« 前へ次へ »
begin: when you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake; and so every one according to his cue.
Enter Puck behind.
Quin. Speak, Pyramus.—Thisby, stand forth.
-odours savours sweet:
[Exit. Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here!
[Aside. —Exit. This. Must I speak now?
Quin. Ay, marry, must you: for you must understand he
goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again. This. 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,
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 enter: your cue is past; it is, never tire.
Re-enter Puck, and BOTTOM with an ass's head. This. 0,-A8 true as truest horse, that yet would never tire. Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine :
Quin. O monstrous ! O strange! we are haunted. Pray, masters! fly, masters !-Help!
[Exeunt Clowns. Puck. I'll follow you; I'll lead you about a round,
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. [Exit.
Bot. Why do they run away? this is a knavery of them to make me afeard.
Re-enter SNOUT. Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on thee? Bot. What do you see? you see an ass-head of your own, do you?
Re-enter QUINCE. Quin. Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated.
[E.cit. Bot. I see their knavery; this is to make an ass 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,
With orange-tawny bill,
The wren with little quill;
The plain-song cuckoo gray,,
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 cuckoo never so?
Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again :
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 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 get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.
Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go;
Enter Four Fairies. 1 Fai. Ready. 2 Fai.
And I. 3 Fai.
And I. 4 Fai.
Where shall we go?
1 Fai. Hail, mortal!
Bot. I cry your worship’s mercy heartily.—I beseech your worship's name.
Cob. Cobweb. Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master Cobweb. If I cut my finger I shall make bold with you.—Your name, honest gentleman?
Bot. I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good Master Peasblossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too.— Your name, I beseech you, sir?
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. more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.
Tita. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye;
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
I desire you
SCENE II.-Another part of the Wood.
Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love.
Obe. This falls out better than I could devise.
Puck. I took him sleeping,—that is finish'd too, -
Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA.
Dem. 0, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
ter. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse;
Dem. So should the murder'd look; and so should I,
Řer. What's this to my Lysander? where is he?
Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds.
Her. Out, dog! out, cur! thou driv'st me past the bounds
Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris’d mood:
Her. I pray thee, tell me, then, that he is well.
Her. A privilege never to see me more.-