Tom Snowt, the tinker.

Snowt. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; my self, Thisby's father; Snug, the joiner; you, the lion's part; I hope, there is a play fitted.

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am flow 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. If you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Dutchess 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 difcretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any fucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet-fac'd man; a proper man, as one 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.

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your orange-tawny-beard, your purple-in-grai beard, or your French crown-colour'd beard; your perfect yellow.

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play bare-fac'd. But, masters, here are your parts; and I am to intreat you, request you, and defire you, to con them by to morrow night; and meet me in the palace-wood, a mile without the town, by moon-light, there we will rehearse; for if we meet in the city, we shall be dog'd with company, and and our devices known. In the mean time I 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 more obscenely and courageously. Take pains, be perfect,

adieu.

Quin. At the Duke's oak we meet.

Bot. Enough; hold, or cut bow-strings. - [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE, a Wood.

Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck (or Robin-goodfellow) at another.

UCK.

OW now, spirit, whither wander you?
Fai. Over hill, over dale,
Through bush, through briar,

Over park, over pale,
Through flood, through 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;
The cowflips tall her pensioners be,
In their gold coats spots you fee,
Those be rubies, Fairy-favours:
In those freckles live their favours:
I must go feek fome dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowflip's ear.
Farewel, thou lob of spirits, I'll be gone,
Our Queen and all her elves come here anon.
Puck. The King doth keep his revels here to night,
Take heed, the Queen come not within his fight.

For

For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
Because that she, as her attendant, hath
A lovely boy, stol'n 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 forefts wild;
But she per-force with-holds the loved boy,
Crowns him with flow'rs, and makes him all her joy.
And now they never meet in grove, or green,
By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen,
But they do square, that all their elves for fear
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.

Fai. Or I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd, and knavish sprite,
Call'd Robin-goodfellow. Are you not he,
That fright the maidens of the villageree,
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,
And bootless make the breathless huswife chern;
And fometime make the drink to bear no barm,
Mif-lead night-wand'rers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good luck.
Are not you he?

Puck. Thou speak'st aright;
I am that merry wand'rer of the night:
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly-foal;
And fometimes lurk I in a gofssip's bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab,
And when the drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.
The wifest aunt, telling the saddeft tale,
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
Then flip I from her bum, down topples she,
And tailor cries, and falls into a cough;
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe,
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear,

A merrier hour was never wasted there.

But

But make room, fairy, here comes Oberon.
Fai. And here my mistress: would, that he were gone!

Enter Oberon King of Fairies at one door with his train, and the Queen at another with hers.

Ob. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania.
Queen.. What, jealous Oberon ? fairies, skip hence,
I have forsworn his bed and company.

Ob. Tarry, rash wanton; am not I thy lord ?
Queen. Then I must be thy lady; but I know,
When thou ha'st stoll'n away from fairy land,
And in the shape of Corin sate all day,
Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love
To am'rous Phillida. Why art thou here,
Come from the farthest steep of India ?
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 profperity.

Ob. How can'st thou thus for shame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolita;
Knowing, I know thy love to Theseus?
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night
From Perigune, whom he ravished; (5)
And make him with fair Ægle break his faith,
With Ariadne, and Antiopa?

Queen. These are the forgeries of jealoufie: And never fince the middle summer's spring

(5) From Perigenia, whom he ravish'd:] Thus all the Editors, either not knowing, or not attending to, the History of this Lady, have falsely call'd her: but our Author, who diligently perus'd Plutarch, and glean'd from him, where his Subject would admit, knew, from the Life of Theseus, that her Name was Perigyné; (or Periguné) by whom Thefeus had his Son Melanippus. She was the Daughter of Sinnis a cruel Robber, and Tormenter of Passengers in the Ifthmus. Plutarch and Athenaus are both express in the Circumftance of Theseus ravishing her: and the Former of them adds (as Diod. Siculus, Apollodorus and Paufanias, likewise tell us;) that he killed her Father into the Bargain. I corrected this Mistake of the Name in my SHAKESPEARE restor'd; and Mr. Pope has vouchsafed to correct from Me in his last Edition.

Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook,
Or on the beached margent of the sea,
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, have fuck'd up from the sea
Contagious fogs; which falling in the land,
Have every pelting river made so proud,
That they have over-born their continents.
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoak in vain,
The ploughman loft his sweat; and the green corn
Hath rotted, ere its youth attain'd a beard.
The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;
The nine-mens morris is fill'd up with mud,
And the queint mazes in the wanton green,
For lack of tread, are undiftinguishable.
The human mortals want their winter here, (6)

No

(6) want their Winter here.) The concluding Word is, certainly, a very dragging Expletive: and tho' I have not ventur'd to difplace it, I scarce believe it genuine. I once suspected it should be

want their winter Chear;

i. e. their Jollity, usual Merry-makings at that Seafon. Mr. Warburton has ingenioufly advanced a more refin'd Emendation; which I'll fubjoin with his own Reasoning, in Confirmation.

"

" Is it an aggravating Circumstance of the Miseries here recapitula"ted, that the wretched Sufferers want their Winter? On the contrary, in the Descriptions of the Happiness of the Golden Age, it was always counted an Addition to it, that they wanted Winter. It seems as plain to Me as day, that we ought to read:

want their Winters heried;

" i. e. prais'd, celebrated; an Old Word: and the Line, that follows, " shews the propriety of it here. The Thing is this; The Winter is the " Seafon for rural Rejoycings on several Accounts; because they have

got their Fruits in, and have wherewithal to make merry. (And there" fore, well might she say,

The human Mortals want their Winters hereid,

"when she had described the Dearths of the Seasons, and the fruitless "Toil of the Husbandman.) Then, the Gloominess of the Seafon, and the Vacancy of it, encourage them to it; and lastly, which is principally in" timated here, (notwithstanding the Impropriety of the Sentiment, as it is "circumftanc'd) fince Chriftianity, this Seafon, on Account of the Birth of

" the