MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM
Act 1 Scene II
SCENE II. Athens. QUINCE'S house.
Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING
QUINCE
Is all our company here?
BOTTOM
You were best to call them generally, man by man,
according to the scrip.
First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats
on, then read the names of the actors, and so grow
to a point.
QUINCE
Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and
most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.
BOTTOM
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.
QUINCE
Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.
BOTTOM
Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.
QUINCE
You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.
BOTTOM
What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?
QUINCE
A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.
BOTTOM
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.
QUINCE
Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
FLUTE
Here, Peter Quince.
QUINCE
Flute, you must take Thisby on you.
FLUTE
What is Thisby? a wandering knight?
QUINCE
It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
FLUTE
Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.
QUINCE
That's all one: you shall play it in a mask, and
you may speak as small as you will.
BOTTOM
An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too, I'll
speak in a monstrous little voice. 'Thisne,
Thisne;' 'Ah, Pyramus, lover dear! thy Thisby dear,
and lady dear!'
QUINCE
No, no; you must play Pyramus: and, Flute, you Thisby.
BOTTOM
Well, proceed.
QUINCE
Robin Starveling, the tailor.
STARVELING
Here, Peter Quince.
QUINCE
Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.
Tom Snout, the tinker.
SNOUT
Here, Peter Quince.
QUINCE
You, Pyramus' 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.
QUINCE
You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
BOTTOM
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.'
QUINCE
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.
ALL
That would hang us, every mother's son.
BOTTOM
I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the
ladies out of their wits, they would have no more
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 'twere any
nightingale.
QUINCE
You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a
sweet-faced 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.
BOTTOM
Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best
to play it in?
QUINCE
Why, what you will.
BOTTOM
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.
QUINCE
Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and
then you will play bare-faced. 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
we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with
company, and our devices known. In the meantime I
will draw a bill of properties, such as our play
wants. I pray you, fail me not.
AS YOU LIKE IT
Act 3 Scene II
SCENE II. Arden.
ROSALIND and CELIA
CELIA
Didst thou hear these verses?
ROSALIND
I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
before you came; for look here what I found on a
palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since
Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I
can hardly remember.
CELIA
Trow you who hath done this?
ROSALIND
Is it a man?
CELIA
And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
Change you colour?
ROSALIND
I prithee, who?
CELIA
O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes
and so encounter.
ROSALIND
Nay, but who is it?
CELIA
Is it possible?
ROSALIND
Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
tell me who it is.
CELIA
O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that,
out of all hooping!
ROSALIND
Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
my disposition? I prithee, tell me who is it.
Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his
head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?
CELIA
Nay, he hath but a little beard.
ROSALIND
Why, God will send more, if the man will be
thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if
thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.
CELIA
It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's
heels and your heart both in an instant.
ROSALIND
Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
true maid.
CELIA
I' faith, coz, 'tis he.
ROSALIND
Orlando?
CELIA
Orlando!
ROSALIND
Orlando! Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said
he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see
him again? Answer me in one word.
CELIA
You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a
word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To
say ay and no to these particulars is more than to
answer in a catechism.
ROSALIND
But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
day he wrestled?
CELIA
It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my
finding him, and relish it with good observance.
I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.
ROSALIND
It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
forth such fruit.
CELIA
Give me audience, good madam.
ROSALIND
Proceed.
CELIA
There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.
ROSALIND
Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
becomes the ground.
CELIA
Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.
ROSALIND
O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
CELIA
I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
me out of tune.
ROSALIND
Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must
speak. Sweet, say on.
CELIA
You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
