; 
 
 Then to the wood will he to-morrow night 
 
 Pursue her ; and for this intelligence 
 
 If I have thanks, it is a dear expense. 
 
 But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 250 
 
 To have his sight thither and back again. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 [Scexe II. Athens. Quince's house.] 
 
 Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and 
 Starveling. 
 
 Quin. Is all our company here? 
 
 Bot. You were best to call them generally, man 
 by man, according to the scrip. 
 
 Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, 
 which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in 5 
 our interlude before the Duke and the Duchess, on 
 his wedding-day at night. 
 
 Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play 
 treats on, then read the names of the actors, and so 
 grow to a point. 10 
 
 Quin. Marry, our play is. The most lamentable 
 
i. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 57 
 
 comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby. 
 Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and 
 a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your 
 15 actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves. 
 
 Quin. Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the 
 weaver. 
 
 Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and 
 proceed. 
 20 Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for 
 Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. What is Pyramus ? A lover, or a tyrant ? 
 Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for 
 love. 
 25 Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per- 
 forming of it. If I do it, let the audience look to 
 their eyes. I will move storms, I w T ill condole in 
 some measure. To the rest. Yet my chief humour 
 is for a tyrant. I could play Ercles rarely, or a part 
 30 to tear a cat in, to make all split. 
 " The raging rocks 
 And shivering shocks 
 Shall break the locks 
 Of prison gates; 
 35 And Phibbus' car 
 
 Shall shine from far 
 And make and mar 
 The foolish Fates." 
 This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players. 
 40 This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more 
 condoling. 
 
58 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM i. ii. 
 
 Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 
 
 Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. Flute, you must take Thisby on you. 
 
 Flu. What is Thisby? A wandering knight? 45 
 
 Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 
 
 Flu. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I 
 have a beard coming. 
 
 Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, 
 and you may speak as small as you will. 50 
 
 Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby 
 too. I'll speak in a monstrous little voice. "Thisne! 
 Thisne! Ah Pyramus, my lover dear! thy Thisby 
 dear, and lady dear!" 
 
 Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus ; and, 55 
 Flute, you Thisby. 
 
 Bot. Well, proceed. 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 
 
 Star. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby 's 60 
 mother. Tom Snout, the tinker. 
 
 Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You, Pyramus' father; myself, Thisby's 
 father. Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part; and, I 
 hope, here is a play fitted. 65 
 
 Snug. Have you the lion's part written? Pray 
 you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 
 
 Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing 
 but roaring. 
 
 Bot. Let me play the Ijon too. I will roar, that I 70 
 will do anv man's heart good to hear me. I will 
 
i. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 59 
 
 roar, that I will make the Duke say, "Let him roar 
 again, let him roar again." 
 
 Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would 
 75 fright the Duchess and the ladies, that they would 
 shriek; and that were enough to hang us all. 
 
 All. That would hang us, every mother's son. 
 
 Bot. I grant you, friends, if you should fright the 
 
 ladies out of their wits, they would have no more 
 
 80 discretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my 
 
 voice so that I will roar you as gently as any sucking 
 
 dove ; I will roar you an 't were any nightingale. 
 
 Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for 
 Pyramus is a sweet-fac'd man; a proper man, as one 
 85 shall see in a summer's day ; a most lovely gentleman- 
 like man : therefore you must needs play Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were 
 I best to play it in? 
 
 Quin. Why, what you will. 
 90 Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
 colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple- 
 in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, 
 your perfect yellow. 
 
 Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair 
 95 at all, and then you will play barefac'd. But, masters, 
 here are your parts ; and I am to entreat you, request 
 you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night ; 
 and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the 
 town, by moonlight. There will we rehearse, for if 
 ioo we meet in the city, we shall be dogg'd with com- 
 pany, and our devices known. In the meantime I 
 
60 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM i. ii. 
 
 will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. 
 I pray you, fail me not. 
 
 Bot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse 
 most obscenely and courageously. Take pains; be 
 perfect ; adieu. 
 
 Qu'in. At the Duke's oak w T e meet. 
 
 Bot. Enough ; hold or cut bow-strings. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
ACT II. 
 
 [Scene I. A wood near Athens.'] 
 
 Enter a Fairy at one door and Robin GooDFELLOW 
 at another. 
 
 Robin. How now, spirit! whither wander you? 
 Fai. Over hill, over dale, 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
 Over park, over pale, 
 5 Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
 
 I do wander every where, 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere; 
 And I serve the fairy Queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the green. 
 10 The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 
 
 In their gold coats spots you see ; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favours, 
 In those freckles live their savours. 
 I must go seek some dewdrops here 
 15 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone. 
 Our Queen and all her elves come here anon. 
 
 Robin. The King doth keep his revels here 
 to-night ; 
 Take heed the Queen come not within his sight. 
 20 For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 
 
 61 
 
62 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM n. i. 
 
 Because that she as her attendant hath 
 
 A lovely boy stolen from an Indian king. 
 
 She never had so sweet a changeling; 
 
 And jealous Oberon would have the child 
 
 Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild; 25 
 
 But she perforce withholds the loved boy, 
 
 Crowns him with -flowers, and makes him all her joy; 
 
 And now they never meet in grove or green, 
 
 By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, 
 
 But they do square, that all their elves for fear 30 
 
 Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there. 
 
 Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite. 
 Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite 
 Call'd Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he 
 That frights the maidens of the villagery, 35 
 
 Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern, 
 And bootless make the breathless housewife churn, 
 And sometime make the drink to bear no barm, 
 Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? 
 Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 40 
 
 You do their work, and they shall have good luck. 
 Are not you he? 
 
 Robin. Thou speakest aright ; 
 
 I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
 I jest to Oberon and make him smile 
 When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 45 
 
 Neighing in likeness of a filly foal ; 
 And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
 In very likeness of a roasted crab, 
 And when she drinks, against her lips I bob 
 
ii. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 63 
 
 50 And on her withered dewlap pour the ale. 
 The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, 
 Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me. 
 Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, 
 And "tailor" cries, and falls into a cough ; 
 
 55 And then the whole quire hold their hips 'and laugh, 
 And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there. 
 But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon. 
 
 Fai. And here my mistress. Would that he were 
 gone! 
 
 Enter the King of Fairies [Oberon] at one door 
 with his train; and the Queen [Titania] at 
 another with hers. 
 
 60 Obe. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. 
 
 Tita. What, jealous Oberon ! Fairies, skip hence : 
 I have forsworn his bed and company. 
 
 Obe. Tarry, rash wanton! Am not I thy lord? 
 Tita. Then I must be thy lady ; but I know 
 65 When thou hast stolen away from fairy land, 
 And in the shape of Corin sat all day, 
 Playing on pipes of corn and versing love 
 To amorous Phillida. W"hy art thou here, 
 Come from the farthest steep of India? 
 70 But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
 Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love, 
 To Theseus must be wedded, and you come 
 To give their bed joy and prosperity. 
 
 Obe. How canst thou thus for shame, Titania, 
 
64 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM n. i. 
 
 Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 75 
 
 Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? 
 
 Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering 
 
 night 
 From Perigenia, whom he ravished? 
 And make him with fair ^gle break his faith, 
 With Ariadne, and Antiopa? so 
 
 Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy; 
 And never, since the middle summer's spring, 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead, 
 By paved fountain or by rushy brook, 
 Or in the beached margent of the sea, 85 
 
 To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
 But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
 Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 
 As in revenge, hath suck'd up from the sea 
 Contagious fogs; which, falling in the land, 90 
 
 Have every petty river made so proud 
 That they have overborne their continents. 
 The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, 
 The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn 
 Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard. 95 
 
 The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
 And crows are fatted with the murrain flock, 
 The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud, 
 And the quaint mazes in the wanton green 
 For lack of tread are undistinguishable. 10c 
 
 The human mortals want their winter cheer; 
 No night is now with hymn or carol blest ; 
 Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
 
ii. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 65 
 
 Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
 
 105 That rheumatic diseases do abound. 
 
 And thorough this distemperature we see 
 The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, 
 And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown 
 
 no An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 Is, as in mockery, set; the spring, the summer. 
 The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
 Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world, 
 By their increase, now knows not which is which. 
 
 .is And this same progeny of evils comes 
 From our debate, from our dissension ; 
 We are their parents and original. 
 
 Obe. Do you amend it then; it lies in you. 
 Why should Titania cross her Oberon? 
 
 120 I do but beg a little changeling boy 
 To be my henchman. 
 
 Tita. Set your heart at rest ; 
 
 The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
 His mother was a votaress of my order, 
 And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
 
 125 Full often hath she gossip'd by my side, 
 
 And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
 Marking the embarked traders on the flood, 
 When we have laugh 'd to see the sails conceive 
 And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind ; 
 
 130 Which she with pretty and with swimming gait 
 Following, her womb then rich with my young squire, 
 Would imitate, and sail upon the land 
 
66 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM n. i. 
 
 To fetch me trifles, and return again, 
 
 As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. 
 
 But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; 135 
 
 And for her sake do I rear up her boy, 
 
 And for her sake I will not part with him. 
 
 Obe . How long within this wood intend you stay ? 
 
 Tita. Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day. 
 If you will patiently dance in our round ho 
 
 And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; 
 If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 
 
 Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 
 
 Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away ! 
 We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 145 
 
 [Exit [Titania with he?- train]. 
 
 Obe. Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this 
 grove 
 Till I torment thee for this injury. 
 My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb'rest 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
 And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back 150 
 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song, 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
 To hear the sea-maid's music? 
 
 Robin. I remember. 
 
 Obe. That very time I saw, but thou couldst net, 155 
 Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
 Cupid all arm'd. A certain aim he took 
 At a fair vestal throned by the west, 
 And loos'd his love-shaft smartlv from his bow, 
 
ii. i. A MIDSUMMER- NIGHT'S DREAM 67 
 
 160 As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts; 
 
 But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
 
 Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, 
 
 And the imperial votaress passed on. 
 
 In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
 165 Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell. 
 
 It fell upon a little western flower, 
 
 Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound. 
 
 And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
 
 Fetch me that flower, the herb I shew'd thee once. 
 no The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid 
 
 Will make or man or woman madly dote 
 
 Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
 
 Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again 
 
 Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 
 
 175 Robin. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
 
 In forty minutes. r „ . -. 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
 Obe. Having once this juice. 
 
 I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, 
 
 And drop the liquor of it in her eyes. 
 
 The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
 i8o Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 
 
 On meddling monkey, or on busy ape, 
 
 She shall pursue it with the soul of love; 
 
 And ere I take this charm from off her sight, 
 
 As I can take it with another herb, 
 155 I'll make her render up her page to me. 
 
 But who comes here ? I am invisible ; 
 
 And I will overhear their conference. 
 
68 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM n. i. 
 
 Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. 
 
 Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. 
 Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? 
 The one I'll stay, the other stayeth me. 190 
 
 Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood ; 
 And here am I, and wood within this wood, 
 Because I cannot meet my Hermia. 
 Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 
 
 He I. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant ; 195 
 But jet you draw not iron, for my heart 
 Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, 
 And I shall have no power to follow you. 
 
 Dem. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair? 
 Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth 200 
 
 Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you ? 
 
 Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
 I am your spaniel, and, Demetrius, 
 The more you beat me, I will fawn on you. 
 Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, 205 
 
 Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, 
 Unworthy as I am to follow you. 
 What worser place can I beg in your love, — 
 And jet a place of high respect with me, — 
 Than to be used as you use your dog? 210 
 
 Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit, 
 For I am sick when I do look on thee. 
 
 Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. 
 
 Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much, 
 To leave the city and commit yourself 215 
 
ii. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 69 
 
 Into the hands of one that loves you not; 
 To trust the opportunity of night 
 And the ill counsel of a desert place 
 With the rich worth of your virginity. 
 
 220 Hel. Your virtue is my privilege. For that 
 It is not night when I do see your face, 
 Therefore I think I am not in the night; 
 Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, 
 For you in my respect are all the world. 
 
 225 Then how can it be said I am alone, 
 
 When all the world is here to look on me ? 
 
 Dem. I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes, 
 And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 
 
 Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
 
 230 Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd : 
 Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; 
 The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
 Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed, 
 When cowardice pursues and valour flies. 
 
 235 Dem. I will not stay thy questions ; let me go ; 
 Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
 But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 
 
 Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, 
 You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius ! 
 
 240 Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex. 
 We cannot fight for love, as men may do. 
 We should be woo'd and were not made to woo. 
 
 [Exit Dem.] 
 I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, 
 To die upon the hand I love so well. [Exit. 
 
70 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM n. i. 
 
 Obe. Fare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave 245 
 this grove, 
 Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love. 
 
 Re-enter [Robin Goodfellow]. 
 
 Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer. 
 
 Robin. Ay, there it is. 
 
 Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 
 
 I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, 
 Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, 250 
 
 Quite over-canopi'd with luscious woodbine, 
 With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine. 
 There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, 
 Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight ; 
 And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, 255 
 
 Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in ; 
 And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, 
 And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
 Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove. 
 A sw^eet Athenian lady is in love 260 
 
 With a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes, 
 But do it when the next thing he espies 
 May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
 Effect it with some care, that he may prove 265 
 
 More fond on her than she upon her love; 
 And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
 
 Robin. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
ii. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 71 
 
 [Scene II. Another part of the wood.] 
 
 Enter Titania, with her train. 
 
 Tita. Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; 
 Then, for the third part of a minute, hence; 
 Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds, 
 Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings 
 To make my small elves coats, and some keep back 
 The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders 
 At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; 
 Then to your offices and let me rest. 
 
 The Fairies sing. 
 
 [1. Fairy.] "You spotted snakes with double 
 tongue, 
 Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 
 Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong, 
 Come not near our fairy queen." 
 
 [Cho.] "Philomel, with melody 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby; 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby. 
 Never harm, 
 Nor spell nor charm, 
 Come our lovely lady nigh. 
 So, good night, with lullaby." 
 
72 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM n. ii. 
 
 1. Fairy. "Weaving spiders, come not here ; 20 
 
 Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence ! 
 Beetles black, approach not near ; 
 Worm nor snail, do no offence." 
 
 [Cho.] "Philomel, with melody," etc. 
 
 2. Fairy. Hence, away! now all is well. 25 
 
 One aloof stand sentinel. 
 
 [Exeunt Fairies.] Titania sleeps. 
 
 Enter Oberon [and squeezes the flower on Titania 's 
 eyelids]. 
 
 Obe. What thou seest when thou dost wake, 
 Do it for thy true-love take, 
 Love and languish for his sake. 
 Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 30 
 
 Pard, or boar with bristled hair, 
 In thy eye that shall appear 
 When thou wak'st, it is thy dear. 
 Wake when some vile thing is near. 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
 Enter Lysaxder and Hermia. 
 
 Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the 
 
 wood ; 35 
 
 And to speak troth, I have forgot our way. 
 We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, 
 
 And tarry for the comfort of the day. 
 
 Her. Be it so, Lysander. Find you out a bed ; 
 For I upon this bank will rest my head. 40 
 
ii. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 73 
 
 Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both ; 
 
 One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. 
 Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my dear, 
 
 Lie further off yet ; do not lie so near. 
 45 Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence ! 
 
 Love takes the meaning in love's conference, 
 
 I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit 
 
 So that but one heart we can make of it ; 
 
 Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; 
 50 So then two bosoms and a single troth. 
 
 Then by your side no bed-room me deny ; 
 
 For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 
 Her. Lysander riddles very prettily. 
 
 Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, 
 55 If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. 
 
 But, gentle friend, for love arid courtesy 
 
 Lie further off ; in human modesty, 
 
 Such separation as may well be said 
 
 Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, 
 60 So far be distant ; and, good night, sweet friend. 
 
 Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end ! 
 Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; 
 
 And then end life when I end loyalty! 
 
 Here is my bed ; sleep give thee all his rest ! 
 65 Her. With half that wish the wisher's eves be 
 press'd ! [They sleep. 
 
 Enter [ROBIN GOODFELLOW]. 
 
 Robin. Through the forest have I gone, 
 But Athenian found I none, 
 
74 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM n. ii. 
 
 On whose eyes I might approve 
 
 This flower's force in stirring love. 
 
 Night and silence — Who is here? 70 
 
 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. 75 
 
 Pretty soul! she durst not lie 
 
 Near this lack-love kill-courtesy. 
 
 Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
 
 All the power this charm doth owe. 
 
 When thou wak'st, let love forbid so 
 
 Sleep his seat on thy eyelid ; 
 
 So awake when I am gone, 
 
 For I must now to Oberon. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 
 
 Hel. Stay though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me 85 
 thus. 
 
 Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? Do not so. 
 
 Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; I alone will go. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! 
 The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
 Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies, 90 
 
 For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
 How came her eves so bright? Not with salt tears ; 
 
ii. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 75 
 
 If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
 
 No, no, I am as ugly as a bear, 
 95 For beasts that meet me run away for fear ; 
 
 Therefore no marvel though Demetrius 
 
 Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
 
 What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
 
 Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne? 
 100 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. [Awaking.] And run through fire I will for 
 thy sweet sake. 
 
 Transparent Helena ! Nature shows art, 
 105 That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
 
 Where is Demetrius ? O, 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 ? 
 no Yet Hermia still loves you; then be content. 
 
 Lys. Content with Hermia! No; I do repent 
 
 The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
 
 Not Hermia but Helena I love. 
 
 Who will not change a raven for a dove? 
 115 The will of man is by his reason sway'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, 
 120 Reason becomes the marshal to my will 
 
76 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM n. ii. 
 
 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, 125 
 
 That I did never, no, nor never can, 
 
 Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
 
 But you must flout my insufficiency ? 
 
 Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth you do. 
 
 In such disdainful manner me to woo. 130 
 
 But fare you well ; perforce I must confess 
 
 I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
 
 O, that a lady, of one man refus'd, 
 
 Should of another therefore be abus'd ! r „ . 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lys. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou 
 
 there ; 135 
 
 And never mayst 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, 140 
 
 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. r „ . 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Her. [Aivaking.] Help me, Lysander, help me! 
 
 do thy best 145 
 
 To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
 
ii. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 77 
 
 Ay me, for pity ! what a dream was here ! 
 
 Lysander, look how I do quake with fear. 
 
 Methought a serpent eat my heart away, 
 150 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. 
 155 No? then I well perceive you are not nigh. 
 
 Either death or you I'll find immediately. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
ACT III. 
 
 [Scene I. The wood. Titania lying asleep.] 
 
 Enter the clowns [Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, 
 Snout and Starveling]. 
 
 Bot. Are we all met ? 
 
 Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous con- 
 venient place for our rehearsal. This green plot 
 shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiring- 
 house ; and we will do it in action as we will do it 
 before the Duke. 
 
 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 'r lakin, 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 Pvramus is not kill'd indeed; and, for the more 
 
in. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 79 
 
 20 better assurance, tell them that I Pyramus am not 
 Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver. This will put 
 them out of fear. 
 
 Qui?i. Well, we will have such a prologue; and 
 it shall be written in eight and six. 
 25 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 your- 
 
 30 selves. 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 't. 
 
 Snout. Therefore another prologue must tell he 
 35 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 
 same defect, "Ladies," or "Fair ladies, I would wish 
 40 you," or "I would request you," or "I would entreat 
 you, not to fear, not to tremble: my life for yours. 
 If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of 
 my life. No, I am no such thing; I am a man as 
 other men are;" and there indeed let him name his 
 45 name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner. 
 
 Quin. Well, it shal] be so. But there is two hard 
 things; that- is, to bring the moonlight into a cham- 
 ber ; for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by 
 moonlight. 
 
80 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM in. i. 
 
 Snout. Doth the moon shine that night we play 
 our play? 
 
 Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! Look in the almanac ! 
 Find out moonshine, find out moonshine. 
 
 Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 
 
 Bot. Why, then may you leave a casement of the 
 great chamber window, w T here we play, open, and the 
 moon may shine in at the casement. 
 
 Quin. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush 
 of thorns and a lantern, and say he comes to disfigure, 
 or to present, the person of Moonshine. Then, there 
 is another thing: we must have a wall in the great 
 chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, 
 did talk through the chink of a wall. 
 
 Snout. You can never bring in a wall. What say 
 you, Bottom? 
 
 Bot. Some man or other must present Wall ; and 
 let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some 
 rough-cast about him, to signify wall; or let him 
 hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall 
 Pyramus and Thisby whisper. 
 
 Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
 down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. 
 Pyramus, you begin. When you have spoken your 
 speech, enter into that brake. And so every one 
 according to his cue. 
 
 Enter Robin Goodfellow [behind]. 
 
 Robin. What hempen home-spuns have we swag- 
 gering here, 
 
 50 
 
in. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 81 
 
 So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? 
 What, a play toward! I'll be an auditor; 
 An actor too perhaps, if I see cause. 
 so Quin. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth. 
 
 Bot. "Thisby, the flowers of odious savours 
 
 sweet," — 
 Quin. Odorous, odorous. 
 
 Bot. "odours savours sweet ; 
 
 So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. 
 85 But hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile, 
 And by and by I will to thee appear." 
 
 [Exit. 
 Robin. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here. 
 
 [Exit]. 
 Flu. Must I speak now? 
 
 Quin. Ay, marry, must you ; for you must under- 
 90 stand he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is 
 to come again. 
 
 Flu. "Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of 
 hue, 
 Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
 Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew, 
 95 As true as truest horse that yet would never tire, 
 
 I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb." 
 Quin. "Ninus' tomb," man. Why, you must not 
 speak that yet; that you answer to Pyramus. You 
 speak all your part at once, cues and all. Pyramus 
 ioo enter. Your cue is past; it is "never tire." 
 
 Flu. O, — "As true as truest horse, that yet would 
 never tire." 
 
82 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM m. i 
 
 [Re-enter Robin Goodfellow, and Bottom with 
 an ass's head.] 
 
 Bot. "If I were, fair Thisby, I were only thine." 
 Quin. O monstrous! O strange! We are haunted. 
 Pray, masters! fly, masters! Help! 
 
 [Exeunt [Quince, Snug, Flute, Snout, 
 and Starveling]. 
 Robin. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, 105 
 Through bog, through bush, through brake, 
 through brier. 
 Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, 
 A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
 And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, 
 Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. no 
 
 [Exit. 
 Bot. Why do they run away? This is a knavery 
 of them to make me afeard. 
 
 Re-enter Sxout. 
 
 Snout. O Bottom, thou art chang'd ! What do I 
 see on thee? 
 
 Bot. What do you see? You see an ass-head of 115 
 your own, do you? [Exit Snout.] 
 
 Re-enter Quince. 
 
 Quin. Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art 
 translated. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Bot. I see their knavery; this is to make an ass 
 

 m. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM S3 
 
 120 of me, to fright me, if they could. But I will not 
 
 stir from this place, do what they can. I will walk 
 
 up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall 
 
 hear I am not afraid. [Sings.] 
 
 "The ousel cock so black of hue, 
 
 125 With orange-tawny bill, 
 
 The throstle with his note so true, 
 The wren with little quill," — 
 Tita. [Awaking.] What angel wakes me from 
 
 my flowery bed ? 
 Bot. [Sings.] 
 
 "The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, 
 130 The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
 
 Whose note full many a man doth mark, 
 And dares not answer nay;" — 
 for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a 
 bird ? Who would give a bird the lie, though he cry 
 135 "cuckoo" never so? 
 
 Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. 
 Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note; 
 So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
 And thy fair virtues, force perforce, doth move me 
 140 On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee. 
 
 Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little 
 
 reason for that; and yet, to say the truth, reason and 
 
 love keep little company together now-a-days; the 
 
 more the pity that some honest neighbours will not 
 
 145 make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion. 
 
 Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 
 
 Bot. Not so, neither ; but if I had wit enough to 
 
84 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM m. i. 
 
 get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine 
 own turn. 
 
 Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go; 150 
 
 Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 
 I am a spirit of no common rate ; 
 The summer still doth tend upon my state; 
 And I do love thee ; therefore, go with me. 
 I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee, 155 
 
 And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, 
 And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep. 
 And I will purge thy mortal grossness so 
 That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. 
 Peaseblossom ! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed ! 160 
 
 Enter Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and 
 
 MUSTARDSEED. 
 
 Peas. Ready. 
 
 Cob. And I. 
 
 Moth. And I. 
 
 Mus. And I. 
 
 All. Where shall we go ? 
 
 Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman. 
 Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes ; 
 Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, 
 With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; 165 
 
 The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, 
 And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs 
 And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, 
 To have mv love to bed and to arise ; 
 
in. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 85 
 
 170 And pluck the wings from painted butterflies 
 To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes. 
 Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 
 Peas. Hail, mortal! 
 Cob. Hail! 
 175 Moth. Hail! 
 Mm. Hail! 
 
 Bot. I cry jour worships mercy, heartily. I 
 beseech your worship's name. 
 Cob. Cobweb. 
 180 Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good 
 Master Cobweb. If I cut my ringer, I shall make 
 bold with you. Your name, honest gentleman ? 
 Peas. Peaseblossom. 
 
 Bot. I pray you commend me to Mistress Squash, 
 
 185 your mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. 
 
 Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of 
 
 more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, 
 
 sir? 
 
 Mus. Mustardseed. 
 190 Bot. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your 
 patience well. That same cowardly, giant-like ox»beef 
 hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I 
 promise you your kindred hath made my eyes water 
 ere now. I desire you more acquaintance, good 
 195 Master Mustardseed. 
 
 Tita. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to my 
 
 bower. 
 The moon methinks looks with a watery eye, 
 And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, 
 
86 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM 
 
 in. 11. 
 
 Lamenting some enforced chastity. 
 Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 2 oo 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 [Scene II. Another part of the wood.] 
 
 Enter Oberon. 
 
 Obe. I wonder if Titania be awak'd ; 
 Then, what it was that next came in her eye, 
 Which she must dote on in extremity. 
 
 Enter ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
 
 Here comes my messenger. 
 
 How now, mad spirit! 
 What night-rule now about this haunted grove? 5 
 
 Robin. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
 Near to her close and consecrated bower, 
 While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
 A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, 
 That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 10 
 
 Were met together to rehearse a play 
 Intended for great Theseus' nuptial-day. 
 The shallowest thickskin of that barren sort, 
 Who Pyramus presented in their sport, 
 Forsook his scene and ent'red in a brake. 15 
 
 When I did him at this advantage take, 
 An ass's nole I fixed on his head. 
 Anon his Thisby must be answered, 
 
in. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 87 
 
 And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy, 
 
 As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, 
 
 Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, 
 
 Rising and cawing at the gun's report, 
 
 Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky, 
 
 So, at his sight, away his fellows fly ; 
 
 And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls ; 
 
 He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. 
 
 Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus 
 
 strong, 
 Made senseless things begin to do them wrong; 
 For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ; 
 Some sleeves, some hats,, from yielders all things 
 
 catch. 
 I led them on in this distracted fear, 
 And left sweet Pyramus translated there; 
 When in that moment, so it came to pass, 
 Titania wak'd and straightway lov'd an ass. 
 
 Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. 
 But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes 
 With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? 
 
 Robin. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too, — 
 And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
 That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Hermia. 
 
 Obe. Stand close; this is the same Athenian. 
 Robin. This is the woman, but not this the man. 
 Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? 
 Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 
 
88 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM m. ii. 
 
 Her. Now I but chide; but I should use thee- 
 worse, 45 
 
 For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
 If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, 
 Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in knee-deep, 
 And kill me too. 
 
 The sun was not so true unto the day 50 
 
 As he to me : would he have stolen away 
 From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon 
 This whole earth may be bor'd and that the moon 
 May through the center creep and so displease 
 Her brother's noontide with the Antipodes. 55 
 
 It cannot be but thou hast murd'red him; 
 So should a murderer look, so dread, so grim. 
 
 Dem. So should the murdered look, and so should I, 
 Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty ; 
 Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, 60 
 
 As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 
 
 Her. What 's this to my Lysander ? Where is he ? 
 Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? 
 
 Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds. 
 
 Her. Out, dog! out, cur! thou driv'st me past 
 the bounds 65 
 
 Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then? 
 Henceforth be never numb'red among men ! 
 O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ! 
 Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake, 
 And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch! 70 
 Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? 
 An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue 
 
in. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 89 
 
 Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 
 
 Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood. 
 75 I am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; 
 Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 
 
 Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. 
 Dem. An if I could, what should I get therefore? 
 Her. A privilege never to see me more. 
 so And from thy hated presence part I so : 
 See me no more, whether he be dead or no. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein ; 
 Here therefore for a while I will remain. 
 So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
 85 For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ; 
 Which now in some slight measure it will pay, 
 If for his tender here I make some stay. 
 
 [Lies down [and sleeps]. 
 Obe. What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken 
 quite 
 And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight. 
 90 Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 
 
 Some true love turn'd and not a false turn'd true. 
 Robin. Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man holding 
 troth, 
 A million fail, confounding oath on oath. 
 
 Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, 
 95 And Helena of Athens look thou find. 
 All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer 
 With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear. 
 By some illusion see thou bring her here. 
 
90 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM in. ii. 
 
 I'll charm his eyes against she do appear. 
 
 Robin. I go, I go; look how I go, 100 
 
 Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Obe. Flower of this purple dye 
 Hit with Cupid's archery, 
 Sink in apple of his eye. 
 
 When his love he doth espy, 105 
 
 Let her shine as gloriously 
 As the Venus of the sky. 
 When thou wak'st, if she be by, 
 Beg of her for remedy. 
 
 Re-enter Robin Goodfellow. 
 
 Robin. Captain of our fairy band, no 
 
 Helena is here at hand ; 
 
 And the youth, mistook by me, 
 
 Pleading for a lover's fee. 
 
 Shall we their fond pageant see? 
 
 Lord, what fools these mortals be ! 115 
 
 Obe. Stand aside. The noise they make 
 
 Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
 Robin. Then will two at once woo one; 
 
 That must needs be sport alone. 
 
 And those things do best please me 120 
 
 That befall preposterously. 
 
 Enter Lysander and Helexa. 
 
 Lys. Why should you think that I should woo in 
 scorn ? 
 
in. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 91 
 
 Scorn and derision never come in tears. 
 Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, 
 125 In their nativity all truth appears. 
 
 How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
 Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? 
 Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. 
 When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! 
 130 These vows are Hermia's ; will you give her o'er ? 
 Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh. 
 Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, 
 Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. 
 
 Lys. I had no judgment when to her I swore. 
 135 He I. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. 
 Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 
 Dem. [Jivaking.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, 
 perfect, divine ! 
 To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? 
 Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
 ho Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
 That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
 Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow 
 When thou hold'st up thy hand. O, let me kiss 
 This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss! 
 145 He I. O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent 
 To set against me for your merriment. 
 If you were civil and knew courtesy, 
 You would not do me thus much injury. 
 Can you not hate me, as I know you do, 
 150 But you must join in souls to mock me too? 
 If you were men, as men you are in show, 
 
92 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM hi. ii. 
 
 You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
 
 To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 
 
 When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. 
 
 You both are rivals, and love Hermia; 155 
 
 And now both rivals, to mock Helena. 
 
 A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, 
 
 To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes 
 
 With your derision ! None of noble sort 
 
 Would so offend a virgin and extort 160 
 
 A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 
 
 Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so; 
 For you love Hermia; this you know I know. 
 And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
 In Hermia's love, I yield you up my part ; 165 
 
 And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
 Whom I do love and will do till my death. 
 
 Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 
 
 Deni. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none. 
 If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 170 
 
 My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn 'd, 
 And now to Helen is it home return 'd, 
 There to remain. 
 
 Lys. Helen, it is not so. 
 
 De in. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, 
 Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. 175 
 
 Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 
 
 Re-enter Hermia. 
 
 Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function 
 takes, 
 
in. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 93 
 
 The ear more quick of apprehension makes ; 
 Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, 
 iso It pays the hearing double recompense. 
 
 Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
 Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
 But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? 
 
 Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press 
 
 to go? 
 Her. What love could press Lysander from my 
 185 side ? 
 
 Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide, 
 Fair Helena, who more engilds the night 
 Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. 
 Why seek'st thou me? Could not this make thee 
 know, 
 190 The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so ? 
 
 Her. You speak not as you think. It cannot be. 
 Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy! 
 Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three 
 To fashion this false sport, in spite of me. 
 195 Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid ! 
 
 Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd 
 To bait me with this foul derision ? 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, 
 The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 200 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us, — O, is all forgot? 
 All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? 
 We,, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 
 Have with our needles created both one flower, 
 
94 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM m. ii. 
 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 205 
 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key, 
 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds, 
 
 Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, 
 
 But yet an union in partition ; 210 
 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; 
 
 So with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; 
 
 Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
 
 Due but to one and crowned with one crest. 
 
 And will you rend our ancient love asunder, 215 
 
 To join with men in scorning your poor friend? 
 
 It is not friendly, 't is not maidenly. 
 
 Our sex as well as I, may chide you for it, 
 
 Though I alone do feel the injury. 
 
 Her. I am amazed at your passionate words. 220 
 
 I scorn you not'; it seems that you scorn me. 
 
 Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, 
 To follow me and praise my eyes and face ? 
 And made your other love, Demetrius, 
 Who even but now did spurn me with his foot, 22.5 
 
 To call me goddess, nj-mph, divine and rare, 
 Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this 
 To her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander 
 Deny your love, so rich within his soul, 
 And tender me, forsooth, affection, 230 
 
 But by your setting on, by your consent ? 
 What though I be not so in grace as you, 
 So hung upon with love, so fortunate, 
 But miserable most, to love unlov'd . J 
 
m. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 95 
 
 235 This you should pity rather than despise. 
 
 Her. I understand not what you mean by this. 
 
 He/. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, 
 Make mouths upon me when I turn my back, 
 Wink each at other, hold the sweet jest up; 
 240 This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
 •If you have any pity, grace, or manners, 
 You would not make me such an argument. 
 But fare ye well ; 't is partly my own fault, 
 Which death or absence soon shall remedy. 
 245 Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse, 
 My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena! 
 
 Hel. O excellent ! 
 
 Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 
 
 Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can-compel. 
 
 Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat. 
 Thy threats have no more strength than her weak 
 250 . prayers. 
 
 Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do! 
 
 I swear by that which I will lose for thee, 
 
 To prove him false that says I love thee not. 
 
 Dem. I say I love thee more than he can do. 
 255 Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove, it too. 
 
 Dem. Quick, come! 
 
 Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? 
 
 Lys. Away, you Ethiope ! 
 
 Dem. No, no; he'll [but] 
 
 Seem to break loose. Take on as you would follow, 
 But yet come not. You are a tame man, go! 
 
96 A MIDSUMMER-XIGHTS DREAM in. ii. 
 
 Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr ! Vile thing, 
 
 let loose, 260 
 
 Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent ! 
 
 Her. Why are you grown so rude ? What change 
 is this? 
 Sweet love, — 
 
 Lys. Thy love ! Out, tawny Tartar, out ! 
 Out, loathed medicine! O hated potion, hence! 
 
 Her. Do you not jest? 
 
 Hel. Yes, sooth ; and so do you. 2 65 
 
 Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 
 
 Dem. I would I had your bond, for I perceive 
 A weak bond holds you. I'll not trust your word. 
 
 Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her 
 dead? 
 Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. 270 
 
 Her. What, can you do me greater harm than 
 hate? 
 Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love! 
 Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander? 
 I am as fair now as I was erewhile. 
 
 Since night you lov'd me ; yet since night you left me : 275 
 Why, then you left me — O, the gods forbid ! — 
 In earnest, shall I say? 
 
 Lys. Ay, by my life ; 
 
 And never did desire to see thee more. 
 Therefore be out of hope, of question, doubt; 
 Be certain, nothing truer; 't is no jest 280 
 
 That I do hate thee and love Helena. 
 
 Her. O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom! 
 
hi. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 97 
 
 You thief of love ! What, have you come by night 
 
 And stolen my love's heart from him ? 
 
 Hel. Fine, i' faith! 
 
 2S5 Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, 
 
 No touch of bashfulness ? What, will you tear 
 
 Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? 
 
 Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet, you ! 
 
 Her. Puppet? Why so? Ay, that way goes the 
 game. 
 290 Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
 
 Between our statures ; she hath urg'd her height ; 
 
 And with her personage, her tall personage, 
 
 Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. 
 
 And are you grown so high in his esteem, 
 295 Because I am so dwarfish and so low? 
 
 How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak, 
 
 How low am I ? I am not yet so low 
 
 But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 
 
 Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, 
 300 Let her not hurt me. I was never curst ; 
 
 I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; 
 
 I am a right maid for my cowardice. 
 
 Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think, 
 
 Because she is something lower than myself, 
 
 That I can match her. 
 305 Her. Lower ! hark, again. 
 
 Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
 
 I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
 
 Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you ; 
 
 Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
 
98 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM in. ii. 
 
 I told him of your stealth unto this wood. 310 
 
 He followed you ; for love I followed him ; 
 
 But he hath chid me hence and threat'ned me 
 
 To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too. 
 
 And now, so you will let me quiet go, 
 
 To Athens will I bear my folly back • 315 
 
 And follow you no further. Let me go. 
 
 You see how simple and how fond I am. 
 
 Her. Why, get you gone; who is 't that hinders 
 you ? 
 
 Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. 
 
 Her. What, with Lysander? 
 
 Hel. With Demetrius. 320 
 
 Lys. Be not afraid ; she shall not harm thee, 
 Helena. 
 
 Dem. No sir, she shall not, though you take her 
 part. 
 
 Hel. O, when she 's angry, she is keen and shrewd ! 
 She was a vixen when she went to school ; 
 And though she be but little, she is fierce. 325 
 
 Her. Little again ! Nothing but low and little ! 
 Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? 
 Let me come to her. 
 
 Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf, 
 
 You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made; 
 You bead, you acorn. 
 
 Dem. 'You are too officious 330 
 
 In her behalf that scorns your services. 
 Let her alone ; speak not of Helena ; 
 Take not her part ; for, if thou dost intend 
 
in. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 99 
 
 Never so little show of love to her, 
 Thou shalt aby it. 
 335 Lys. Now she holds me not. 
 
 Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, 
 Of thine or mine, is most in Helena. 
 
 De?n. Follow! * Nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by 
 jowl. 
 
 [Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius. 
 Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you. 
 Nay, go not back. 
 340 Hel. I will not trust you, I, 
 
 Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
 Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, 
 My legs are longer though, to run away. 
 
 [Exit]. 
 Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. 
 
 [Exit. 
 345 Obe. This is thy negligence. Still thou mistak'st, 
 Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully. 
 
 Robin. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
 Did not you tell me I should know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he had on ? 
 350 And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 
 That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes; 
 And so far am I glad it so did sort, 
 As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 
 
 Obe. Thou see'st these lovers seek a place to fight; 
 355 Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night. 
 The starry welkin cover thou anon 
 With drooping fog as black as Acheron, 
 
100 A MIDSUMMER-XIGHT'S DREAM in. ii. 
 
 And lead these testy rivals so astray 
 As one come not within another's way. 
 Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, 360 
 
 Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; 
 And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 
 And from each other look thou lead them thus, 
 Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
 With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep. 365 
 
 Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 
 Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, 
 To take from' thence all error with his might, 
 And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. 
 When they next wake, all this derision 370 
 
 Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision ; 
 And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, 
 With league whose date till death shall never end. 
 Whiles I in this affair do thee employ. 
 I'll to my queen and beg her Indian boy; 37- 
 
 And then I will her charmed eye release 
 From monster's view, and all things shall be peace. 
 Robin. My fairy lord, this must be done with 
 haste, 
 For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, 
 And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger, 
 At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, 
 Troop home to churchyards. Damned spirits all, 
 That in crossways and floods have burial, 
 Already to their wormy beds are gone. 
 For fear lest day should look their shames upon, «5 
 
 They wilfully themselves exile from light 
 
in. ii. A MIDSUMMER- NIGHT'S DREAM 101 
 
 And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 
 
 Obe. But we are spirits of another sort. 
 I with the morning's love have oft made sport, 
 390 And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 
 Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, 
 Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
 Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams. 
 But, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay. 
 395 We may effect this business yet ere dav. 
 
 [Exit.] 
 Robin. Up and down, up and down, 
 I will lead them up and down. 
 I am fear'd in field and town. 
 Goblin, lead them up and down. 
 4oo Here comes one. 
 
 Re-enter Lysander. 
 Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak 
 
 thou now. 
 Robin. Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where 
 
 art thou? 
 Lys. I will be with thee straight. 
 Robin. Follow me, then, 
 
 To plainer ground. 
 
 [Exit Lysander, as following the voice.] 
 
 Re-enter Demetrius. 
 Dem. Lysander, speak again! 
 
 405 Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? 
 
 Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy 
 head? 
 
102 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM m. ii. 
 
 Robin. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the 
 stars, 
 Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, 
 And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou 
 
 child, 
 I'll whip thee with a rod. He is denTd 410 
 
 That draws a sword on thee. 
 
 Dem. Yea, art thou there? 
 
 Robin. Follow my voice. We'll try no manhood 
 
 here. [Exeunt. 
 
 [Re-enter Lysander.] 
 
 Lys. He goes before me and still dares me on. 
 When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
 The villain is much lighter-heel'd than I ; 415 
 
 I followed fast, but faster he did fly, 
 That fallen am I in dark uneven way, 
 And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! 
 
 [Lies down. 
 For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
 I'll find Demetrius and revenge this spite. 420 
 
 [Sleeps.) 
 
 Re-enter Robin Goodfellow and Demetrius. 
 
 Robin. Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com'st thou 
 not? 
 
 Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot 
 Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place, 
 And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
 Where art thou now? 
 
in. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 103 
 
 425 Robin. Come hither; I am here. 
 
 Dern. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt 
 buy this dear, 
 If ever I thy face by daylight see. 
 Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
 To measure out my length on this cold bed. 
 430 By day's approach look to be visited. 
 
 [Lies down and sleeps]. 
 
 Re-enter Helena. 
 Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, 
 
 Abate thy hours ! Shine, comforts, from the east, 
 That I may back to Athens by daylight, 
 From these that my poor company detest : 
 435 And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
 Steal me awhile from mine own company. 
 
 [Lies down and] sleeps. 
 Robin. Yet but three? Come one more; 
 Two of both kinds makes up four. 
 Here she comes, curst and sad : 
 440 Cupid is a knavish lad, 
 
 Thus to make poor females mad. 
 
 Re-enter Hermia. 
 Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, 
 
 Bedabbled with the dew and torn with briers, 
 I can no further crawl, no further go ; 
 W5 My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
 Here will I rest me till the break of day. 
 Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! 
 
 [Lies down and sleeps.] 
 
104 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM in. ii. 
 
 Puck. On the ground 
 
 Sleep sound : 
 
 I '11 apply 450 
 
 To your eye, 
 Gentle lover, remedy. 
 [Squeezing the juice on Lysanders eyes.] 
 When thou wak'st, 
 Thou tak'st 
 
 True delight 455 
 
 In the sight 
 Of thy former lady's eye : 
 And the country proverb known, 
 That every man should take his own, 
 In your waking shall be shown : 460 
 
 Jack shall have Jill ; 
 Nought shall go ill; 
 The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be 
 well. [Exit] 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 [Scene I. The same. Lysander, Demetrius, 
 Helena, and Hermia lying asleep.'] 
 
 Enter Titania and Clown [Bottom ; Peaseblos- 
 som, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed,] and 
 [other] Fairies [attending] ; Oberon behind 
 [unseen]. 
 
 Tit a. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 
 
 While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
 And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, 
 
 And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
 5 Bot. Where 's Peaseblossom ? 
 
 Peas. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where 's 
 Mounsieur Cobweb ? 
 
 Cob. Ready. 
 10 Bot. Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get 
 you your weapons in your hand, and kill me a 
 red-hipp'd humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, 
 good mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not 
 fret yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; and, 
 15 good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not ; 
 I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey- 
 bag, signior. Where 's Mounsieur Mustardseed ? 
 
 105 
 
106 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM iv. i. 
 
 Mus. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. 
 Pray you, leave your courtesy, good mounsieur. 
 
 Mus. What 's your will ? 
 
 Bot. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cava- 
 lery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, 
 mounsieur; for methinks I am marvellous hairy 
 about the face; and I am such a tender ass, if my 
 hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. 
 
 Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet 
 love ? 
 
 Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music. 
 Let's have the tongs and the bones. 
 
 [Music. Tongs. Rural music. 
 
 Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 
 
 Bot. Truly, a peck of provender : I could munch 
 3'our good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire 
 to a bottle of hay. Good hay, sweet hay. hath no 
 fellow. 
 
 Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
 The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 
 
 Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of dried 
 peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir 
 me ; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. 
 
 Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. 
 Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. 
 
 [Exeunt fairies.] 
 So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle 
 Gently entwist ; the female ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
 
iv. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 107 
 
 O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! 
 
 [They sleep.} 
 
 Enter ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
 
 Obe. [Advancing.'] Welcome, good Robin. 
 
 4 5 See'st thou this sweet sight? 
 
 Her dotage now I do begin to pity: 
 For, meeting her of late behind the wood, 
 Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool, 
 I did upbraid her and fall out with her ; 
 
 50 For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
 And that same dew, which sometime on the buds 
 Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, 
 Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes 
 
 55 Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 
 When I had at my pleasure taunted her 
 And she in mild terms begg'd my patience, 
 I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
 Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent 
 
 60 To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
 And, now I have the boy, I will undo 
 This hateful imperfection of her eyes ; 
 And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
 From off the head of this Athenian swain, 
 
 65 That, he awaking when the other do, 
 May all to Athens back again repair, 
 And think no more of this night's accidents 
 But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
 But first I will release the fairy queen. 
 
 [Touching her eyes.~\ 
 
108 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM iv. L 
 
 Be as thou wast wont to be ; "o 
 
 See as thou wast wont to see : 
 Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
 Hath such force and blessed power. 
 Now, my Tftania; wake you, my sweet queen. 
 
 Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
 Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. 
 Obe. There lies your love. 
 
 Tita. How came these things to pass ? 
 
 O, how T mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! 
 
 Obe. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head. 
 Titania, music call ; and strike more dead so 
 
 Than common sleep of all these five the sense. 
 
 Tita. Music, ho ! music, such as charmeth sleep ! 
 
 [Music, still. 
 Robin. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own 
 
 fool's eyes peep. 
 Obe. Sound, music! Come, my queen, take hands 
 w T ith me, 
 And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 85 
 
 Now thou and I are new in amity 
 
 And will to-morrow midnight solemnly 
 Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly 
 And bless it to all fair prosperity. 
 
 There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 90 
 
 Wedded, w T ith Theseus, all in jollity. 
 Robin. Fairy king, attend, and mark; 
 
 I do hear the morning lark. 
 Obe. Then., my queen, in silence sad 
 
 Trip we after the night's shade. 95 
 
iv. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 109 
 
 We the globe can compass soon, 
 Swifter than the wandering moon. 
 Tita. Come my lord, and in our flight 
 Tell me how it came this night 
 100 That I sleeping here was found 
 
 With these mortals on the ground. 
 
 [Exeunt. Horns winded [within]. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and all his train. 
 
 The. Go, one of you, find out the forester, 
 
 For now our observation is perform'd, 
 
 And since we have the vaward of the day, 
 io5 My love shall hear the music of my hounds. 
 
 Uncouple in the western valley, let them go. 
 
 Despatch, I say, and find the forester. 
 
 [Exit an attendant.] 
 
 We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top 
 
 And mark the musical confusion 
 uo Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 
 
 Hip. 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, 
 ii5 The skies, the fountains, every region near 
 
 Seem'd all one mutual cry. I never heard 
 
 So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 
 
 The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
 
 So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung 
 120 With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
 
 Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
 
110 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM iv. i. 
 
 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. 125 
 
 Judge when you hear. But, soft! what nymphs are 
 these? 
 
 Ege. 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. 130 
 
 The. 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? 135 
 
 Ege. It is, my lord. 
 
 The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their 
 horns. 
 
 [Horns and shout icithin. Lys., Dem., 
 Hel., and Her. zvake and start up. 
 Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past ; 
 Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? 
 
 Lys. Pardon, my lord. 
 
 The. I pray you all, stand up. 140 
 
 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 hate, and fear no enmity? 
 
 Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, 145 
 
 Half sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear, 
 
iv. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 111 
 
 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, — 
 150 I came with Hermia hither. Our intent 
 
 Was to be gone from Athens, where we might, 
 
 Without the peril of the Athenian law — 
 
 Egc. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have enough. 
 
 I beg the law, the law,, upon his head. 
 155 They would have stolen 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, 
 160 Of this their purpose hither to this wood ; 
 
 And I in fury hither followed 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, 
 165 Melted as [is] the snow, seems to me now 
 
 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, 
 170 Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 
 
 Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia; 
 
 But like a sickness did I loathe this food ; 
 
 But, as in health, come to my natural taste, 
 
 Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, 
 175 And will for evermore be true to k. 
 
 The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met; 
 
112 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM iv. 1 
 
 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. iso 
 
 And, for the morning now is something worn, 
 Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. 
 Away with us to Athens ; three and three, 
 We '11 hold a feast in great solemnity. 
 Come, Hippolyta. iss 
 
 [Exeunt The. , Hip., Ege., and train. 
 
 Dem. These things seem small and undistinguish- 
 able, 
 Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 
 
 Her. Methinks I see these things with parted eye, 
 When every thing seems double. 
 
 He I. So methinks ; 
 
 And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 190 
 
 Mine own, and not mine own. 
 
 Dem. Are you sure that we 're awake? It seems 
 to me 
 That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think 
 The Duke was here, and bid us follow him? 
 
 Her. Yea; and my father. 
 
 Hel And Hippolyta. 195 
 
 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. 
 
 [Exeunt lovers. 
 
 Bot. [Auaking.] When my cue comes, call me. 
 
iv. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 113 
 
 200 and I will answer. My next is, "Most fair Pyramus." 
 Heigh-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 
 
 205 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 patch'd fool, 
 if he will offer to say what methought I had. The 
 
 210 eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not 
 seen, man's 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 be called Bottom's Dream, 
 
 215 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. 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. 
 5 Flu. If he comes not, then the play is marr'd. It 
 goes not forward, doth it? 
 
114 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM iv. if. 
 
 Qu'in. It is not possible. You have not a man in 
 all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he. 
 
 Flu. No, he hath simply the best wit of any handi- 
 craft man in Athens. 10 
 
 Snout. 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 naught. 
 
 Enter Snug. 
 
 Snug. Masters, the Duke is coming from the 15 
 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 20 
 scaped sixpence a day. An the Duke had not given 
 him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I '11 be 
 hang'd. He would have deserved it. Sixpence a day 
 in Pyramus, or nothing. 
 
 Enter Bottom. 
 
 Bot. Where are these lads? Where are these 25 
 hearts ? 
 
 Qu'in. 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. 30 
 I will tell you everything, right as it fell out. 
 
 Qu'in. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 
 
iv. ii. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 115 
 
 Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you 
 is, that the Duke hath dined. Get your apparel 
 
 35 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 preferr'd. In any case, let Thisby have 
 clean linen ; and let not him that plays the lion pare 
 
 40 his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's claws. 
 And, most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, 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! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
ACT V. 
 
 [Scene I. Athens. The palace of Theseus.] 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords 
 [and Attendants]. 
 
 Hip. 'T is 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 5 
 
 More 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. 10 
 
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt. 
 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 pen 15 
 
 Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 Such tricks hath strong imagination, 
 
v. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 117 
 
 That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
 20 It comprehends some bringer of that joy; 
 
 Or in the night, imagining some fear, 
 
 How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear ! 
 
 Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
 
 And all their minds transfigur'd so together, 
 25 More witnesseth than fancy's images, 
 
 And grows to something of great constancy ; 
 
 But, howsoever, strange and admirable. 
 
 Enter lovers, 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 ! 
 30 Lys. More than to us 
 
 Wait in your royal walks, )'our board, your bed! 
 The. 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? 
 35 Where is our usual manager of mirth ? 
 What revels are in hand ? Is there no play 
 To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? 
 Call Philostrate. 
 
 Phil. Here, mighty Theseus. 
 
 The. Say, what abridgement have you for this 
 evening? 
 40 What masque ? what music ? How shall we beguile 
 The lazy time, if not with some delight? 
 
118 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM v. i. 
 
 Phil. There is a brief how many sports are ripe. 
 Make choice of which your Highness will see first. 
 
 [Giving a paper.] 
 
 The. [Reads.] "The battle with the Centaurs, to 
 be sung 
 • By an Athenian eunuch to the harp." 45 
 
 We '11 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 play'd 50 
 
 When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
 "The thrice three Muses mourning for the death 
 Of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary." 
 That is some satire, keen and critical, 
 Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 55 
 
 "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 w r ondrous strange snow. 
 How shall we find the concord of this discord ? 60 
 
 Phil. A play there is, my lord, some ten w T ords 
 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. 65 
 
 And tragical, my noble lord, it is; 
 For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
 Which, when I saw T rehears'd, I must confess, 
 
v. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 119 
 
 Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears 
 70 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 labour'd in their minds till now, 
 And now have toiled their unbreathed memories 
 75 With this same play, against your nuptial. & "w-aA/^^tJ 
 The. And we will hear it. >j 
 
 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, 
 so Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain, 
 To do you service. 
 
 The. 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 Philostrdte.] 
 85 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. 
 90 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 
 
120 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM v. i 
 
 To greet me with premeditated welcomes; 
 
 Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 95 
 
 Make periods in the midst of sentences, 
 
 Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, 
 
 And in conclusion dumbly have broke off, 
 
 Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sw T eet, 
 
 Out of this silence yet I pick'd a welcome ; 100 
 
 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-ti'd simplicity 
 
 In least speak most, to my capacity. 105 
 
 [Re-enter Philostrate.] 
 Phil. So please your Grace, the Prologue is address'd. • 
 The. Let him approach. 
 
 [Flourish of trumpets. 
 
 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, 110 
 
 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, us 
 
 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. 
 
v. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 121 
 
 Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; 
 120 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 
 125 impaired, but all disordered. Who is next? 
 
 Enter with a trumpet before them, Pyramus and 
 Thisbe, Wall, 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. 
 130 This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 
 
 Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder ; 
 And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are 
 content 
 
 To whisper. At the which let no man wonder. 
 This man with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 
 135 Presenteth Moonshine ; for, if you will know, 
 By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn 
 
 To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
 This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name, 
 The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 
 140 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 Thisby's mantle slain ; 
 
122 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM v. I 
 
 Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 145 
 
 He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast ; 
 And Thisby, 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. 150 
 
 [Exeunt Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and 
 Moonshine. 
 
 The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. 
 
 Dem. No 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 Thisby, 
 Did whisper often very secretly. 
 
 This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone doth show igo 
 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. 
 
 The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak 
 better? 165 
 
 Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard 
 discourse, my lord. 
 
 Enter PYRAMUS. 
 
 The . Pyramus draws near the wall. Silence ! 
 Pyr. O grim-look'd night ! O night with hue so 
 black! 
 
v. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 123 
 
 170 O night, which ever art when day is not ! 
 O night, O night ! alack, alack, alack, 
 
 I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! 
 And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, 
 
 That stand'st between her father's ground an<3 
 mine! 
 175 Thou wall, O wall, O 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 Thisby do I see. 
 O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss! 
 xso Curs'd be thy stones for thus deceiving me ! 
 
 The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should 
 curse again. 
 
 Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. "Deceiving 
 me" is Thisby's cue. She is to enter now, and I am 
 185 to spy her through the wall. You shall see it will 
 fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 
 This. O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, 
 For parting my fair Pyramus and me ! 
 
 My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones, 
 1% Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee. 
 
 Pyr. I see a voice ! Now will I to the chink, 
 To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 
 
 Thisby! 
 
 This. My love thou art, my love I think. 
 
124 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM v. i. 
 
 Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's 
 grace ; 
 And, like Limander, am I trusty still. 195 
 
 This. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill. 
 
 Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. 
 
 This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. 
 
 Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall ! 
 
 This. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all. 200 
 
 Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straight- 
 way ? 
 
 This. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay. 
 [Exeunt Pyramus and Thisbe.] 
 
 Wall. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so ; 
 
 And, being done, thus Wall awav doth go. r „ . 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 The. Now is the moon used between the two 205 
 neighbours. 
 
 Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so 
 wilful to hear without warning. 
 
 Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
 
 The . The best in this kind are but shadows ; and 210 
 the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. 
 
 Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not 
 theirs. . 
 
 The. If we imagine no worse of them than they 
 of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here 215 
 come two 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, 
 
v. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 125 
 
 May now perchance both quake and tremble here, 
 220 When Hon rough in wildest ra^e doth roar. 
 Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am 
 A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam; 
 For, if I should as lion come in strife 
 Into this place, 't were pity on my life. 
 225 The. A very gentle beast, and of a good con- 
 science. 
 
 Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er 
 I saw. 
 
 Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. 
 230 The. True; and a goose for his discretion. 
 
 Dem. Not so, my lord ; for his valour cannot 
 carry his discretion, and the fox carries the goose. 
 
 The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his 
 valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well ; 
 235 leave it to his discretion, and let us hearken to the 
 moon. 
 
 Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon pre- 
 sent ; — 
 Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. 
 The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible 
 240 within the circumference. 
 
 Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon present ; 
 Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be. 
 
 The. This is the greatest error of all the rest. 
 The man should be put into the lantern. How is it 
 245 else the man i' the moon ? 
 
 Dem. He dares not come there for the candle ; 
 for, you see, it is already in snuff. 
 
126 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM v. i. 
 
 Hip. I am aweary of this moon. Would he would 
 change ! 
 
 The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, 250 
 that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all 
 reason, we must stay the time. 
 
 Lys. Proceed, Moon. 
 
 Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you that 
 the lantern is the moon; I, the man 1 the moon; 255 
 this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my 
 dog. 
 
 Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; 
 for all these are in the moon. But, silence ! here 260 
 comes Thisbe. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 
 This. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my 
 love ? 
 
 Lion. [Roaring.] Oh [Thisbe runs off. 
 
 Dem. Well roar'd, Lion. 
 The. Well run, Thisbe. 
 
 Hip. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines 265 
 with a good grace. 
 
 [The Lion shakes Thisbe 1 s mantle, and exit.] 
 The. Well mous'd, Lion. 
 Dem. And then came Pyramus. 
 Lys. And so the lion vanish'd. 
 
 Enter Pyramus. 
 
 Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 
 
 beams ; 270 
 
v. i. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 12 7 
 
 I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright ; 
 For, by thy gracious, golden glittering gleams, 
 I trust to take of truest Thisby sight. 
 
 But stay, O spite! 
 275 But mark, poor knight, 
 
 What dreadful dole is here! 
 Eyes, do you see? 
 How can it be? 
 O dainty duck! O dear! 
 28o Thy mantle good, 
 
 What, stain'd with blood! 
 Approach, ye Furies fell ! 
 O Fates, come, come, 
 Cut thread and thrum ; 
 285 Quail, crush, conclude, and quell! 
 
 The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, 
 would go near to make a man look sad. 
 
 Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 
 Pyr. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame? 
 290 Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear ; 
 Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame 
 That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with 
 cheer. 
 
 Come tears, confound ; 
 Out, sword and wound 
 295 The pap of Pyramus ; 
 
 Ay, that left pap, 
 Where heart doth hop. 
 
 [Stabs himself.] 
 
128 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM v. i. 
 
 Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
 Now am I dead, 
 
 Now am I fled ; 300 
 
 My soul is in the sky. 
 Tongue, lose thy light; 
 Moon, take thy flight. 
 
 [Exit Moonshine] 
 Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies.] 
 
 Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but 305 
 one. 
 
 Lys. Less than an ace, man, for he is dead ; he is 
 nothing. 
 
 The. With the help of a surgeon he might yet 
 recover, and yet prove an ass. 310 
 
 Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone before 
 Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? 
 
 Re-enter Thisbe. 
 
 The. She will find him by starlight. Here she 
 comes ; and her passion ends the play. 
 
 Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one for 315 
 such a Pyramus. I hope she will be brief. 
 
 Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyra- 
 mus, which Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God 
 warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us. 
 
 Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet 320 
 eyes. 
 
 Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet: — 
 
 This. Asleep, my love? 
 
 What, dead, my dove? 
 
v. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 129 
 
 325 O Pyramus, arise! 
 
 Speak, speak! Quite dumb? 
 Dead, dead? A tomb 
 Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
 These lily lips, 
 330 This cherry nose, 
 
 These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
 Are gone, are gone! 
 Lovers, make moan. 
 His eyes were green as leeks. 
 335 O Sisters Three, 
 
 Come, come to me, 
 With hands as pale as milk; 
 Lay them in gore, 
 Since you have shore 
 340 With shears his thread of silk. 
 
 Tongue, not a word ! 
 Come, trusty sword ; 
 Come, blade, my breast imbrue ; 
 
 [Stabs herself.] 
 And, farewell, friends; 
 345 Thus Thisby ends. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies.] 
 
 The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the 
 dead. 
 
 Dem. Ay, and Wall too. 
 350 [Bot. Starting up.] No, I assure yo u ; the wall 
 is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you 
 to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance 
 between tw T o of our company? 
 
130 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM v. i. 
 
 The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play 
 needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the players 355 
 are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if 
 he that writ it had played Pyramus and hang'd himself 
 in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; 
 and so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd. But - 
 come, your Bergomask ; let your epilogue alone. 360 
 
 [A dance.] 
 The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. 
 Lovers, to bed ; 't is almost fairy time. 
 I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn 
 As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
 This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd 365 
 
 The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. 
 A fortnight hold we this solemnity 
 In nightly revels and new jollity. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
 
 Robin. Now the hungry lion roars, 
 
 And the wolf behowls the moon; 370 
 
 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 375 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud. 
 Now it is the time of night 
 
 That the graves, all gaping wide, 
 Every one lets forth his sprite, 
 
 In the church-way paths to glide. 380 
 
v. i. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 131 
 
 And we fairies, that do run 
 By the triple Hecate's team 
 
 From the presence of the sun 
 
 Following darkness like a dream, 
 385 Now are frolic. Not a mouse 
 
 Shall disturb this hallowed house. 
 
 I am sent with broom before, 
 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Enter Oberon and Titania with their train. 
 
 Obe. Through the house give glimmering light 
 390 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. 
 395 Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote, 
 
 To each word a warbling note. 
 
 Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 
 
 Will we sing, and bless this place. 
 
 [Song [and dance}. 
 Obe. Now, until the break of day, 
 400 Through this house each fairy stray. 
 
 To the best bride-bed will we, 
 
 Which by us shall blessed be ; 
 
 And the issue there create 
 
 Ever shall be fortunate. 
 405 So shall all the couples three 
 
 Ever true in loving be ; 
 
 And the blots of Nature's hand 
 
132 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM v. i. 
 
 Shall not in their issue stand ; 
 Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar. 
 Nor mark prodigious, such as are 4io 
 
 Despised in nativity. 
 Shall upon their children be. 
 With this field-dew consecrate, 
 Every fairy take his gait. 
 
 And each several chamber bless, 415 
 
 Through this palace, with sweet peace; 
 And the owner of it blest 
 Ever shall in safety rest. 
 Trip away ; make no stay ; 
 
 Meet me all by break of day. 420 
 
 [Exeunt \_Oberoji, Titania, and train]. 
 Robin. If we shadows have offended, 
 
 Think but this, and all is mended, 
 
 That you have but slumb'red here 
 
 While these visions did appear. 
 
 And this weak and idle theme, 425 
 
 No more yielding but a dream, 
 
 Gentles, do not reprehend. 
 
 If you pardon, we will mend. 
 
 And, as I am an honest Puck, 
 
 If we have unearned luck 430 
 
 Now to 'scape the serpent's 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, 435 
 
 And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit.] 
 
NOTES 
 
 ABBREVIATIONS 
 
 A.— Arden Edition, by E. K. Chambers. (D. C. Heath & Co.) 
 B. — Edition by G. P. Baker. (Longman's English Classics.) 
 C. — Edition by Henry Cunningham. (Dowden Shakespeare.) 
 G. — Globe Edition of Shakspere. References to other plays of 
 Shakspere's than Midsummer - Night's Dream are according to the 
 line numbering of this edition and that by W. A. Neilson in "The 
 Cambridge Poets." 
 
 R.— Edition by W. J. Rolfe. (American Book Co.) 
 Var. — Variorum Edition, by H. H. Furness. 
 Gr. — Abbott's Shakesperian Grammar. 
 S. — Schmidt's Shakespeare-Lexicon. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 I. i. In this scene, which is mainly exposition, the first nineteen 
 lines afford a setting for the play by preparing for the central incident 
 around which the other events group themselves, the wedding of 
 Theseus and Hippolyta. The remainder of the scene indicates the 
 nature of the complications that are to follow, by its rehearsal of the 
 difficulties of the two pairs of lovers. Matters are brought rapidly 
 to a head by the command of Theseus that Hermia must wed Demetrius 
 or suffer the penalty for disobedience. The action is started by the 
 determination of Hermia and Lysander to flee, and of Helena to inform 
 Demetrius, which leads all four to the wood where the comedy of 
 "errors" is played. 
 
 I. i. 4. Lingers. Delays; used transitively. 
 
 I. i. 5. Dowager. A widow who has during her lifetime a claim on 
 part of the heir's estate, and who thus, during the period in which she 
 is withering away, delays the heir from entering into full possession of 
 his revenue. 
 
 I. i. 11. Philostrate. Pronounced as a trisyllable, as are Theseus 
 and Egeus through the play. 
 
 I. i. 13. Pert. Lively. 
 
 I. i. 15. Companion. Often used by Shakspere in the contempt- 
 uous way that we sometimes use "fellow." 
 
 133 
 
134 NOTES 
 
 I. i. 20. Duke. Shakspere perhaps took this anachronistic title 
 from Chaucer's Knight's Tale, which begins as follows: 
 "Whilom, as olde stories tellen us, 
 Ther was a duk that highte Theseus; 
 Of Athenes he was lord and governour, 
 And in his tyme swich a conquerour, 
 That gretter was ther non under the sonne. 
 Ful many a riche contre hadde he wonne; 
 That with his wisdom and his chivalrie 
 He conquered al the regne of Femynye, 
 That whilom was i-cleped Cithea; 
 And weddede the queen Ipolita, 
 And brought hire hoom with him in his contr6 
 With moche glorie and gret solempnite." 
 This passage also explains the allusion in 11. 16-17. 
 I. i. 27. For meter, cf. Introd., p. 39,2. For the charge of witchcraft 
 cf. Othello, I. iii. 60 ff. 
 
 I. i. 31. Faining. "Loving, longing, yearning; love-sick" (Var.) 
 Many editors emend to feigning. 
 
 I. i. 32. Stolen. . .fantasy. Stealthily impressed thyself on her fancy. 
 I. i. 33. Gawds. Baubles, trifling ornaments. Conceits. Fanci- 
 ful devices. 
 
 I. i. 35. Prevailment. Influence. Unhard'ned. Impressionable, like 
 soft wax. 
 
 I. i. 36. Filch' d. Stolen. 
 I. i. 45. Immediately. Especially, expressly. 
 
 I. i. 54. In this kind. In this present respect of marriage. Voice. 
 Approval. 
 
 I. i. 68. Blood. Passion, impulse. 
 I. i. 69. Whether. Cf. Introd., p. 39, 2. 
 I. i. 71. Mew'd. Confined. 
 
 I. i. 73. Moon. I. e. Diana, the moon-goddess. 
 I. i. 74-5. For the significance of these lines as bearing on the 
 presence of Queen Elizabeth at the performance of the play, cf. 
 Introd., p. 38. 
 
 I. i. 76. Earthlier happy. Happier on earth, or from a worldly 
 point of view. 
 
 I. i. 80. Virgin patent. My privilege as an unmarried woman. 
 I. i. 81. Unwished yoke. For omission of preposition to see Introd., 
 p. 44, 6, a. 
 
 I. i. 89. Protest. Vow. 
 I. i. 92. Crazed. Feeble, not valid. 
 I. i. 98. Estate unto. Settle upon. 
 I. i. 99. Deriv'd. Born, descended. 
 I. i. 100. Well possess'd. Rich. 
 
I. 
 
 i. 110. 
 
 I. 
 
 i. 118. 
 
 I. 
 
 i. 120. 
 
 I. 
 
 i. 125. 
 
 I. 
 
 i. 129. 
 
 I. 
 
 i. 130. 
 
 I. 
 
 i. 131. 
 
 I. 
 
 i. 135. 
 
 I. i 
 
 . 136. 
 
 NOTES 135 
 
 Spotted. Stained with guilt, unfaithful. 
 Fancies. Love. 
 
 Extenuate. Weaken, make lighter. 
 Against. In preparation for. Cf. Introd., p. 44, 6, c. 
 How chance? How does it chance that? 
 Belike. Probably. 
 
 Beteem them. Allow them, bestow upon them. 
 Blood. Rank, birth. 
 
 O cross I etc. What misfortune that one well-born should 
 be slavishly in love with a person of lower rank! 
 I. i. 137. Misgraffed. Badly grafted or united. 
 
 I. i. 143. Momentany. "Momentary" is Shakspere's usual form, 
 but this form is found occasionally in other writers of the period. 
 I. i. 145. Collied. Blackened, as with coal. Cf. collier, colliery. 
 I. i. 146. Spleen. Sudden impulse of emotion, flash of passion. 
 I. i. 149, 151, 152. For pronunciation of confusion, edict, and patience, 
 cf. Introd., p. 41. 
 
 I. i. 152. Let us teach our trial patience. Let us teach ourselves 
 patience in enduring our trial. 
 I. i. 154. Due. Appropriate. 
 I. i. 155. Fancy's. Love's. 
 
 I. i. 158. Revenue. Accent on the second syllable. This pronun- 
 ciation is still used in the British Parliament. 
 
 I. i. 159. Leagues. A league was usually considered the equivalent 
 of three miles. But cf. 1. 165 below, and I. ii. 98, where it is apparently 
 regarded as a mile. 
 
 I. i. 160. Respects. Regards. 
 
 I. i. 164. Steal forth thy father's house. See Introd., p. 44, 6, a, for 
 omission of from. 
 
 I. i. 167. For an excellent description of English May-day observ- 
 ances read Brandt's Popular Antiquities, vol. i, pp. 212-34. 
 
 I. i. 170. Golden head. Cupid had two kinds of arrows, one tipped 
 with gold, the other with lead. For their opposite effects cf. Golding's 
 translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, I. 466 ff: 
 
 "Therefrom his quiver full of shafts two arrows he did take 
 Of sundry powers; tone causes Love, the tother doth it slake. 
 That causeth love is all of golde, with point full sharpe and bright, 
 That chaseth love is blunt, whose Steele with leaden head is dight." 
 I. i. 171. Simplicity. Innocence. 
 
 I. i. 172. This vague allusion is often explained as referring to the 
 cestus or girdle of Venus, which aroused love for the wearer. But 
 that may simply mean "all." 
 
 I. i. 173-4. A reference to the desertion of Dido, queen of Carthage, 
 by the Trojan Aeneas. See Virgil's Aeneid. 
 
136 NOTES 
 
 I. i. 182. Fair. Fairness, beauty. Shakspere frequently uses the 
 adjective for the substantive; cf. Comedy of Errors, II. i. 98: 
 "My decayed fair 
 A sunny look of his would soon repair." 
 
 Also Venus and Adonis 1083, 1086, and cf. Introd., p. 42, 3, b. 
 
 I. i. 183. Lode-stars. Guiding-stars; like the North Star, by which 
 sailors guide their course. "Here Helena seems to mean, not only that 
 Hermia's eyes are 'guiding stars, 'but also that they have the irresistible 
 power of attraction which lode (cf. 'lode-stone') suggests." [B.] 
 
 I. i. 185. Favour. Personal appearance. 
 
 I. i. 190. Bated. Excepted. 
 
 I. i. 191. Translated. Transformed. 
 
 I. i. 209. Phoebe. Another name for Diana, the moon. 
 
 I. i. 212. Still. Ever. 
 
 I. i. 215. Faint. Pale. 
 
 I. i. 219. Stranger companies. Strange companions. 
 
 I. i. 231. So I . . . qualities. So do I err in admiring his qualities. 
 See Introd., p. 44, 6, b. 
 
 I. i. 232. Holding no quantity. "Bearing no proportion to what 
 they are estimated at by love." [S.] 
 
 I. i. 242. Eyne. The old plural form of eye; also written even. Cf. 
 other plurals in -en like oxen, children. 
 
 I. i. 249. Dear expense. It will be a very costly proceeding for me 
 to earn thanks by telling my love where he may find my rival. 
 
 I. ii. Scene two introduces the low-comedy of the play, and connects 
 the actors in it with the main thread of the story through their purpose 
 to entertain Theseus on his wedding day. It also promises to bring 
 them into contact with the group of lovers, since Quince gives orders 
 to meet in the same wood whither Lysander and Hermia propose to 
 flee. The kind of humor furnished by Bottom's contorted vocabulary 
 has been frequently used as a comic device by Shakspere and other 
 English dramatists; perhaps the best known example of the type, 
 outside of Shakspere, is Mrs. Malaprop in Sheridan's Rivals. Cf. Dog- 
 berry in Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 I. ii. 2. You were best. It were best for you. You, which is really 
 a dative, had, by Shakspere's time, come to be regarded as a nomina- 
 tive; cf. " I were better," 2 Henry IV., I. ii. 245 ; " I were best not 
 call," Cymbeline, III. vi. 19. Generally. Bottom's equivalent for 
 "individually." 
 
 I. ii. 3. Scrip. Script, written list. 
 
 I. ii. 6. Interlude. This name, originally applied to the slight 
 dramatic pieces played between courses of a banquet or as part of a 
 long entertainment, came later to be used of any of the less dignified 
 types of dramatic performance. 
 
NOTES 137 
 
 I. ii. 10. Grow to a point. Come to the point, "get down to business," 
 as we say. 
 
 I. ii. 11. Marry. By (the Virgin) Mary, a common oath. The 
 title pages of plays published in Shakspere's early days often bore 
 such conflicting titles: e. g. A Lamentable Tragedie, mixed full of 
 pleasant Mirth, containing The Life of Cambises, King of Percia; and 
 A New Tragicall Comedie of A pi us and Virginia (1575). 
 I. ii. 23. Gallant. See Introd., p. 43, 5, b. 
 
 I. ii. 27. Condole. Lament. Cf. Henry V., II. i. 133, where Pistol 
 says, "Let us condole the Knight." 
 I. ii. 28. Humour. Taste. 
 
 I. ii. 29. Ercles. The part of Hercules, like that of Herod, gave the 
 actor who played it opportunity to indulge in much violent action, and 
 deliver himself of a great deal of rant and bombast. Thus in Greene's 
 Groatsworth of Wit (1592) a player says, "The twelve labours of Hercules 
 have I terribly thundered on the stage." The theatrical manager 
 Henslowe records in his diary the performance in May, 1595, of the 
 two parts of a play of Hercules, and these may be identical with Thomas 
 Heywood's Silver Age and Brazen Age (pub. 1613), in which Hercules 
 plays a prominent and very rhetorical part. 
 
 I. ii. 30. A part to tear a cat in. It has been suggested that this may 
 be intended as a burlesque on the killing of a lion by Hercules, but 
 it was a proverbial expression; cf. Day's Isle of Gulls (1606), "I had 
 rather hear two such jests, than a whole play of such Tear-cat thunder- 
 claps;" Histriomastix (1610), "Sirrah, this is you would rend and tear 
 the cat Upon a stage;" The Roaring Girl (1611), "I am called, by 
 those who have seen my valour, Tear-cat." 
 
 To make all splH. A common phrase, originally nautical, used of 
 persons accustomed to "tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split 
 the ears of the groundlings," {Hamlet, III. ii. 10 ff.). Rolfe suggests 
 that the lines following may be a burlesque on the opening lines of 
 Hercules Furens, translated from the Latin of Seneca, in 1581, and 
 quotes: 
 
 "O Lorde of Ghostes! whose fyrye flashe 
 That forth thy hande doth shake, 
 Doth cause the trembling lodges twayne, 
 
 Of Phoebus' carre to shake. 
 Raygne reachlesse nowe; in every place 
 
 Thy peace procurde I have, 
 Aloffe where Nereus lookes up lande, 
 Empalde in winding wave." 
 Also 
 
 "The roring rocks have quaking sturd, 
 And none therat hath pusht; 
 Hell gloummy gates I have brast oape, 
 
 Where grisly ghosts all husht 
 Have stood ..." 
 
138 NOTES 
 
 I. ii. 49. Play it in a mask. See Introd., p. 26, on the Elizabethan 
 theatre. If there were not boys enough to fill all the feminine roles 
 the adults who played the parts performed in masks. 
 
 I. ii. 51. An. If. 
 
 I. ii. 52. Thisne. "It may be questioned whether the true reading 
 is nat thisne, thisne; that is, 'in this manner,' a meaning which 'thissen' 
 has in several dialects." [Cambridge Ed.] Most critics have considered 
 this Bottom's attempt to pronounce the lady's name in a "monstrous 
 little voice." 
 
 I. ii. 70. That. So that, as often. 
 
 I. ii. 80. Aggravate. Mrs, Quickly makes the same mistake of 
 using this word when she means precisely the opposite in 2 Henry IV .. 
 II. iv. 175, "I beseek you now, aggravate your choler." 
 
 I. ii. 81. You. Ethical dative; see Introd., p. 42, 2, c. 
 
 I. ii. 82. An 'twere. As if it were. 
 
 I. ii. 84. Proper. Handsome. 
 
 I. ii. 90. To dye the beard was a custom of Shakspere's time. 
 
 I. ii. 91. Purple-in-grain. Some shade of red; Judas in the old 
 Mystery plays wore a red beard. 
 
 I. ii. 92. French-crown-colour. The color of the French coin called 
 a crown, i. e. pale yellow. Quince, in replying, puns on the other mean- 
 ing of crown = head. 
 
 I. ii. 105. Obscenely. Perhaps Bottom means "obscurely"; another 
 suggestion is "seemly"; yet another, "unseen." 
 
 I. ii. 108. Hold or cut bow-strings. A doubtful phrase, the general 
 meaning of which seems to be "whatever happens." Bottom echoes 
 Quince : " Yes, let us meet at the Duke's oak no matter what may 
 come up." 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 II. i. We have hitherto met two of the groups of characters con- 
 cerned in the action of the play; the third group, from whose interfer- 
 ence in the affairs of the mortals most of the complications arise, now 
 make their appearance. The fairy kingdom is not essentially unlike 
 realms more mundane, and of the internal dissensions that disturb it 
 we learn in the first part of the scene, while in the last part Oberon 
 proposes to punish his rebellious queen and to restore peace among 
 the lovers by means of his magic plant. The scene is remarkable for 
 the large amount of very beautiful descriptive poetry, which advances 
 the action scarcely at all, but is highly acceptable for its own sake. 
 
 II. i. S. D. The one door and another of the stage direction refer, of 
 course, to actual stage arrangements, rather than to the imaginary 
 "wood near Athens." 
 
NOTES 139 
 
 II. i. 2. C. quotes Coleridge on the meter used by the fairy as 
 "invented and employed by Shakespeare for the sake of its appropri- 
 ateness to the rapid and airy motion of the fairy by whom the speech 
 is delivered." 
 
 II. i. 7. Sphere. According to the Ptolemaic system of astronomy, 
 still in vogue when Shakspere wrote, the moon and all the other heavenly 
 bodies were fixed in concentric hollow crystalline spheres that rotated 
 around the earth, which was supposed to be fixed at the center of this 
 series of spheres. Hence the motion of sun, moon, planets and 
 fixed stars was due to the rotation of the spheres in which they were 
 embedded. This motion was also responsible for the "music of the 
 spheres" of which Lorenzo speaks in Merchant of Venice, V. i. 60-2: 
 "There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins." 
 1 1 . i. 9. Orbs. T he rings of darker grass sometimes seen in a pasture, 
 called "fairy rings," and believed by the peasantry to be made by 
 the feet of dancing fairies. 
 
 II. i..l0. Tall. That the cowslips are tall to the fairies shows how 
 small the fairies are. Yet they must have been represented on the 
 stage by children. Pensioners. Queen Elizabeth kept a bodyguard 
 called the Gentlemen Pensioners, made up of fifty tall and handsome 
 young men of good birth, who were gorgeously attired. 
 II. i. 11. Spots. Cf. Cymbeline, II. ii. 38: 
 
 "A mole cinque-spotted like the crimson drops 
 I' the bottom of a cowslip." 
 II. i. 16. Lob. Clown, lout; the word is allied to "lubber," and has 
 a suggestion of awkwardness. 
 
 II. i. 20. Wrath. See Introd., p. 42, 1, b. 
 
 II. i. 23. Changeling. The fairies were supposed to steal beautiful 
 children and leave in exchange ugly elves; here, however, the word is 
 applied to a child thus carried away. 
 Trace. Roam. 
 Sheen. Shining, bright. 
 Square. Quarrel. 
 Shrewd. Mischievous, wicked. 
 
 Robin Goodfellow. The class of household spirits repre- 
 sented by Robin Goodfellow is, of course, quite distinct from dainty 
 beings like Titania's elves. 
 
 II. i. 35. .Villager y. Village folk, peasantry. 
 
 II. i. 36. Skim. The change of construction from the third person 
 singular of "frights" is caused by a change of thought from the gram- 
 matical antecedent "he" to the logical antecedent "you." Quern. A 
 hand-mill for grinding corn. 
 
 II. i. 38. Barm. Properly yeast, but here used rather of the froth 
 
 II. i 
 
 . 25. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 29. 
 
 II. i 
 
 i. 30. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 33. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 34. 
 
140 NOTES 
 
 from which the yeast was made. The drink failed to ferment properly, 
 to come to a head and show froth. 
 
 II. i. 39. Mislead . . . harm. I. e. the will-o'-the-wisp. 
 
 II. i. 40. Puck. Not strictly a proper name, but the name of a 
 class of spirits, a synonym for devil or fiend; cf. V. i. 429. 
 
 II. i. 48. Crab. Crab-apple; these were roasted in the fire and 
 formed one of the ingredients of a hot, spiced drink. 
 
 II. i. 51. Aunt. Used generically for "old woman." Saddest. 
 Soberest, most serious. 
 
 II. i. 54. "Tailor" cries. The best explanation of the epithet is 
 that offered by Halliwell, who says it is equivalent to "thief," and 
 quotes from Pasjuil's Night-Cap (1612) : 
 
 "Theeving is now an occupation made, 
 Though men the name of tailor doe it give." 
 
 II. i. 55. Quire. Choir, company. 
 
 II. i. 56. Waxen. Wax, increase. Neeze. Sneeze. 
 
 II. i. 66, 68. Cor in, Phillida. Conventional names in pastoral 
 poetry for a shepherd and shepherdess. 
 
 II. i. 67. Corn. Shepherds' pipes were made of oaten straw. 
 
 II. i. 70. Bouncing. The word has a scornful signification coming 
 from the lips of dainty Titania. 
 
 II. i. 71. Buskin'd. The buskin was the Latin cothurnus, a high 
 boot used by warriors, hunters, and tragic actors. 
 
 II. i. 75. Glance at. Hint at, indirectly attack. 
 
 II. i. 78-80. Perigenia, Aegle, Ariadne, Antiopa. Shakspere took 
 these names of the loves of Theseus from North's translation of Plu- 
 tarch's Life of Theseus. 
 
 I. i. 82. Middle summer's spring. The beginning of midsummer. 
 Paved. With pebbly bottom. 
 Margent. A poetical form of margin. 
 Ringlets. Fairy rings, like the orbs of 1. 9. 
 
 .17. For an account of the attempts to date the play from 
 this passage see Introd., p. 33. 
 
 II. i. 90. Contagious. Fogs were popularly supposed to carry 
 infection and pestilence. 
 
 II. i. 92. Overborne their continents. Overflowed their banks. 
 
 II. i. 95. His. Its. See Introd., p. 42, 2, a. 
 
 II. i. 97. Murrain. Plague-stricken. 
 
 II. i. 98. Nine men's morris. A game somewhat resembling 
 draughts, sometimes played on the turf by rustics. 
 
 II. i. 99. Quaint mazes. Labyrinths marked out on the grass, and 
 kept trodden down by the boys at their sports. There was long such 
 a maze near Winchester School. Wanton. Playful; a case of metonymy, 
 for the adjective is transferred from the playing boys to the place where 
 they carry on their sport. 
 
 II. : 
 
 i. 84. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 85. 
 
 II. : 
 
 i. 86. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 88- 
 
II. 
 
 i. 10< 
 
 II. : 
 
 i. 112. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 113. 
 
 II. : 
 
 i. 114. 
 
 II. : 
 
 i. 117. 
 
 II. i 
 
 i. 121. 
 
 II. i 
 
 i. 146. 
 
 NOTES 141 
 
 II. i. 104. Washes. Wets, makes damp. 
 
 II. i. 105. Rheumatic diseases. These included colds, catarrhs, 
 etc., in addition to what we now call rheumatism. 
 
 II. i. 105. Distemperature. Disturbance of the natural order of 
 things. It has been taken, however, as referring to the quarrel between 
 Oberon and Titania. 
 
 Hiems. Winter. Thin. Thinly covered. 
 Childing. Fruitful. Cf. Sonnet 97: 
 "The teeming autumn, big with rich increase." 
 Wonted. Accustomed. 
 
 Increase. The products natural to each season. 
 Original. Source. 
 Henchman. Here, page. 
 
 Thou shalt not from this grove. For omission of verb of 
 motion see Introd., p. 43, 4, c. 
 
 II. i. 158. By. Practically equivalent to "in." Cf. Gr. 145. 
 II. i. 164. Fancy-free. Untouched by love. 
 
 II. i. 163. Love-in-idleness. A name sometimes applied to the 
 pansy. 
 
 II. i. 148-169. These linc-o constitute one of the most discussed 
 passages in Shakspere, owing to the fact that the dramatist has been 
 ' suspected of allegorical intent. It has been universally agreed from 
 the time of Shakspere's first editor, Rowe, that the poet here pays a 
 courtly compliment to the Queen. "The fair vestal throned by the 
 west" is undoubtedly Elizabeth, queen of England, an island of the 
 west. Cupid's unsuccessful attempt on the heart of the imperial 
 votaress is, of course, an allusion to the Queen's unmarried condition 
 and oft-proclaimed regard for chastity. Warburton tried to show that 
 by the mermaid was figured Mary, Queen of Scot.\. The most elaborate 
 theorizing, however, was done by the Rev. N. J. Halpin (Oberon' s 
 Vision. Shaks. Soc. Publ. 1843), who argued that the passage is to 
 a certain extent descriptive of the entertainment given by the Earl of 
 Leicester for the Queen at Kenilworth Castle in 1575, that Cupid was 
 Leicester, and the little Western flower was Lettice, Countess of Essex, 
 with whom Leicester was then intriguing and whom he afterward 
 married. Halpin's view has failed of general acceptance, for it seems 
 clear that the little western flower is a. real flower, and that the passage 
 was written mainly to emphasize its importance and to prepare for the 
 prominent part it plays. For a full discussion of the arguments pro 
 and con see Var. For the bearing of the allusion to Elizabeth on the 
 occasion of the play, see Introd., p. 38. 
 
 II. i. 176. Forty. Generally used in Shakspere's time to indicate 
 an indefinite number; cf. our expression "forty winks." 
 
 II. i. 185. I am invisible. Oberon adds this for the benefit of the 
 audience to explain why he remains unnoticed by the mortals. Hens- 
 
142 NOTES 
 
 lowe, in his diary, lists among his properties "a robe for to go invisibell," 
 and perhaps Oberon wore some such distinctive attire to indicate his 
 invisibility. 
 
 II. i. 190. Stay . . . stayeth. "I will arrest Lysander, and 
 disappoint his scheme of carrying off Hermia; for 'tis upon the account 
 of this latter that I am wasting away the night in this wood." [Heath, 
 quot. by Var.] Some editors read "slay . . . slayeth." 
 
 II. i. 192. Wood within Miis wood. The first word of the pun is the 
 Anglo-Saxon "wod," meaning mad, or furiously angry. 
 
 II. i. 195. Adamant. Used with some confusion both for the dia- 
 mond, or other substance of extreme hardness, and for the lodestone 
 or magnet. 
 
 II. i. 196. But yet . . . as steel. Many editors emend for to 
 though. Furness explains by making draw not = repel. Perhaps 
 the passage may be paraphrased thus: "Yet you draw not iron, for 
 my heart has only the trueness of steel, not its hardness." 
 
 II. i. 201. Nor I cannot. For double negative see Introd., p. 43, 5, a. 
 Worser. For double comparative see Introd., p. 42, 3, a. 
 Impeach. Expose to reproach. 
 Privilege. Protection. For that. Since, because. 
 Respect. Opinion, estimation. 
 
 The story of Apollo's pursuit of Daphne and her trans- 
 formation into a laurel tree is told by Ovid in the first book of the 
 Metamorphoses. 
 
 II. i. 232. Griffin. A fabulous animal with the body of a lion and 
 head of an eagle. Hind. Female deer. 
 
 II. i. 240. Your wrongs. The wrongs you do me. 
 
 II. i. 244. See Introd., p. 43, 4, f., for grammatical construction. 
 
 II. i. 250. Oxlips. A kind of cowslips. 
 
 II. i. 251. Woodbine. Usually, honeysuckle, but used of other 
 climbing shrubs. 
 
 II. i. 252. Eglantine. Sweet-briar. 
 
 II. i. 255. Throws. Casts off. 
 
 II. i. 256. Weed. Garment. Cf. "widow's weeds." 
 
 II. ii. With the dropping of the juice in the eyes of Titania and 
 Lysander and the startlingly sudden abandonment by the latter of 
 Hermia for Helena, the complication is fairly under way. The spec- 
 tacular element prevails in the first part of the scene. 
 
 II. ii. 1. Roundel. The same as round, II. i. 140. 
 
 II. ii. 2. Third part of a minute. Note the ingenious way in which 
 Shakspere calls attention to the diminutiveness of the fairies by pro- 
 portioning their conceptions of time to their size. 
 
 II. ii. 3. Cankers. Canker-worms. 
 
 II. ii. 4. Rere-mice. Bats. 
 
 II. ii. 7. Quaint. Fine, dainty. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 208. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 214. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 220. 
 
 II. 
 
 i. 224. 
 
 II. i 
 
 i. 231. 
 
NOTES 143 
 
 II. ii. 8. Offices. Duties. 
 
 II. ii. 9. Double. Forked. 
 
 II. ii. 11. Newts and blind-worms. These harmless creatures were 
 formerly considered poisonous. 
 
 II. ii. 13. Philomel. The nightingale; the story of Philomela is 
 told in Ovid's Metamorphoses, bk. vi. 
 
 II. ii. 30. Ounce. A kind of panther. Cat. Wild-cat. 
 
 II. ii. 31. Pard. Leopard. 
 
 II. ii. 36. Troth. Truth; in 11. 42 and 50 below it means pledge of 
 love. 
 
 II. ii. 45. Take the sense . . . of my innocence. "Understand my 
 innocent meaning." [Johnson.] 
 
 II. ii. 46. Love . . . conference. When lovers talk together 
 their love enables each to get the other's true meaning. 
 
 II. ii. 54. Beshrew. A playful curse. 
 
 II. ii. 68. Approve. Prove, test. 
 
 II. ii. 79. Owe. Own, possess. 
 
 II. ii. 86. Darkling. In the dark. Cf. King Lear, I. iv. 237: "So 
 out went the candle, and we were left darkling." 
 
 II. ii. 88. Fond. Foolish. 
 
 II. ii. 89. Lesser. Cf. worser, II. i. 208. 
 
 II. ii. 99. Sphery. Star-like. For eyne, cf. I. i. 242, note. 
 
 II. ii. 103. The surprising suddenness of Lysander's declaration of 
 love for Helena is accentuated by the rhyme, the way in which he caps 
 the couplet begun by her. 
 
 II. ii. 118. Ripe. A verb. 
 
 II. ii. 119. Touching . . . skill. Reaching the highest point 
 of human discernment. 
 
 II. ii. 121. O'erlook. Look over, peruse. 
 
 II. ii. 132. Gentleness. Nobility, courtesy. 
 
 II. ii. 149. Eat. A past tense, a parallel form with ate. 
 
 II. ii. 154. Of all loves. For love's sake; the of of adjuration. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 III. i. The last scene of Act II. brought the fairies into contact 
 with the group of lovers; here, with the transformation of Bottom and 
 the affection lavished on him by the enamoured queen, the fairies are 
 entangled with the group of artisans. The contrast between asinine 
 Bottom and delicate Titania is in the most exquisite spirit of comedy. 
 
 III. i. 2. Pat, pat. Exactly, at the time and place agreed upon. 
 
 III. i. 4. Tiring-house. Dressing room, at-tiring room. 
 
 III. i. 8. Bully. "A term of endearment and familiarity, originally 
 applied to either sex; sweetheart, darling. Later, to men only, imply- 
 
144 NOTES 
 
 ing friendly admiration; good friend, fine feHovv, 'gallant.' " [New Eng. 
 Diet.] Cf. Henry V., IV. i. 48, "I love the lovely bully"; Merry Wires, 
 II. iii. 18, "bully doctor." 
 
 III. i. 13. By'r lakin. By our lady-kin, or little lady; like "marry,'' 
 an oath by the Virgin. Parlous. A corruption of "perilous,'' ften 
 used merely as an intensive. 
 
 III. i. 20. More better. For the double comparative, cf. Introd., 
 p. 42, 3, a. 
 
 III. i. 24. In eight and six. I. e. in lines of eight and six syllables 
 alternately. 
 
 III. i. 32. Your. Not used possessively, but in a colloquial way 
 like the Latin iste; that lion you know about. Cf. I. ii. 90, "your straw- 
 colour beard, etc." 
 
 III. i. 42. Pity of my life. A sad thing for me. 
 
 III. i. 45. Tell them plainly. Malone suggested that a hint for 
 this might have come from one of the anecdotes in a collection of jests 
 (Mss. Harl. 6395) : "There was a spectacle presented to Queen Elizabeth 
 on the water, and among others, Harry Goldingham was to represent 
 Arion upon the dolphin's back; but finding his voice to be very hoarse 
 and unpleasant, when he came to perform it, he tears off his disguise 
 and swears he was none of Arion, not he, but e'en honest Harry Gold- 
 ingham, which blunt discovery pleased the Queen better than if it had 
 gone through in the right way; yet he could order his voice to an instru- 
 ment exceedingly well." Cf. Scott's use of this incident in Kenilworth. 
 
 III. i. 56. Great chamber -window, where we play. I. e. the window 
 of the great hall of Theseus's palace. It was a very common thing for 
 the theatrical companies of Shakspere's time to give performances in 
 the homes of noblemen, using the great main hall for the purpose. 
 
 III. i. 58. Bush of thorns. "The man in the moon was popularly 
 represented with a bundle of thorns and a dog. He was variously 
 explained as being either Isaac carrying the wood for his own sacrifice, 
 or Cain sacrificing thorns as the produce of his land, or the man in 
 Numbers, xv. 32, who was stoned for gathering sticks on the Sabbath- 
 day." [C] 
 
 III. i. 79. Toward. Preparing. 
 
 III. i. 94. Brisky juvenal. Brisk youth; the affected vocabulary 
 of the old plays is effectively burlesqued in this bit of the proposed play- 
 as rehearsed, which, it will be noted, differs from that finally presented. 
 Eke. Also. 
 
 III. i. 102. /// were. I. e. if I were as true as truest horse. 
 
 III. i. 105. Lead you about around. Cf. our expression, "to lead one 
 a dance." 
 
 III. i. 110. Each of the substantives refers back to the verb in the 
 corresponding position in the preceding line. 
 
 III. i. 115. An ass-head of your own. "Do you see a reflection of 
 
III. i 
 
 :. us. 
 
 III. i 
 
 i. 124. 
 
 III. : 
 
 i. 126. 
 
 III. 
 
 i. 127. 
 
 III. 
 
 i. 130. 
 
 NOTES 145 
 
 your own noddle?" [B.] Bottom is here, as later, perfectly unconscious 
 of his transformation; hence, his constant use of the word "ass" has 
 high comic irony. 
 
 Translated. Cf. I. i. 191. 
 Ousel cock. Male blackbird. 
 Throstle. Thrush. 
 Quill. Singing voice. 
 
 Plain-song. The simple melody in any musical com- 
 position, without variations. The word here probably refers to the 
 rather monotonous note of the cuckoo. 
 
 III. i. 131-2. The name of the bird suggested cuckold, the word 
 applied by the Elizabethans to a man whose wife was unfaithful, and 
 the bird's note was supposed to convey a warning. Cf. Love's Labour's 
 Lost, V. ii. 908 ff : 
 
 "The cuckoo then on every tree 
 Mocks married men; for thus sings he, 
 
 'Cuckoo; 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo,' — O word of fear 
 Unpleasing to a married ear!" 
 
 Force perforce. A strong way of saying "necessarily." 
 Gleek. Scoff. 
 
 Whether. Monosyllabic. Cf. Introd., p. 39, 2. 
 Apricocks. An earlier and more correct spelling. 
 Eyes. By poetic license the phosphorescent glow is 
 transferred from the insect's tail to its eyes. 
 III. i. 169. Have. Attend. 
 III. i. 177. Cry your mercy. Beg your pardon. 
 
 III. i. 181. If . . . you. Cobweb was often used to stop the 
 flow of blood from an injury. 
 
 III. i. 184. Squash. An unripe peascod. 
 
 III. i. 191. Ox-beef. Alluding to the use of mustard with beef. 
 III. i. 197. Watery eye. Dew was supposed to fall from the moon. 
 III. i. 199. Enforced. Violated. 
 
 III. ii. This scene sees the complications in the story of the lovers 
 at their height, while with the squeezing of the juice into Lysandei's 
 eyes comes the first step in the solution. It is to be noted that there is 
 but little distinctive characterization of the lovers; Helena and Hermia, 
 Demetrius and Lysander are almost identical. 
 III. ii. 3. In extremity. Excessively. 
 
 III. ii. 5. Night-rule. Sometimes glossed as "night-revel," but 
 apparently meaning no more than conduct, order of things, during the 
 night. 
 
 III. ii. 7. Close. Secret. 
 
 III. ii. 9. Patches. Clowns, rustics. Mechanicals. Mechanics, 
 artisans. 
 
 III. 
 
 i. 139. 
 
 III. : 
 
 i. 145. 
 
 III. i 
 
 !. 151. 
 
 III. 
 
 i. 164. 
 
 III. 
 
 i. 168. 
 
146 NOTES 
 
 III. ii. 10. Stalls. Open shops, like those in a public market. 
 III. ii. 13. Barren sort. Witless crew. 
 III. ii. 17. Nole. Noddle, head. 
 III. ii. 18. Anon. Immediately. 
 
 III. ii. 21. Russet-pated choughs. Grey-headed jackdaws. Sort. 
 Company. 
 
 III. ii. 36. Latch'd. Caught, ensnared, charmed. 
 
 III. ii. 44. Breath. Speech. 
 
 III. ii. 48. Cf. Macbeth, III. iv. 136: 
 
 "I am in blood 
 Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er." 
 III. ii. 55. Her brother's. Apollo, the sun god, and Diana, the moon 
 goddess, were brother and sister. 
 III. ii. 70. Touch. Feat. 
 
 III. ii. 74. On a mispris'd mood. In mistaken temper. 
 III. ii. 84-87. Sleep is in debt to sorrow, for it is in duty bound to 
 come and give sorrow relief. But sleep is bankrupt, and its failure to 
 relieve sorrow makes sorrow's burden heavier. However, if I wait a 
 bit for sleep to make an offer, it may pay some portion of the debt. 
 Misprision. Mistake. 
 Holding troth. Keeping faith. 
 Confounding. Breaking. 
 Fancy-sick. Love-sick. Cf. I. i. 155. 
 With sighs . . . dear. It was an old superstition 
 sigh a drop of blood was lost. 
 Against. In anticipation of the time when she will 
 
 Hit . . . archery. Cf. II. i. 165 ff. 
 
 Fee. Reward, privilege. 
 
 Fond pageant. Silly spectacle. 
 
 Alone. Unequalled. 
 
 So born. Being so born; an absolute construction, for 
 376, 377, 417. For alternate rhyme, cf. Introd., p. 38. 
 
 Advance. Show. 
 
 Tales. Empty stories. 
 
 Super praise my parts. Overpraise my qualities. 
 
 Trim. Fine. 
 
 Sort. Quality, kind. 
 
 Aby. Pay for. 
 
 Oes and eyes. A punning allusion to the stars. 
 
 Artificial gods. Artist-gods. 
 
 Two of the first. A term of heraldry, explained by 
 Douce as referring to "the double coats in heraldry that belong to man 
 and wife as one person, but which have but one crest." 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 90. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 92. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 93. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 96. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 97. 
 
 that for every 
 
 III. 
 
 appea 
 
 ii. 
 r. 
 
 99. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 103. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 113. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 114. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 119. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 124. 
 
 which 
 
 see Gr. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 128. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 133. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 153. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 157. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 159. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 175. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 188. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 203. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii 
 
 . 213. 
 
NOTES 147 
 
 III. ii. 214. Due. Belonging. 
 
 III. ii. 237. Persever. The regular Shaksperian spelling and accent. 
 III. ii. 242. Argument. Subject for sport. 
 
 III. ii. 257. Ethiope. Alluding, like tawny Tartar in 1. 263, to 
 Hermia's brunette complexion. The reply of Demetrius, which, 
 owing to differences in reading between the Folio and Quartos, has 
 given rise to much discussion, is practically equivalent to a charge of 
 cowardice on Lysander's part. He implies that Lysander's delay in 
 answering his challenge, really occasioned by the way in which Hermia 
 is clinging to Lysander, is assumed as an excuse for not fighting. 
 III. ii. 259. Tame. Cowardly. 
 
 III. ii. 268. Weak bond. I. e. Hermia's arms. There is, of course, 
 a pun on the two senses of bond. 
 
 III. ii. 282. Canker-blossom. Usually a wild rose, but here a canker- 
 worm that eats blossoms. 
 III. ii. 288. Puppet. Doll. 
 
 III. ii. 296. Painted maypole. Maypoles, in addition to being 
 adorned with streamers and flowers, were sometimes painted. Painted 
 probably refers to Helena's blonde complexion. 
 III. ii. 300. Curst. Shrewish, spiteful. 
 III. ii. 302. Right. True. For. As regards. 
 III. ii. 310. Stealth. Stealthy flight. 
 III. ii. 317. Fond. Foolish. 
 III. ii. 323. Shrewd. Same as curst, 1. 300. 
 
 III. ii. 329. Minimus. The Latin superlative, substituted for the 
 English "minim." Knot-grass. A weed which was popularly supposed 
 to stunt the growth of children. 
 III. ii. 335. Aby. Cf. 1. 175. 
 
 Jowl. Jaw. Cheek by jowl. Close alongside. 
 Coil. Strife. 'Long of you. On your account. 
 Still. Always. 
 Welkin. Heavens. 
 Acheron. A river in hell. 
 
 Virtuous property. Powerful and efficacious quality. 
 His. See Introd., p. 42, 2, a. 
 Fruitless. Without results, consequences. 
 Date. Duration. 
 
 Aurora's harbinger. The morning-star, which announces 
 the approach of dawn. A harbinger was a person who rode in 
 advance to procure lodgings. 
 
 III. ii. 383. Crossways and floods. "Suicides, whose bodies were 
 either never recovered from the water, or else buried i:i crossways 
 without religious rites, were looked upon as especially doomed to wan- 
 der." [A.] 
 
 III. ii. 389. Morning's love. This is probably Aurora herself, but 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 338. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 339. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 345. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 356. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 357. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 367. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 368. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 371. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 373. 
 
 III. 
 
 ii. 
 
 380. 
 
148 NOTES 
 
 is sometimes taken as referring to her husband Tithonus or her lover 
 Cephalus. 
 
 III. ii. 402. Drawn. With drawn sword. 
 
 III. ii. 412. We'll try no manhood here. We will not make trial of 
 our courage, i. e. fight, here. 
 
 III. ii. 421. Ho, ho, ho\ The devil in the old miracle and morality 
 plays usually came on the stage with this laugh, and it was used by 
 Robin Goodfellow in the anecdotes and ballads that described his 
 pranks. 
 
 III. ii. 461. Jack shall have Jill. In John Heywood's Epigrams, 
 1557, is found "All shall be well, Jack shall have Jill," and the two 
 names were frequently used generically. 
 
 III. ii. 463. The man . . . well. Another old proverb. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 IV. i. Two of the three groups of actors, the lovers and the fairies, 
 are here freed from the difficulties in which they have been entangled. 
 The opening situation between Titania and Bottom is a continuation 
 of that in III. i. With 1. 107 the scene reverts to III. ii. 
 
 IV. i. 2. Amiable. Lovely. Coy. Caress. 
 Overflown. Overflowed, drenched. 
 Neaf. Fist. 
 
 Leave your courtesy. Don't bother about ceremony. 
 Cavalery Cobweb. Bottom's pronunciation of Cavalero. 
 Cobweb has already been assigned another task, and the name ought 
 properly to be Peaseblossom. Either it is a slip on Shakspere's part, 
 or else Bottom is temporarily confused as to his attendant's names. 
 
 IV. i. 29. The tongs and the bones. The former were struck by an 
 iron key, giving an effect like that of the modern triangle; the hitter 
 resembled those used by present day negro minstrels. 
 
 IV. i. 33. Bottle. "The diminutive of the French botte. a bundk-, of 
 hay, flax, etc." [C] 
 
 IV. i. 35. Hoard is dissyllabic. Cf. Introd., p. 41. 
 
 IV. i. 38. Exposition. I. e. disposition. 
 
 IV. i. 41. Woodbine . . . honeysuckle. A good deal of diffi- 
 culty has been caused by the fact that these two words, here apparently- 
 used to distinguish two different plants, are elsewhere used by Shakspere 
 as synonymous. Probably in this instance, however, "woodbine" may 
 be taken as = convolvulus. Cf. II. i. 251. 
 
 IV. i. 42. Female. Because the ivy is dependent upon the elm as a 
 wife on her husband. 
 
 IV. i. 46. Dotage. Doting affection. 
 
 IV. i. 48. Favours. Love-tokens, presents. 
 
 IV. i. 53. Orient. Bright, rich. 
 
 IV. i 
 
 . 16. 
 
 IV. i 
 
 i. 19. 
 
 IV. 
 
 i. 20. 
 
 IV. 
 
 i. 22. 
 
NOTES 149 
 
 IV. i. 65. Other. A plural. 
 
 IV. i. 72. Dian's bud. The herb of II. i. 184 and III. ii. 366 ; as 
 Cupid's flower is the "love-in-idleness" of II. i. 168. 
 
 IV. i. 82. S. D. Music, still. Soft music. 
 
 IV. i. 94. Sad. Grave, cf. II. i. 51. 
 
 IV. i. 103. Observation. Ceremony, "observance to a morn of May," 
 I. i. 167. 
 
 IV. i. 104. V award. First part; literally, the vanguard of an army. 
 
 IV. i. 106. Uncouple. Unleash ; hounds were leashed in couples. 
 
 IV. i. 113. Hounds of Sparta. Celebrated for their swiftness and 
 keenness of scent. 
 
 IV. i. 114.' Chiding. Any loud sound; here specifically, baying. 
 
 IV. i. 124. Flew'd. With large hanging chaps. Sanded. Sandy 
 in color. 
 
 IV. i. 123. Each under each. Of different notes, like bells in a 
 chime. Very great care was paid in Elizabethan times to the musical 
 quality of a pack's cry. Cf. Addison's description of Sir Roger's pack 
 in the De Coverley Papers. 
 
 IV. i. 133. Grace. Honor. 
 
 IV. i. 138. Saint Valentine. It was supposed that birds began to 
 mate on this day. 
 
 IV. i. 144. To. As to. 
 
 IV. i. 152. Lysander is interrupted by Egeus before finishing what 
 he was saying. 
 
 Cf. III. ii. 310, note. 
 Cf. I. i. 155. 
 Cf. I. i. 33. 
 
 Power. 
 >ewel. The usual interpretation is that Helena 
 compares her recovery of Demetrius to a person's finding a jewel and 
 remaining in uncertainty whether it is to be a permanent possession or 
 whether it will be claimed by the owner. 
 
 IV. i. 199. Bottom's train of thought is taken up precisely where it 
 left off at III. i. 86, when he made his exit as Pyramus before returning 
 with the ass's head upon his shoulders, but he thinks that he has been 
 napping and indulging in most remarkable dreams. 
 
 IV. i. 202. God's my life. "Shortened form of the oath, 'By God 
 who is my life,' or, 'As God is my life.' " [B.] 
 
 IV. i. 205. Go about. Undertake. 
 
 IV. i. 208. Patch'd. The Elizabethan fool or jester was dressed in 
 motley garments, made up of patches of various colors. 
 
 IV. i. 209-13. The eye . . . dream was. Doubtless a parody of 
 J. Corinthians, ii. 9: "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have 
 entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for 
 them that love him." 
 
 '. i. 159. 
 
 Stealth. 
 
 '. i. 162. 
 
 Fancy. 
 
 '. i. 166. 
 
 Gaud. 
 
 '. i. 168. 
 
 Virtue. 
 
 '. i. 190. 
 
 Like a 
 
150 NOTES 
 
 IV. i. 217. Gracious. Acceptable. At her death. The pronoun 
 seems to refer to Thisbe. By many editors the passage is emended to 
 read "after death," i. e. after Bottom's death as Pyramus, he will come 
 to life again to sing the ballad of his dream. 
 
 IV. ii. With the reunion of Bottom and the other artisans and their 
 assurance that they are to present their play, the last group of characters 
 are freed from their difficulties, and the plot is practically finished. 
 
 IV. ii. 4. Transported. Transformed. Starveling's equivalent for 
 the translated of Quince, III. i. 118, and of Puck, III. ii. 32. 
 
 IV. ii. 6. Goes not forward. Will not proceed. 
 
 IV. ii. 8. Discharge. Act. 
 
 IV. ii. 14. A thing of naught. A loose woman. 
 
 IV. ii. 20. Sixpence a day. Thomas Preston had the good fortune 
 to please Queen Elizabeth by his acting in a play in 1564, and was given 
 a pension of twenty pounds a year, at the rate of rather more than a 
 shilling per day. 
 
 IV. ii. 27. Courageous. Used with no particular meaning, but 
 simply for the effect of its length. 
 
 IV. ii. 33. Of. From. 
 
 IV. ii. 35. Strings. With which to tie on the false beards. 
 
 IV. ii. 38. Preferr'd. Proffered, offered for approval. It has been 
 admitted to the list of entertainments from which Theseus is to choose. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 V. i. The real story of the play is now over, and the last act merely 
 provides a comic ending, somewhat in the nature of an epilogue, and 
 closes with the epithalamium, or marriage song, which probably had 
 additional point from the occasion of the play. Cf. Introd., p. 38. 
 
 V. i. 5. Shaping fantasies. Creative imaginations. 
 
 V. i. 8. Compact. Composed. 
 
 V. i. 11. Brow of Egypt. I. e. a swarthy complexion. 
 
 V. i. 19-20. That, if . . . joy. That if it merely conceives the 
 idea of some pleasurable object, it immediately conceives some method 
 of attaining that object. 
 
 V. i. 21. Fear. Fearful object. 
 
 V. i. 26. Constancy. Consistency. 
 
 V. i. 34. After-supper. Sometimes called "rere-supper;" there is 
 difference of opinion whether it means a second supper, served some 
 
NOTES 151 
 
 r 
 
 time later than the regular meal, or merely the dessert or last course of 
 a supper. Here the latter meaning would seem preferable. 
 
 V. i. 35. Manager of mirth. All court entertainments were in 
 charge of a Master of the Revels, who was a personage of considerable 
 importance. 
 
 V. i. 39. Abridgement. Something to make time seem shorter, a 
 pastime. 
 
 V. i. 42. Brief. List. Ripe. Ready. 
 
 V. i. 44. Battle with the Centaurs. Between the Centaurs and 
 Lapithae. Cf. Ovid, Met. XII. 
 
 V. i. 49. Thracian singer. Orpheus. Cf. Ovid, Met. XI. 
 
 V. i. 52. The thrice three Muses. The attempts to find an allusion 
 here to some recently deceased poet are not convincing, nor does any 
 topical reference seem to be necessarily implied. 
 
 V. i. 55. Sorting. Agreeing, fitting. 
 
 V. i. 59. Wondrous. For pronunciation, cf. Introd., p. 40, 2. 
 Strange. Unnatural, prodigious. 
 
 V. i. 74. Unbreathed. Unpractised. 
 
 V. i. 79-81. Unless you . . . service. "Unless you can find 
 entertainment in their endeavors, which they have stretched to the 
 utmost in studying with cruel pain the lines of the play, for the 
 purpose of serving you." [B.] 
 
 V. i. 85. Overcharged. Overladen. 
 
 V. i. 86. His. See Introd., p. 42, 2, a. 
 
 V. i. 88. In this kind. At this sort of business, i. e. acting. 
 
 V. i. 90. To take what they mistake. To accept in good part what 
 they offer blunderingly. 
 
 V. i. 91-2. Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. True nobility 
 or courtesy, looking on, takes the will for the deed; "accommodates its 
 judgment to the abilities of the performers, not to the merit of the 
 performance." [S.] 
 
 V. i. 93. Clerks. Scholars, men of learning. 
 
 V. i. 96. Make periods. Come to a stop. 
 
 V. i. 101. Fearful. Awe-struck, timorous. 
 
 V. i. 105. To my capacity. In my opinion. 
 
 V. i. 106. Address'd. Ready. 
 
 V. i. 107. Flourish of trumpets. The usual announcement that the 
 play was to begin. 
 
 V. i. 108 ff. The mispunctuation, indicating that Quince's faulty 
 elocution leads him into saying the exact opposite of what his lines 
 intend, is very carefully observed in both Quartos and Folios. The 
 same comic device is used in Nicholas Udall's comedy of Ralph Roister 
 Doisler, played about the middle of the sixteenth century. 
 
 V. i. 113. Minding. Intending. 
 
 V. i. 118. Stand upon. Observe. Points. Punningly used, mean 
 
tZ2 NOTES 
 
 ing either (1) the proprieties of speech, or (2) the marks of punctuation. 
 
 V. i. 120. Knows not the stop. A pun of a similar nature, since stop 
 may be taken as a term in horsemanship, indicating a particularly 
 6udden method of bringing a horse to a stop. 
 
 V. i. 123. Recorder. A kind of flute or flageolet. In government. 
 Under control. 
 
 V. i. 126. Gentles. Gentlefolk, ladies and gentlemen; a common 
 form of address. 
 
 V. i. 129. Certain. The throwing of the accent on the second syl- 
 lable produces the burlesque effect that is apparent through all the 
 diction, rhyming, and pronunciation of the performance by Bottom's 
 company. 
 
 V. i. 138. Hight. Is called. 
 
 V. i. 141. Fall. Used transitively. 
 
 V. i. 143. Tall. Valiant. 
 
 Y. i. 146. Broach' d. Pierced. "Apt alliteration's artful aid" has 
 been much employed in English poetry from Anglo-Saxon times down, 
 but it is the excessive use of it in old dramas like Sir Clyomon and 
 Sir Clamydes that Shakspere here parodies. 
 
 V. i. 162. Sinister. Left. 
 
 V. i. 169. Grim-look'd. Grim-looking. 
 
 V. i. 181. Sensible. Possessing senses. 
 
 V. i. 194. Lover's grace. Graceful lover. 
 
 V. i. 195. Limander. Bottom's version of Leander, as Helen in 
 the following line, is Flute's error for Hero. 
 
 V. i. 197. Shafalus and Procrus. Cephalus and Procris, whose 
 story is told by Ovid, Met. VII. 
 
 V. i. 202. 'Tide life, 'tide death. Whatever may betide. 
 
 V. i. 205. Moon used. This is the reading of the Quartos. The 
 Folios read "Morall down," which Theobald emended to "mure [= 
 wall] all down," and Pope to "mural down." The folio reading on 
 which these later conjectures are based seems like an unauthorized 
 attempt to make this speech fit with the next. The quarto reading 
 is possible, and, on the whole, gives as good sense as any of the emenda- 
 tions. 
 
 V. i. 222. A lion, etc. I am a lion's skin, and in no other sense can 
 be said to contain a lion. 
 
 V. i. 223. Pity on my life. Cf. III. i. 43. 
 
 V. i. 231 ff. The kind of verbal fencing illustrated by the speeches of 
 Demetrius and Theseus, which seems very flat to us, greatly tickled 
 the fancy of the Elizabethans, and proficiency in it was part of the 
 equipment of a courtier. Cf. the scene between the French lords in 
 Henvy V., III. vii. 
 
 V. i. 243. Greatest error of all the rest. Abbott (Gr. 409) calls this 
 a confusion of two constructions, viz. : the greatest error of all, and a 
 
NOTES 153 
 
 greater error than all the rest. Abbott quotes Milton's lines in Paradise 
 Lost, iv. 323-4: 
 
 "Adam the goodliest of men since born 
 His sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve." 
 
 V. i. 247. In snuff. A common pun on two meanings of snuff as 
 (1) the burnt out part of a wick, (2) anger. Cf. Love's Labour's Lost, 
 V. ii. 22: "You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff." 
 
 V. i. 267. Mous'd. Thisbe's mantle is shaken and torn by the lion, 
 as is a mouse by a cat. 
 
 V. i. 276. Dole. Grief. 
 
 V. i. 284. Thread and thrum. In weaving the thread runs length- 
 wise of the loom to make the warp, while the tufts at the end of the 
 warp where it is tied, are called thrums. 
 
 V. i. 285. Quail. Seems to have no particular meaning, but to 
 be used for its alliterative effect. Quell. Kill. 
 
 V. i. 286. Passion. Violent sorrow. 
 
 V. i. 296. Pap. In the pronunciation of Shakspere's time this 
 probably rhymed with hop. 
 
 V. i. 305. No die, but an ace, for him. The ace is the single spot on 
 a die, in any game where dice are used. The punning on ace is con- 
 tinued by Theseus in ass, 1. 310. 
 
 V. i. 317. Which Pyramus, which Thisbe. I. e. whether Pyramus 
 or Thisbe is the better. 
 
 V. i. 318-19. He for a man . . . bless us. Omitted from the 
 Folios, probably because of the statute of James I., passed in 1605, 
 against using the name of God on the stage. 
 
 V. i. 322. Videlicet. As follows. 
 
 V. i. 335. Sisters Three. The Fates. 
 
 V. i. 339. Shore. A burlesque rhyming form of shorn. 
 
 V. i. 343. Imbrue. Stain with blood. 
 
 V. i. 352. Bergomask. A rustic dance after the manner of the people 
 of Bergamo in northern Italy, who were considered especially clownish. 
 
 V. i. 354. Your play needs no excuse. The epilogue of a play usually 
 begged the indulgence of the audience; cf. Puck's concluding lines. 
 
 V. i. 359. Discharg'd. Performed. Cf. IV. ii. 8. 
 
 V. i. 361. Told. Counted, numbered. 
 
 V. i. 364. Overwalch'd. Stayed up too late. 
 
 V. i. 365. Palpable-gross. Palpably or evidently gross, stupid. 
 
 V. i. 366. Heavy gait of flight. Cf. Henry V., IV. Prol. 20: "the 
 cripple tardy-gaited night." 
 
 V. i. 372. Fordone. Exhausted. The prefix for—, like the German 
 ver — , implies negation or injury. 
 
 V. i. 382. Triple Hecate. Statues of Hecate usually had three 
 bodies and three heads, because of the three realms in which she was a 
 divinity. In heaven she was called Cynthia or Luna, on earth Diana, 
 
154 NOTES 
 
 in hell Hecate or Proserpina. Triple is equivalent to the Latin triformis 
 or tergemina, epithets applied to the goddess by Horace and Virgil. 
 
 Prodigious. Monstrous. 
 
 Consecrate. Consecrated. 
 
 Gait. Way. 
 
 Unearned luck. Undeserved good fortune. 
 
 Serpent's tongue. The hiss of disapproval. 
 
 Hands. Applause. 
 
 Restore amends. "Return your favors." [B.J. 
 
 V. 
 
 i. 410. 
 
 V. 
 
 i. 413. 
 
 V. 
 
 i. 414. 
 
 V. 
 
 i. 430. 
 
 V. 
 
 i. 431. 
 
 V. : 
 
 i. 435. 
 
 V. 
 
 i. 436. 
 
WORD INDEX 
 
 Abridgement, V. i. 39. 
 aby, III. ii. 175; III. "• 335- 
 ace, V i. 305 
 Acheron, III. ii. 357. 
 adamant, II. i. 195. 
 address'd, V. i. 106. 
 advance, III. ii. 128. 
 after-supper, V. i. 34. 
 against, I i. 125.; III. ii. 99. 
 aggravate, I. ii. 80. 
 alone, III. ii. 119. 
 amiable, IV. i. 2. 
 an, I. ii. 51; I. ii. 82. 
 anon, III. ii. 18. 
 approve, II. ii. 68. 
 apricocks, III. i. 164. 
 argument, III. ii. 242. 
 artificial, III. ii. 203. 
 aunt, II. i. 51. 
 
 Barm, II. i. 38. 
 barren, III. ii. 13. 
 bated, I. i. 190. 
 belike, I. i. 130. 
 bergomask, V. i. 352. 
 beshrew, II. ii. 54. 
 beteem, I. i. 131. 
 blood, I. i. 68; I. i. 135. 
 bones, IV. i. 29. 
 bottle, IV. i. 33. 
 breath, III. ii. 44. 
 brief, V. i. 42. 
 broach'd, V. i. 146. 
 brow of Egypt, V. i. 11. 
 bully, III. i. 8. 
 buskin'd, II. i. 71. 
 
 Canker-blossom, III. ii. 282. 
 cankers, II. ii. 3. 
 capacity, V. i. 105. 
 Cavalery, IV. i. 22. 
 changeling, II. i. 23. 
 chiding, IV. i. 114. 
 childing, II. i. 112. 
 choughs, III. ii. 21. 
 clerks, V. i. 93. 
 close, III. ii. 7. 
 coil, III. ii. 339. 
 collied, I. i. 145. 
 compact, V. i. 8. 
 companies, I. i. 219. 
 companion, I. i. 15. 
 conceits, I. i. 33. 
 condole, I. ii. 27. 
 confounding, III. ii. 93. 
 consecrate, V. i. 413. 
 constancy, V. i. 26. 
 contagious, II. i. 90. 
 continents, II. i. 92. 
 courageous, IV. ii. 27. 
 courtesy, IV. i. 20. 
 coy, IV. i. 2. 
 crab, II. i. 48. 
 crazed, I. i. 92. 
 cry your mercy, III. i. 177. 
 curst, III. ii. 300. 
 
 Darkling, II. ii. 86. 
 date, III. ii. 3 73- 
 deriv'd, I. i. 99. 
 discharge, IV. ii. 8. 
 discharg'd, V. i. 359. 
 distemperature. II. i. 106. 
 
156 
 
 WORD INDEX 
 
 dole, V. i 276. 
 
 dotage, IV. i. 46. 
 
 double, II. ii. 9. 
 
 dowager, I. i. 5. 
 
 drawn, III. ii. 402. 
 
 due, I. i. 154; III. ii. 214. 
 
 Eat, II. ii. 149. 
 eglantine, II. i. 252. 
 enforced, III. i. 199. 
 Ercles, I. ii. 29. 
 estate unto, I. i. 98. 
 Ethiope, III. ii. 257. 
 exposition, IV. i. 38. 
 extenuate, I. i. 120. 
 eyne, I. i. 242; II. ii. 99. 
 
 Faining, I. i. 31. 
 
 faint, I. i. 215. 
 
 fair, I. i. 182. 
 
 fall, V. i. 141. 
 
 fancy, I. i. 118; I. i. 155; 
 
 i 162. 
 fancy-free, II. i 164. 
 fancy-sick, III. ii. 96. 
 fantasies, V. i. 5. 
 favour, I. i. 186. 
 favours, IV. i. 48. 
 fear, V. i. 21. 
 fearful, V. i. 101. 
 fee, III. ii. 113. 
 filch'd, I. i. 36. 
 flew'd, IV. i. 119. 
 fond, II. ii. 88; III. ii. 114: 
 
 ii. 317. 
 force perforce, III. i. 139. 
 fordone, V. i. 372. 
 fruitless, III. ii. 371. 
 
 Gait, V. i. 414. 
 gallant, I. ii. 23. 
 gawds, I. i. 33. 
 gaud, IV. i. 166. 
 gentleness, II. ii. 132. 
 gentles, V. i. 126. 
 
 glance at, II. i. 75. 
 gleek, III. i. 145. 
 go about, IV. i. 205. 
 God's my life, IV. i. 202. 
 grace, IV. i. 133. 
 gracious, IV. i. 217. 
 griffin, II. i. 232. 
 grim-look'd, V. i. 169 
 grow to a point, I. ii. 10. 
 
 Hands, V. i. 435. 
 
 harbinger, III. ii. 380. 
 
 have, III. i. 169. 
 
 henchman, II. i. 121. 
 
 Hiems, II. i. 109. 
 
 hight, V. i. 138. 
 
 hind, II. i. 232. 
 
 his, II. i. 95; HI ii. 368; V. 
 
 i. 86. 
 humour, I. ii. 28. 
 
 IV. Imbrue, V. i 343 
 
 immediately, I. i. 45- 
 impeach, II. i. 214. 
 increase, II. i. 114- 
 interlude, I. ii. 6. 
 
 Jowl, III. ii. 338. 
 juvenal, III. i. 94- 
 
 Knot-grass, III. ii. 329- 
 
 Lakin, III. i. 13. 
 III. latch'd, III. ii 36. 
 leagues, I. i. 159- 
 lesser, II. ii. 89. 
 Limander, V. i. 195. 
 lingers, I. i. 4- 
 lob, II. i. 16. 
 lode-stars, I i. 183. 
 love-in-idleness, II. i. 168. 
 lovers' grace, V. i. 194 
 
 Margent, II. i. 85. 
 marry, I. ii. 11. 
 
WORD INDEX 
 
 157 
 
 mask, I. ii. 49. 
 mazes, II. i. 99. 
 mechanicals, III. ii. 9. 
 mew'd, I. i. 71. 
 minding, V. i. 113. 
 minimus, III. ii. 329. 
 misgraflfed, I. i. 137. 
 mispris'd mood, III. ii. 74. 
 misprision, III. ii. 90. 
 momentany, I. i. 143. 
 moon used, V. i. 205. 
 more better, III. i. 20. 
 mous'd, V. i. 267. 
 murrain, II. i. 97. 
 
 Neaf, IV. i. 19. 
 
 neeze, II. i. 56. 
 
 nine men's morris, II. i. 98. 
 
 nole, III. ii. 17. 
 
 nor . . . not, II. i. 201. 
 
 Obscenely, I. ii. 105. 
 observation, IV. i. 103. 
 o'ercharged, V. i. 85. 
 o'erlooked, II. ii. 121. 
 oes, III. ii. 188. 
 of all loves, II. ii. 154. 
 offices, II. ii. 8. 
 orbs, II. i. 9. 
 orient, IV. i. 53. 
 original, II. i. 117. 
 other, IV. i. 65. 
 ounce, II. ii. 30. 
 ousel cock, III. i. 124. 
 overflown, IV. i. 16. 
 overwatch'd, V. i. 364. 
 owe, II. ii. 79. 
 oxlips, II. i. 250. 
 
 Painted maypole, III. ii. 296. 
 p-ipable-gross, V. i. 365. 
 pard, II. ii. 31. 
 parlous, III. i. 13. 
 parts, III. ii. 153. 
 passion, V. i. 286. 
 
 pat, III. i. 2. 
 
 patch'd, IV. i. 208. 
 
 patches, III. ii. 9. 
 
 patent, I. i. 80. 
 
 paved, II. i. 84. 
 
 pensioners, II. i. 10. 
 
 periods, V. i. 96. 
 
 persever, III. ii. 237. 
 
 pert, I. i. 13. 
 
 Philomel, II. ii. 13. 
 
 pity of my life, III. i. 42; V. 
 
 224. 
 plain-song, III. i. 130. 
 points, V. i. 118. 
 Puck, II. i. 40. 
 puppet, III. ii. 288. 
 purple-in-grain, I. ii. 91. 
 preferr'd, IV. ii. 38. 
 prevailment, I. i. 35. 
 privilege, II. i. 220. 
 Procrus, V. i. 197. 
 prodigious, V. i. 410. 
 proper, I. ii. 84. 
 protest, I. i. 89. 
 
 Quail, V i. 285. 
 quaint, II. ii. 7. 
 quantity, I. i. 232. 
 quell, V. i. 285. 
 quern, II. i. 36. 
 quill, III. i. 127. 
 quire, II. i. 55. 
 
 Recorder, V. i. 123. 
 rere-mice, II. ii. 4. 
 respect, II. i. 224. 
 respects, I. i. 160. 
 restore amends, V. i. 436. 
 right, III. ii. 302. 
 ringlets, II. i. 86. 
 ripe, II. ii. 118; V. i. 42. 
 roundel, II. ii. 1. 
 
 Sad, IV. i. 94. 
 saddest, II. i. 51. 
 
158 
 
 WORD INDEX 
 
 sanded, IV. i 119- 
 
 scrip, I. ii. 3. 
 
 sensible, V. i. 181. 
 
 serpent's tongue, V. i. 431- 
 
 Shafalus, V. i. 197- 
 
 sheen, II. i. 29. 
 
 shore, V. i. 339- 
 
 shrewd, II. i. 33; III. ii. 323. 
 
 simplicity, I. i. 171. 
 
 sinister, V. i. 162. 
 
 snuff, V. i. 247- 
 
 sort, III. ii. 13; HI n. 21; III. 
 
 ii. 159. 
 sorting, V. i. 55. 
 sphery, II. ii. 99. 
 spleen, I. i. 146. 
 spotted, I. i. no. 
 square, II. i. 30. 
 squash, III. i. 184. 
 stalls, III. ii. 10. 
 stand upon, V. i. 118. 
 stealth, III. ii. 310; IV. i. 159. 
 still, I. i. 212; III. ii. 345- 
 stop, V. i. 120. 
 strange, V. i. 59- 
 super-praise, III. ii. 153. 
 
 "Tailor," II. i. 54- 
 
 tales, III. ii. 133. 
 
 tall, V. i. 143- 
 
 tame, III. ii. 259. 
 
 thin, II. i. 109. 
 
 thing of naught, IV. ii. 14. 
 
 throstle, III. i. 126. 
 
 throws, II. i. 255. 
 
 thrum, V. i. 284. 
 
 tiring-house, III. i. 4. 
 
 told, V. i. 361. 
 
 tongs, IV. i. 29. 
 
 touch, III. ii. 70. 
 
 toward, III. i. 78. 
 
 trace, II. i. 25. 
 
 translated, I. i. 191; III. i. 118. 
 
 transported, IV. ii. 4. 
 
 trim, III. ii. 157. 
 
 triple Hecate, V. i. 382. 
 
 troth, II. ii. 36; II. ii. 42; III 
 
 ii. 92. 
 two of the first, III. ii. 213. 
 
 Unbreathed, V. i. 74. 
 uncouple, IV. i. 106. 
 unearned luck, V. i. 43 °. 
 unhard'ned, I. i. 35. 
 
 Vaward, IV. i. 104. 
 videlicet, V. i. 322. 
 villagery, II. i. 35. 
 virtue, IV i. 168. 
 virtuous, III. ii. 367- 
 voice, I. i. 54. 
 
 Wanton, II. i. 99. 
 washes, II. i. 104. 
 waxen, II. i. 56. 
 weed, II. i. 256. 
 welkin, III. ii. 356. 
 wonted, II. i. 113. 
 wood, II. i. 192. 
 woodbine, II. i. 251. 
 worser, II. i. 208. 
 
 You (eth. dat.), I. ii. 81. 
 you were best, I. ii. 2. 
 your, III. i. 32. 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div.