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By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves;
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
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!
Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection
Her The more I hate, the more he follows me.
Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me.
Her. Take comfort; he no more shall see my face;
Lysander and myself will fly this place. —
Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
Her. And in the wood, where often you and I
[Exit Lys. Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know. And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities.
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
As waggish boys in game 2 themselves forswear,
The same. A Room in a Cottage.
Enter SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, QUINCE, 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 our interlude before the duke and 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.
Quin. Marry, our play is The most lamentable 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 actors by the scroll: Masters, spread yourselves.
Quin. Answer, as I call you. - Nick Bottom, the
Bot. Ready: Name what part I am for, and proceed.
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 gallantly for love.
Bot. That will ask some tears in the true performing of it: If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest:-Yet my chief humour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. "The raging rocks,
"With shivering shocks,
"And Phibbus' car
"Shall shine from far,
"And make and mar
"The foolish fates."
This was lofty!-Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling.
Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
Quin. You must take Thisby on you.
Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in. a mask, and you may speak as small as you will.
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, Flute, you Thisby.
Bot. Well, proceed.
Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor.
Star. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.-Tom Snout, the tinker.
Snout. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father.-Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part:and, I hope, here is a play fitted.
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 lion too; I will roar, that, I will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will 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 fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek: and that were enough to hang us all.