Bot. I grant you, friends, if you fhould fright the Ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my voice fo, 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 'Tweet-fac❜d man, a proper man as one fhall fee in a fummer's day; a moft lovely gentleman-like man: therefore you must needs play, Pyramus.

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I beft to play it in ?

Quin. Why what you will.

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-colour'd beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain 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, mafters, 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 palacewood, a mile without the town, by moonlight, there we will rehearse; for if we meet in the city, we fhall be dog'd, with company, 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. But hold ye, hold ye, neighbours; are your voices in order, and your tunes ready? For if we miss our mufical pitch, we shall be all 'fham'd and abandon'd.

Quin. Ay, ay! Nothing goes down fo well as a little of your fol, fa, and long quaver; therefore let us be in our airs -and for better affurance I have got the pitch pipe.

Bot. Stand round, ftand round! We'll rehearse our eplog Clear up your pipes, and every man in his turn take up his ftanza-verfe- Are you all ready?

All. Ay, ay!-Sound the pitch -pipe, Peter Quince.

Bot. Now make your reverency and begin.

[Quince blows.

SONG

SONG for Epilogue;

By Quince, Bottom, Snug, Flute, Starveling, Snout,

Bot. Well faid, my boys, my hearts! Sing but like nightingales thus when you come to your misreprefentation, and we are made for ever, you rogues fo! fteal a way now to your homes without infpection; meet me at the Duke's oak-by moon light-mum's the word. All. Mum!

[Exeunt all fealing`out.

End of the First A&t.

ACT

II. SCENE I.

ACT II.

SCENE, a Wood.

Enter a Fairy at one Door, and Puck, or Robin-good-fellow, at another.

Puck. HOW now, Spirit! whither wander you?

Fai. Over hill, over dale,

Through bufh, through brier,
Over park, over pale,
Through flood, through fire,
I do wander every where,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I ferve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:
I must go feek fome dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowflip's ear.

AIR.

Kingcup, daffodil and rofe,
Shall the fairy wreath compafe
Beauty, fweetness, and delight,
Crown our revels of the night:
Lightly trip it o'er the
green
Where the Fairy ring is feen;
So no fep of earthly tread,
Shall offend our Lady's head

Virtue fometimes droops her wing,
Beauties. bee, may loje her fling;
Fairy land can both combine,
Rofes with the eglantine :
Lightly be your measures jeen,
Deftly footed o'er the green;
Nor a fpectre's baleful head
Peep at our nocturnal tread.

Farewel thou lob of fpirits, I'll begone;
Our Queen and all her Elves come here anon.
C

Puck.

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Puck. The King doth keep his revels here to-night,
Take heed the Queen come not within his fight;
For they do fquare, that all their Elves for fear
Creep into acorn-cups, and hide them there.
Ift Fai. But why is Oberon fo fell and wrath?
Puck. Because that fhe, as her attendant hath
A lovely boy ftol'n from an Indian King;
And the perforce with-holds the changling,
Tho' jealous Oberon wou'd have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild.

It Fai, Or I mistake your fhape and making quite,
Or else you are that fhrewd and knavish Sprite
Call'd Robin-good-fellow.

Puck. Thou fpeak'ft aright;

I am that merry wand'rer of the night:
I jeft to Oberon, and make him (mile,
Oft lurk in goffip's bowl, and her beguile
In very likeness of a roafted crab;

And when the drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale;
The wifeft aunt telling the faddeft tale,
Sometime for three-foot ftool mistaketh me;
Then flip I from her bum, down topples she,
And rails or cries, and falls into a cough,

And then the whole choir hold their hips and loffe.

AIR.

Fai. Yes, yes, I know you, you are he
That frighten all the villagree;
Skim milk, and labour in the quern,
And bootlefs make the hufwife churn;
Or make the drink to bear no barm,
Laughing at their lofs and harm,
But call you Robin, and fweet Puck,
You do their work, and bring good luck.

Yes, you are that unlucky Sprite?
Like Will-a-whip, a wandring light,
Through ditch, thro' bog, who lead aftrag
Benighted fwains, who lofe their way;
You pinch the flattern black and blue,
You filver drop in bufwife's fhoe;
For call you Robin and fweet Puck,
You do their work, and bring good luck.

Puck.