and shes a great lubberly boy. If it had not been


i the church, I would have swinged him, or he


should have swinged me. If I did not think it had


been Anne Page, would I might never stir!--and tis


What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took


a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for


all he was in womans apparel, I would not have had


Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how


you should know my daughter by her garments?


I went to her in white, and cried mum, and she


cried budget, as Anne and I had appointed; and yet


Good George, be not angry: I knew of your purpose;


turned my daughter into green; and, indeed, she is


now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married.


Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened: I ha


married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy;


it is not Anne Page: by gar, I am cozened.


Ay, by gar, and tis a boy: by gar, Ill raise all Windsor.


This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?


My heart misgives me: here comes Master Fenton.


Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon!


Now, mistress, how chance you went not with Master Slender?


Why went you not with master doctor, maid?


You would have married her most shamefully,


Where there was no proportion held in love.


The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,


Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.


The offence is holy that she hath committed;


And this deceit loses the name of craft,


Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.


In love the heavens themselves do guide the state;


Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.


I am glad, though you have taen a special stand to


strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced.


Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy!


What cannot be eschewd must be embraced.


When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chased.


Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton,


And laugh this sport oer by a country fire;


To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word


For he tonight shall lie with Mistress Ford.


Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and Attendants


Draws on apace; four happy days bring in


Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow


This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,


Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;


Four nights will quickly dream away the time;


New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night


Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;


Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;


With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.


Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS


Thanks, good Egeus: whats the news with thee?


Stand forth, Lysander: and my gracious duke,


This man hath bewitchd the bosom of my child;


Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,


And interchanged love-tokens with my child:


Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,


With feigning voice verses of feigning love,


And stolen the impression of her fantasy


With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,


Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers


Of strong prevailment in unhardend youth:


With cunning hast thou filchd my daughters heart,


Turnd her obedience, which is due to me,


To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,


Be it so she; will not here before your grace


What say you, Hermia? be advised fair maid:


One that composed your beauties, yea, and one


But in this kind, wanting your fathers voice,


I would my father lookd but with my eyes.


Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.


I know not by what power I am made bold,


In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;


But I beseech your grace that I may know


The worst that may befall me in this case,


Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;


Know of your youth, examine well your blood,


Whether, if you yield not to your fathers choice,


Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.


Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,


But earthlier happy is the rose distilld,


Than that which withering on the virgin thorn


Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.


So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,


My soul consents not to give sovereignty.


Take time to pause; and, by the nest new moon--


Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield


Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,


And what is mine my love shall render him.


And she is mine, and all my right of her


As well possessd; my love is more than his;


And, which is more than all these boasts can be,


Why should not I then prosecute my right?


And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,


I must confess that I have heard so much,


And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;


My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;


I have some private schooling for you both.


For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself


To fit your fancies to your fathers will;


Or else the law of Athens yields you up--


Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?


Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.


How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?


How chance the roses there do fade so fast?


Belike for want of rain, which I could well


Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.


Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,


The course of true love never did run smooth;


But, either it was different in blood,--


O cross! too high to be enthralld to low.


Or else misgraffed in respect of years,--


O spite! too old to be engaged to young.


Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,--


O hell! to choose love by anothers eyes.


War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,


Brief as the lightning in the collied night,


That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,


So quick bright things come to confusion.


If then true lovers have been ever crossd,


As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,


Wishes and tears, poor fancys followers.


A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia.


Of great revenue, and she hath no child:


From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;


And to that place the sharp Athenian law


Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,


Steal forth thy fathers house to-morrow night;


And in the wood, a league without the town,


I swear to thee, by Cupids strongest bow,


By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,


And by that fire which burnd the Carthage queen,


When the false Troyan under sail was seen,


By all the vows that ever men have broke,


In that same place thou hast appointed me,


Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.


Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.


Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!


Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongues sweet air


More tuneable than lark to shepherds ear,


When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.


Sickness is catching: O, were favour so,


Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;


My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,


My tongue should catch your tongues sweet melody.


Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,


The rest Id give to be to you translated.


O, teach me how you look, and with what art


I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.


O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!


I give him curses, yet he gives me love.


O that my prayers could such affection move!


The more I hate, the more he follows me.


None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!


Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;


Lysander and myself will fly this place.


O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,


That he hath turnd a heaven unto a hell!


To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold


Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,


A time that lovers flights doth still conceal,


Through Athens gates have we devised to steal.


Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,


Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,


There my Lysander and myself shall meet;


And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,


To seek new friends and stranger companies.


Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us;


Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight


From lovers food till morrow deep midnight.


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:


Things base and vile, folding no quantity,


Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;


And therefore is wingd Cupid painted blind:


Nor hath Loves mind of any judgement taste;


And therefore is Love said to be a child,


Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.


As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,


So the boy Love is perjured every where:


For ere Demetrius lookd on Hermias eyne,


He haild down oaths that he was only mine;


And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,


So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.


I will go tell him of fair Hermias flight:


Then to the wood will he to-morrow night


To have his sight thither and back again.


Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING


You were best to call them generally, man by man,


Here is the scroll of every mans name, which is


thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our


interlude before the duke and the duchess, on his


First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats


on, then read the names of the actors, and so grow


Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and


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.


Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.


Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.


You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.


A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.


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


This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players.


This is Ercles vein, a tyrants vein; a lover is


Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.


Thats all one: you shall play it in a mask, and


An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too, Ill


speak in a monstrous little voice. Thisne,


Thisne; Ah, Pyramus, lover dear! thy Thisby dear,


No, no; you must play Pyramus: and, Flute, you Thisby.


Robin Starveling, you must play Thisbys mother.


You, Pyramus father: myself, Thisbys father:


Snug, the joiner; you, the lions part: and, I


Have you the lions part written? pray you, if it


You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.


Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will


do any mans heart good to hear me; I will roar,


that I will make the duke say Let him roar again,


An you should do it too terribly, you would fright


the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek;


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


You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a


sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see in a


summers day; a most lovely gentleman-like man:


Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best


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


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


We will meet; and there we may rehearse most


obscenely and courageously. Take pains; be perfect: adieu.


Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and PUCK


Farewell, thou lob of spirits; Ill be gone:


Our queen and all our elves come here anon.


The king doth keep his revels here to-night:


Take heed the queen come not within his sight;


A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;


Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;


But she perforce withholds the loved boy,


Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy:


And now they never meet in grove or green,


By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,


But, they do square, that all their elves for fear


Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.


Either I mistake your shape and making quite,


Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite


That frights the maidens of the villagery;


Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern


And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;


And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;


Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?


Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,


You do their work, and they shall have good luck:


When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,


And when she drinks, against her lips I bob


The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,


Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;


Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,


And tailor cries, and falls into a cough;


And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,


And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear


And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!


Enter, from one side, OBERON, with his train; from the other, TITANIA, with hers


What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence:


When thou hast stolen away from fairy land,


Playing on pipes of corn and versing love


But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,


Your buskind mistress and your warrior love,


Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night


And make him with fair AEgle break his faith,


And never, since the middle summers spring,


Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead,


To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,


But with thy brawls thou hast disturbd our sport.


Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,


As in revenge, have suckd up from the sea


Contagious fogs; which falling in the land


That they have overborne their continents:


The ox hath therefore stretchd his yoke in vain,


The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn


Hath rotted ere his youth attaind a beard;


The fold stands empty in the drowned field,


And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;


The nine mens morris is filld up with mud,


And the quaint mazes in the wanton green


For lack of tread are undistinguishable:


The human mortals want their winter here;


No night is now with hymn or carol blest:


Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,


Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,


Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,


The childing autumn, angry winter, change


Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,


By their increase, now knows not which is which:


The fairy land buys not the child of me.


And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,


And sat with me on Neptunes yellow sands,


Marking the embarked traders on the flood,


When we have laughd to see the sails conceive


And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;


Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait


Following,--her womb then rich with my young squire,--


As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.


But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;


And for her sake I will not part with him.


How long within this wood intend you stay?


Perchance till after Theseus wedding-day.


If you will patiently dance in our round


And see our moonlight revels, go with us;


If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.


Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.


Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!


We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.


Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove


My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest


Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath


That the rude sea grew civil at her song


And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,


That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,


Flying between the cold moon and the earth,


And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,


As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;


But I might see young Cupids fiery shaft


Quenchd in the chaste beams of the watery moon,


Yet markd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:


Before milk-white, now purple with loves wound,


Fetch me that flower; the herb I shewd thee once:


The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid


Upon the next live creature that it sees.


Fetch me this herb; and be thou here again


The next thing then she waking looks upon,


She shall pursue it with the soul of love:


And ere I take this charm from off her sight,


I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.


Thou toldst me they were stolen unto this wood;


And here am I, and wode within this wood,


Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.


Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw,


And I shall have no power to follow you.


Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?


And even for that do I love you the more.


The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:


Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,


Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,


What worser place can I beg in your love,--


And yet a place of high respect with me,--


Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;


Into the hands of one that loves you not;


It is not night when I do see your face,


Therefore I think I am not in the night;


Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,


For you in my respect are all the world:


When all the world is here to look on me?


Ill run from thee and hide me in the brakes,


And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.


The wildest hath not such a heart as you.


Run when you will, the story shall be changed:


Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;


The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind


Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed,


When cowardice pursues and valour flies.


I will not stay thy questions; let me go:


But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.


Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,


We cannot fight for love, as men may do;


We should be wood and were not made to woo.


Ill follow thee and make a heaven of hell,


Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this grove,


Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love.


Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.


I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,


Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,


Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,


With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:


There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,


Lulld in these flowers with dances and delight;


And there the snake throws her enamelld skin,


And with the juice of this Ill streak her eyes,


Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove:


With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes;


May be the lady: thou shalt know the man


Effect it with some care, that he may prove


More fond on her than she upon her love:


And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.


Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.


Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;


Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,


Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,


To make my small elves coats, and some keep back


The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders


At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;


Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:


Enter OBERON and squeezes the flower on TITANIAs eyelids


Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood;


And to speak troth, I have forgot our way:


Well rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,


One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;


One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth.


Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,


Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.


O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!


Love takes the meaning in loves conference.


I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit


So that but one heart we can make of it;


Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,


But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy


So far be distant; and, good night, sweet friend:


Thy love neer alter till thy sweet life end!


Here is my bed: sleep give thee all his rest!


With half that wish the wishers eyes be pressd!


Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.


Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.


I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.


O, wilt thou darkling leave me? do not so.


O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!


The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.


For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.


How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears:


If so, my eyes are oftener washd than hers.


For beasts that meet me run away for fear:


What wicked and dissembling glass of mine


Made me compare with Hermias sphery eyne?


But who is here? Lysander! on the ground!


Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.


[Awaking]  And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.


That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.


Is that vile name to perish on my sword!


What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?


Yet Hermia still loves you: then be content.


The tedious minutes I with her have spent.


And reason says you are the worthier maid.


Things growing are not ripe until their season


So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;


And touching now the point of human skill,


And leads me to your eyes, where I oerlook


Loves stories written in loves richest book.


Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?


When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?


Ist not enough, ist not enough, young man,


Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius eye,


Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,


But fare you well: perforce I must confess


I thought you lord of more true gentleness.


She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there:


And never mayst thou come Lysander near!


The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,


Are hated most of those they did deceive,


And, all my powers, address your love and might


[Awaking]  Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best


To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!


Lysander, look how I do quake with fear:


Lysander! what, removed? Lysander! lord!


What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word?


Alack, where are you speak, an if you hear;


Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.


No? then I well perceive you all not nigh


Either death or you Ill find immediately.


SCENE I. The wood. TITANIA lying asleep.


Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING


Pat, pat; and heres a marvellous convenient place


for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our


stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiring-house; and we


will do it in action as we will do it before the duke.


There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and


Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus must


draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies


I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.


Not a whit: I have a device to make all well.


Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to


say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that


Pyramus is not killed indeed; and, for the more


better assurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not


Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: this will put them


Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be


No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.


Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?


Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves: to


bring in--God shield us!--a lion among ladies, is a


most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful


wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to


Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.


Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must


be seen through the lions neck: and he himself


must speak through, saying thus, or to the same


defect,--Ladies,--or Fair-ladies--I would wish


You,--or I would request you,--or I would


entreat you,--not to fear, not to tremble: my life


for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it


were pity of my life: no I am no such thing; I am a


man as other men are; and there indeed let him name


his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.


Well it shall be so. But there is two hard things;


that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber; for,


you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.


Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?


A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanac; find


Why, then may you leave a casement of the great


chamber window, where we play, open, and the moon


Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns


and a lanthorn, and say he comes to disfigure, or to


present, the person of Moonshine. Then, there is


another thing: we must have a wall in the great


chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby says the story, did


You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?


Some man or other must present Wall: and let him


have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast


about him, to signify wall; and let him hold his


fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus


If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit  down,


every mothers son, and rehearse your parts.


Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your


speech, enter into that brake: and so every one


What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,


Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet,--


So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.


But hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile,


A stranger Pyramus than eer played here.


Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he goes


but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.


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,


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


O,--As true as truest horse, that yet would


Re-enter PUCK, and BOTTOM with an asss head


If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.


O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted. Pray,


Exeunt QUINCE, SNUG, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING


Ill follow you, Ill lead you about a round,


Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier:


Sometime a horse Ill 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.


Why do they run away? this is a knavery of them to


O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on thee?


What do you see? you see an asshead of your own, do


Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art


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


[Awaking]  What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?


for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish


a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry


And thy fair virtues force perforce doth move me


On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.


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.


Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out


of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.


Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.


The summer still doth tend upon my state;


And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;


Ill give thee fairies to attend on thee,


And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,


And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;


And I will purge thy mortal grossness so


Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!


Enter PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, and MUSTARDSEED


Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;


Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;


With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;


The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,


And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs


And light them at the fiery glow-worms eyes,


And pluck the wings from Painted butterflies


To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:


Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.


I cry your worships mercy, heartily: I beseech your


I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master


Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall make bold with


I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your


mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good


Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of more


acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, sir?


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 had made my eyes water ere now. I


desire your more acquaintance, good Master


Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.


The moon methinks looks with a watery eye;


And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,


Tie up my loves tongue bring him silently.


Then, what it was that next came in her eye,


What night-rule now about this haunted grove?


Near to her close and consecrated bower,


While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,


That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,


The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,


And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,


As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,


Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky,


And, at our stamp, here oer and oer one falls;


He murder cries and help from Athens calls.


Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears


Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;


For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;


Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all


And left sweet Pyramus translated there:


When in that moment, so it came to pass,


Titania waked and straightway loved an ass.


This falls out better than I could devise.


But hast thou yet latchd the Athenians eyes


With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?


I took him sleeping,--that is finishd too,--


That, when he waked, of force she must be eyed.


This is the woman, but not this the man.


O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?


Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.


Now I but chide; but I should use thee worse,


For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse,


If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,


Being oer shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,


From sleeping Hermia? Ill believe as soon


This whole earth may be bored and that the moon


May through the centre creep and so displease


So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.


So should the murderd look, and so should I,


Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty:


Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,


As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.


Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?


I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.


Out, dog! out, cur! thou drivest me past the bounds


Of maidens patience. Hast thou slain him, then?


O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake!


Durst thou have lookd upon him being awake,


And hast thou killd him sleeping? O brave touch!


An adder did it; for with doubler tongue


Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.


You spend your passion on a misprised mood:


Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.


I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.


An if I could, what should I get therefore?


See me no more, whether he be dead or no.


There is no following her in this fierce vein:


Here therefore for a while I will remain.


For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe:


Which now in some slight measure it will pay,


If for his tender here I make some stay.


What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite


And laid the love-juice on some true-loves sight:


Some true love turnd and not a false turnd true.


Then fate oer-rules, that, one man holding troth,


A million fail, confounding oath on oath.


About the wood go swifter than the wind,


All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer,


With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear:


By some illusion see thou bring her here:


Ill charm his eyes against she do appear.


Swifter than arrow from the Tartars bow.


Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?


Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,


How can these things in me seem scorn to you,


Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?


You do advance your cunning more and more.


When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!


These vows are Hermias: will you give her oer?


Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:


Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,


Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.


Nor none, in my mind, now you give her oer.


Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.


[Awaking]  O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!


To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?


Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!


That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow,


Fannd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow


When thou holdst up thy hand: O, let me kiss


This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!


But you must join in souls to mock me too?


If you were men, as men you are in show,


To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,


When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.


To conjure tears up in a poor maids eyes


A poor souls patience, all to make you sport.


For you love Hermia; this you know I know:


And here, with all good will, with all my heart,


Whom I do love and will do till my death.


Never did mockers waste more idle breath.


If eer I loved her, all that love is gone.


My heart to her but as guest-wise sojournd,


Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,


Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.


Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,


The ear more quick of apprehension makes;


Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,


Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;


Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound


But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?


Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go?


What love could press Lysander from my side?


Lysanders love, that would not let him bide,


Than all you fiery oes and eyes of light.


Why seekst thou me? could not this make thee know,


The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so?


You speak not as you think: it cannot be.


Now I perceive they have conjoind all three


To fashion this false sport, in spite of me.


Have you conspired, have you with these contrived


Is all the counsel that we two have shared,


The sisters vows, the hours that we have spent,


All school-days friendship, childhood innocence?


Have with our needles created both one flower,


Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,


Both warbling of one song, both in one key,


As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds,


Had been incorporate. So we grow together,


Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,


So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;


Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,


Due but to one and crowned with one crest.


And will you rent our ancient love asunder,


To join with men in scorning your poor friend?


Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,


I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me.


To follow me and praise my eyes and face?


Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,


To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,


Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this


To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander


Deny your love, so rich within his soul,


But by your setting on, by your consent?


What thought I be not so in grace as you,


This you should pity rather than despise.


Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks,


Make mouths upon me when I turn my back;


Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up:


This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.


If you have any pity, grace, or manners,


But fare ye well: tis partly my own fault;


Which death or absence soon shall remedy.


Thou canst compel no more than she entreat:


Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.


I swear by that which I will lose for thee,


To prove him false that says I love thee not.


If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.


Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow,


But yet come not: you are a tame man, go!


Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose,


Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!


Why are you grown so rude? what change is this?


Out, loathed medicine! hated potion, hence!


Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.


A weak bond holds you: Ill not trust your word.


What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?


Although I hate her, Ill not harm her so.


What, can you do me greater harm than hate?


Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love!


Since night you loved me; yet since night you left


Why, then you left me--O, the gods forbid!--


Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;


You thief of love! what, have you come by night


No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear


Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?


Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet, you!


Puppet? why so? ay, that way goes the game.


Now I perceive that she hath made compare


Between our statures; she hath urged her height;


And with her personage, her tall personage,


Her height, forsooth, she hath prevaild with him.


And are you grown so high in his esteem;


How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak;


But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.


I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,


Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,


Because she is something lower than myself,


Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.


Did ever keep your counsels, never wrongd you;


I told him of your stealth unto this wood.


But he hath chid me hence and threatend me


To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:


Why, get you gone: who ist that hinders you?


A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.


Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.


No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.


O, when shes angry, she is keen and shrewd!


She was a vixen when she went to school;


And though she be but little, she is fierce.


Little again! nothing but low and little!


Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?


You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made;


In her behalf that scorns your services.


Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend


Now follow, if thou darest, to try whose right,


Follow! nay, Ill go with thee, cheek by jole.


You, mistress, all this coil is long of you:


Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray,


This is thy negligence: still thou mistakest,


Or else committst thy knaveries wilfully.


Did not you tell me I should know the man


And so far blameless proves my enterprise,


As this their jangling I esteem a sport.


Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight:


Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;


Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,


Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;


And from each other look thou lead them thus,


Till oer their brows death-counterfeiting sleep


With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep:


Then crush this herb into Lysanders eye;


Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,


To take from thence all error with his might,


And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.


Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision,


And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,


With league whose date till death shall never end.


From monsters view, and all things shall be peace.


My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,


For nights swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,


At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,


Troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all,


That in crossways and floods have burial,


For fear lest day should look their shames upon,


They willfully themselves exile from light


And must for aye consort with black-browd night.


I with the mornings love have oft made sport,


And, like a forester, the groves may tread,


Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,


Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,


Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams.


But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay:


We may effect this business yet ere day.


Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou now.


Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where art thou?


Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?


Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?


Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,


Telling the bushes that thou lookst for wars,


And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou child;


Follow my voice: well try no manhood here.


He goes before me and still dares me on:


When I come where he calls, then he is gone.


The villain is much lighter-heeld than I:


For if but once thou show me thy grey light,


Ill find Demetrius and revenge this spite.


Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why comest thou not?


Abide me, if thou darest; for well I wot


Thou runnst before me, shifting every place,


And darest not stand, nor look me in the face.


Nay, then, thou mockst me. Thou shalt buy this dear,


Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me


To measure out my length on this cold bed.


O weary night, O long and tedious night,


Abate thy hour! Shine comforts from the east,


And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrows eye,


Bedabbled with the dew and torn with briers,


My legs can keep no pace with my desires.


Here will I rest me till the break of day.


Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!


The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.


SCENE I. The same. LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HELENA, and HERMIA


Enter TITANIA and BOTTOM; PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH,  MUSTARDSEED, and other Fairies attending; OBERON behind unseen


Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,


And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,


And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.


Scratch my head Peaseblossom. Wheres Mounsieur Cobweb?


Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your


weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped


humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good


mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret


yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; and,


good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not;


I would be loath to have you overflown with a


honey-bag, signior. Wheres Mounsieur Mustardseed?


Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you,


Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb


to scratch. I must to the barbers, monsieur; for


methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face; and I


am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me,


I have a reasonable good ear in music. Lets have


Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.


Truly, a peck of provender: I could munch your good


dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle


of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.


I have a venturous fairy that shall seek


The squirrels hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.


I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas.


But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me: I


have an exposition of sleep come upon me.


Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.


So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle


For, meeting her of late behind the wood,


Seeking sweet favours from this hateful fool,


I did upbraid her and fall out with her;


For she his hairy temples then had rounded


With a coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;


And that same dew, which sometime on the buds


Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls,


Stood now within the pretty flowerets eyes


Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.


And she in mild terms beggd my patience,


I then did ask of her her changeling child;


Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent


And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp


From off the head of this Athenian swain;


And think no more of this nights accidents


But first I will release the fairy queen.


Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.


O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!


Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head.


Titania, music call; and strike more dead


Than common sleep of all these five the sense.


Music, ho! music, such as charmeth sleep!


Sound, music! Come, my queen, take hands with me,


And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.


Dance in Duke Theseus house triumphantly,


There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be


Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train


And since we have the vaward of the day,


My love shall hear the music of my hounds.


Uncouple in the western valley; let them go:


We will, fair queen, up to the mountains top,


When in a wood of Crete they bayd the bear


Such gallant chiding: for, besides the groves,


The skies, the fountains, every region near


So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.


My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,


So flewd, so sanded, and their heads are hung


With ears that sweep away the morning dew;


Crook-kneed, and dew-lappd like Thessalian bulls;


Slow in pursuit, but matchd in mouth like bells,


Was never hollad to, nor cheerd with horn,


Judge when you hear. But, soft! what nymphs are these?


My lord, this is my daughter here asleep;


The rite of May, and hearing our intent,


That Hermia should give answer of her choice?


Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.


Horns and shout within. LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HELENA, and HERMIA wake and start up


Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past:


Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?


How comes this gentle concord in the world,


Half sleep, half waking: but as yet, I swear,


But, as I think,--for truly would I speak,


Was to be gone from Athens, where we might,


Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough:


They would have stolen away; they would, Demetrius,


Of my consent that she should be your wife.


My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,


Of this their purpose hither to this wood;


But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,--


But by some power it is,--my love to Hermia,


And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,


The object and the pleasure of mine eye,


But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food;


But, as in health, come to my natural taste,


Of this discourse we more will hear anon.


And, for the morning now is something worn,


Our purposed hunting shall be set aside.


Away with us to Athens; three and three,


Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train


These things seem small and undistinguishable,


Methinks I see these things with parted eye,


And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,


That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think


The duke was here, and bid us follow him?


Why, then, we are awake: lets follow him


And by the way let us recount our dreams.


[Awaking]  When my cue comes, call me, and I will


answer: my next is, Most fair Pyramus. Heigh-ho!


Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout,


the tinker! Starveling! Gods my life, stolen


hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare


vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to


say what dream it was: man is but an ass, if he go


about to expound this dream. Methought I was--there


is no man can tell what. Methought I was,--and


methought I had,--but man is but a patched fool, if


he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye


of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not


seen, mans hand is not able to taste, his tongue


to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream


was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of


this dream: it shall be called Bottoms Dream,


because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the


peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall


Enter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING


Have you sent to Bottoms house ? is he come home yet?


He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is


If he come not, then the play is marred: it goes


It is not possible: you have not a man in all


Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he.


No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft


Yea and the best person too; and he is a very


You must say paragon: a paramour is, God bless us,


Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and


there is two or three lords and ladies more married:


if our sport had gone forward, we had all been made


O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a


day during his life; he could not have scaped


sixpence a day: an the duke had not given him


sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, Ill be hanged;


he would have deserved it: sixpence a day in


Where are these lads? where are these hearts?


Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!


Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not


what; for if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I


will tell you every thing, right as it fell out.


Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that


the duke hath dined. Get your apparel together,


good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your


pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look


oer his part; for the short and the long is, our


play is preferred. In any case, let Thisby have


clean linen; and let not him that plays the lion


pair his nails, for they shall hang out for the


lions claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions


nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I


do not doubt but to hear them say, it is a sweet


Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, Lords and Attendants


More strange than true: I never may believe


These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.


Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,


One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,


That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,


Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;


The forms of things unknown, the poets pen


Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing


That if it would but apprehend some joy,


It comprehends some bringer of that joy;


But all the story of the night told over,


And all their minds transfigured so together,


And grows to something of great constancy;


Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.


Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and HELENA


Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love


Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!


Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have,


To wear away this long age of three hours


What revels are in hand? Is there no play,


To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?


Say, what abridgement have you for this evening?


What masque? what music? How shall we beguile


The lazy time, if not with some delight?


There is a brief how many sports are ripe:


Make choice of which your highness will see first.


[Reads]  The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung


Well none of that: that have I told my love,


Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.


When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.


The thrice three Muses mourning for the death


And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.


That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow.


How shall we find the concord of this discord?


A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,


Which is as brief as I have known a play;


But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,


Which makes it tedious; for in all the play


There is not one word apt, one player fitted:


Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess,


Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears


The passion of loud laughter never shed.


Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,


Which never labourd in their minds till now,


And now have toild their unbreathed memories


With this same play, against your nuptial.


It is not for you: I have heard it over,


And it is nothing, nothing in the world;


Unless you can find sport in their intents,


Extremely stretchd and connd with cruel pain,


Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies.


I love not to see wretchedness oer charged


Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.


He says they can do nothing in this kind.


The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.


Our sport shall be to take what they mistake:


And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect


Where I have come, great clerks have purposed


Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,


Throttle their practised accent in their fears


And in conclusion dumbly have broke off,


Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,


Out of this silence yet I pickd a welcome;


I read as much as from the rattling tongue


Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity


So please your grace, the Prologue is addressd.


That you should think, we come not to offend,


But with good will. To show our simple skill,


We do not come as minding to contest you,


Our true intent is. All for your delight


We are not here. That you should here repent you,


The actors are at hand and by their show


You shall know all that you are like to know.


He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows


not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not


Indeed he hath played on his prologue like a child


on a recorder; a sound, but not in government.


His speech, was like a tangled chain; nothing


impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?


Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion


Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;


But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.


This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present


Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder;


And through Walls chink, poor souls, they are content


To whisper. At the which let no man wonder.


This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,


Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will know,


By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn


To meet at Ninus tomb, there, there to woo.


This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name,


The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,


And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall,


Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.


Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,


And finds his trusty Thisbys mantle slain:


Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade,


He bravely broachd is boiling bloody breast;


His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,


Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain


At large discourse, while here they do remain.


Exeunt Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine


No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do.


That I, one Snout by name, present a wall;


And such a wall, as I would have you think,


That had in it a crannied hole or chink,


Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,


This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show


That I am that same wall; the truth is so:


And this the cranny is, right and sinister,


Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.


Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?


It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard


O grim-lookd night! O night with hue so black!


O night, which ever art when day is not!


And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,


That standst between her fathers ground and mine!


Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,


Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne!


Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!


O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss!


Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me!


The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.


No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving me


is Thisbys cue: she is to enter now, and I am to


spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will


fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.


O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,


My cherry lips have often kissd thy stones,


Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.


To spy an I can hear my Thisbys face. Thisby!


Think what thou wilt, I am thy lovers grace;


And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.


O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall!


I kiss the walls hole, not your lips at all.


Wilt thou at Ninnys tomb meet me straightway?


Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.


Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;


And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.


Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.


No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear


This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.


The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst


are no worse, if imagination amend them.


It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.


If we imagine no worse of them than they of


themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here


come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion.


You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear


The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,


May now perchance both quake and tremble here,


When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.


Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am


A very gentle beast, of a good conscience.


The very best at a beast, my lord, that eer I saw.


Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his


discretion; and the fox carries the goose.


His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour;


for the goose carries not the fox. It is well:


leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon.


This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;--


He should have worn the horns on his head.


This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;


Myself the man i the moon do seem to be.


This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man


should be put into the lanthorn. How is it else the


He dares not come there for the candle; for, you


I am aweary of this moon: would he would change!


It appears, by his small light of discretion, that


he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all


All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the


lanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this


thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog.


Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for all


these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.


This is old Ninnys tomb. Where is my love?


Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a


The Lion shakes Thisbes mantle, and exit


Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;


I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;


For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,


This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would


O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?


Since lion vile hath here deflowerd my dear:


Which is--no, no--which was the fairest dame


That lived, that loved, that liked, that lookd


No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.


Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.


With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and


How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes


She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and


Methinks she should not use a long one for such a


A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which


Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God warrant us;


She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.


Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.


[Starting up]  No assure you; the wall is down that


parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the


epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two


No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no


excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all


dead, there needs none to be blamed. Marry, if he


that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself


in Thisbes garter, it would have been a fine


tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably


discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your


The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:


I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn


As much as we this night have overwatchd.


This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled


The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.


Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,


Enter OBERON and TITANIA with their train


Enter LEONATO, HERO, and BEATRICE, with a Messenger


I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon


He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off


How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?


A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings


home full numbers. I find here that Don Peter hath


bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio.


Much deserved on his part and equally remembered by


Don Pedro: he hath borne himself beyond the


promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb,


the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better


bettered expectation than you must expect of me to


He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much


I have already delivered him letters, and there


appears much joy in him; even so much that joy could


not show itself modest enough without a badge of


A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces


truer than those that are so washed. How much


better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!


I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the


I know none of that name, lady: there was none such


My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.


O, hes returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.


He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged


Cupid at the flight; and my uncles fool, reading


the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged


him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he


killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath


he killed? for indeed I promised to eat all of his killing.


Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much;


but hell be meet with you, I doubt it not.


He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.


You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it:


he is a very valiant trencherman; he hath an


And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he to a lord?


A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all


It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man:


but for the stuffing,--well, we are all mortal.


You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a


kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her:


they never meet but theres a skirmish of wit


Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last


conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and


now is the whole man governed with one: so that if


he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him


bear it for a difference between himself and his


horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left,


to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his


companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.


Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as


the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the


I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.


No; an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray


you, who is his companion? Is there no young


squarer now that will make a voyage with him to the devil?


He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.


O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he


is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker


runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if


he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a


Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, and BALTHASAR


Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your


trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid


Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of


your grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should


remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides


You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this


Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?


Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.


You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this


what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers


herself. Be happy, lady; for you are like an


If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not


have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as


I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior


What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?


Is it possible disdain should die while she hath


such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?


Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come


Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I


am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I


would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard


A dear happiness to women: they would else have


been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God


and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I


had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man


God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some


gentleman or other shall scape a predestinate


Scratching could not make it worse, an twere such


A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.


I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and


so good a continuer. But keep your way, i Gods


You always end with a jades trick: I know you of old.


That is the sum of all, Leonato. Signior Claudio


and Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath


invited you all. I tell him we shall stay here at


the least a month; and he heartily prays some


occasion may detain us longer. I dare swear he is no


If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn.


Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to


the prince your brother, I owe you all duty.


I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank


Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.


Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?


Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for


my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak


after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex?


No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment.


Why, i faith, methinks shes too low for a high


praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little


for a great praise: only this commendation I can


afford her, that were she other than she is, she


were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I


Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me


Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?


Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this


with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack,


to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder and Vulcan a


rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take


In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I


I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such


matter: theres her cousin, an she were not


possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty


as the first of May doth the last of December. But I


hope you have no intent to turn husband, have you?


I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the


Ist come to this? In faith, hath not the world


one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion?


Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again?


Go to, i faith; an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck


into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away


Sundays. Look Don Pedro is returned to seek you.


What secret hath held you here, that you followed


I would your grace would constrain me to tell.


You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb


man; I would have you think so; but, on my


allegiance, mark you this, on my allegiance. He is


in love. With who? now that is your graces part.


Mark how short his answer is;--With Hero, Leonatos


Like the old tale, my lord: it is not so, nor


twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should be


If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it


Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.


And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine.


That I neither feel how she should be loved nor


know how she should be worthy, is the opinion that


fire cannot melt out of me: I will die in it at the stake.


Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite


And never could maintain his part but in the force


That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she


brought me up, I likewise give her most humble


thanks: but that I will have a recheat winded in my


forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick,


all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do


them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the


right to trust none; and the fine is, for the which


I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor.


I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.


With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord,


not with love: prove that ever I lose more blood


with love than I will get again with drinking, pick


out mine eyes with a ballad-makers pen and hang me


up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of


Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou


If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot


at me; and he that hits me, let him be clapped on


Well, as time shall try: In time the savage bull


The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible


Benedick bear it, pluck off the bulls horns and set


them in my forehead: and let me be vilely painted,


and in such great letters as they write Here is


good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign


Here you may see Benedick the married man.


If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad.


Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in


Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.


Well, you temporize with the hours. In the


meantime, good Signior Benedick, repair to


Leonatos: commend me to him and tell him I will


not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made


I have almost matter enough in me for such an


To the tuition of God: From my house, if I had it,--


The sixth of July: Your loving friend, Benedick.


Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your


discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and


the guards are but slightly basted on neither: ere


you flout old ends any further, examine your


My liege, your highness now may do me good.


My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,


And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn


When you went onward on this ended action,


That liked, but had a rougher task in hand


Than to drive liking to the name of love:


But now I am returnd and that war-thoughts


Have left their places vacant, in their rooms


Come thronging soft and delicate desires,


All prompting me how fair young Hero is,


And tire the hearer with a book of words.


If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,


And I will break with her and with her father,


And thou shalt have her. Wast not to this end


That thou beganst to twist so fine a story?


That know loves grief by his complexion!


But lest my liking might too sudden seem,


I would have salved it with a longer treatise.


What need the bridge much broader than the flood?


Look, what will serve is fit: tis once, thou lovest,


I know we shall have revelling to-night:


And take her hearing prisoner with the force


And strong encounter of my amorous tale:


And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.


How now, brother! Where is my cousin, your son?


He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell


you strange news that you yet dreamt not of.


As the event stamps them: but they have a good


cover; they show well outward. The prince and Count


Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in mine


orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine:


the prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my


niece your daughter and meant to acknowledge it


this night in a dance: and if he found her


accordant, he meant to take the present time by the


Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?


A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and


No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear


itself: but I will acquaint my daughter withal,


that she may be the better prepared for an answer,


if peradventure this be true. Go you and tell her of it.


Cousins, you know what you have to do. O, I cry you


mercy, friend; go you with me, and I will use your


skill. Good cousin, have a care this busy time.


What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus out


There is no measure in the occasion that breeds;


And when I have heard it, what blessing brings it?


If not a present remedy, at least a patient


I wonder that thou, being, as thou sayest thou art,


born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral


medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide


what I am: I must be sad when I have cause and smile


at no mans jests, eat when I have stomach and wait


for no mans leisure, sleep when I am drowsy and


tend on no mans business, laugh when I am merry and


Yea, but you must not make the full show of this


till you may do it without controlment. You have of


late stood out against your brother, and he hath


taen you newly into his grace; where it is


impossible you should take true root but by the


fair weather that you make yourself: it is needful


that you frame the season for your own harvest.


I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in


his grace, and it better fits my blood to be


disdained of all than to fashion a carriage to rob


love from any: in this, though I cannot be said to


be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied


but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with


a muzzle and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I


have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my


mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do


my liking: in the meantime let me be that I am and


I make all use of it, for I use it only.


I came yonder from a great supper: the prince your


brother is royally entertained by Leonato: and I


can give you intelligence of an intended marriage.


Will it serve for any model to build mischief on?


What is he for a fool that betroths himself to


A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks


Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.


A very forward March-chick! How came you to this?


Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a


musty room, comes me the prince and Claudio, hand


in hand in sad conference: I whipt me behind the


arras; and there heard it agreed upon that the


prince should woo Hero for himself, and having


obtained her, give her to Count Claudio.


Come, come, let us thither: this may prove food to


my displeasure. That young start-up hath all the


glory of my overthrow: if I can cross him any way, I


bless myself every way. You are both sure, and will assist me?


Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the


greater that I am subdued. Would the cook were of


my mind! Shall we go prove whats to be done?


Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE, and others


How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see


him but I am heart-burned an hour after.


He were an excellent man that were made just in the


midway between him and Benedick: the one is too


like an image and says nothing, and the other too


like my ladys eldest son, evermore tattling.


Then half Signior Benedicks tongue in Count Johns


mouth, and half Count Johns melancholy in Signior


With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money


enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman


in the world, if a could get her good-will.


By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a


husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.


Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen Gods


sending that way; for it is said, God sends a curst


cow short horns; but to a cow too curst he sends none.


So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.


Just, if he send me no husband; for the which


blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and


evening. Lord, I could not endure a husband with a


beard on his face: I had rather lie in the woollen.


You may light on a husband that hath no beard.


What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel


and make him my waiting-gentlewoman? He that hath a


beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no


beard is less than a man: and he that is more than


a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a


man, I am not for him: therefore, I will even take


sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his


No, but to the gate; and there will the devil meet


me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and


say Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to


heaven; heres no place for you maids: so deliver


I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the


heavens; he shows me where the bachelors sit, and


there live we as merry as the day is long.


[To HERO]  Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled


Yes, faith; it is my cousins duty to make curtsy


and say Father, as it please you. But yet for all


that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else


make another curtsy and say Father, as it please


Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.


Not till God make men of some other metal than


earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be


overmastered with a pierce of valiant dust? to make


an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl?


No, uncle, Ill none: Adams sons are my brethren;


and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.


Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince


do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.


The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be


not wooed in good time: if the prince be too


important, tell him there is measure in every thing


and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, Hero:


wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig,


a measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hot


and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as


fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a


measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes


repentance and, with his bad legs, falls into the


cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.


I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight.


The revellers are entering, brother: make good room.


Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, BALTHASAR, DON JOHN, BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA and others, masked


Lady, will you walk about with your friend?


So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing,


I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away.


When I like your favour; for God defend the lute


My visor is Philemons roof; within the house is Jove.


Why, then, your visor should be thatched.


So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many


I love you the better: the hearers may cry, Amen.


And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is


I know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio.


I know you by the waggling of your head.


You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were


the very man. Heres his dry hand up and down: you


Come, come, do you think I do not know you by your


excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to,


mum, you are he: graces will appear, and theres an


That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit


out of the Hundred Merry Tales:--well this was


Why, he is the princes jester: a very dull fool;


only his gift is in devising impossible slanders:


none but libertines delight in him; and the


commendation is not in his wit, but in his villany;


for he both pleases men and angers them, and then


they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in


When I know the gentleman, Ill tell him what you say.


Do, do: hell but break a comparison or two on me;


which, peradventure not marked or not laughed at,


strikes him into melancholy; and then theres a


partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat no


Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at


Dance. Then exeunt all except DON JOHN, BORACHIO, and CLAUDIO


Sure my brother is amorous on Hero and hath


withdrawn her father to break with him about it.


The ladies follow her and but one visor remains.


And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.


Signior, you are very near my brother in his love:


he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him


from her: she is no equal for his birth: you may


So did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-night.


But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.


Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself.


Friendship is constant in all other things


Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues;


And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch


Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.


Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!


Even to the next willow, about your own business,


county. What fashion will you wear the garland of?


about your neck, like an usurers chain? or under


your arm, like a lieutenants scarf? You must wear


it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero.


Why, thats spoken like an honest drovier: so they


sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would


Ho! now you strike like the blind man: twas the


boy that stole your meat, and youll beat the post.


Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into sedges.


But that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not


know me! The princes fool! Ha? It may be I go


under that title because I am merry. Yea, but so I


am apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it


is the base, though bitter, disposition of Beatrice


that puts the world into her person and so gives me


Now, signior, wheres the count? did you see him?


Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame.


I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a


warren: I told him, and I think I told him true,


that your grace had got the good will of this young


lady; and I offered him my company to a willow-tree,


either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or


to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.


The flat transgression of a schoolboy, who, being


overjoyed with finding a birds nest, shows it his


Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The


Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made,


and the garland too; for the garland he might have


worn himself, and the rod he might have bestowed on


you, who, as I take it, have stolen his birds nest.


I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to


If their singing answer your saying, by my faith,


The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the


gentleman that danced with her told her she is much


O, she misused me past the endurance of a block!


an oak but with one green leaf on it would have


answered her; my very visor began to assume life and


scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been


myself, that I was the princes jester, that I was


duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest


with such impossible conveyance upon me that I stood


like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at


me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs:


if her breath were as terrible as her terminations,


there were no living near her; she would infect to


the north star. I would not marry her, though she


were endowed with all that Adam bad left him before


he transgressed: she would have made Hercules have


turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make


the fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find


her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God


some scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while


she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a


sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they


would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror


Enter CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, and LEONATO


Will your grace command me any service to the


worlds end? I will go on the slightest errand now


to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on;


I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the


furthest inch of Asia, bring you the length of


Prester Johns foot, fetch you a hair off the great


Chams beard, do you any embassage to the Pigmies,


rather than hold three words conference with this


O God, sir, heres a dish I love not: I cannot


Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of


Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave


him use for it, a double heart for his single one:


marry, once before he won it of me with false dice,


therefore your grace may well say I have lost it.


You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.


So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I


should prove the mother of fools. I have brought


Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.


Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad?


The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor


well; but civil count, civil as an orange, and


I faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true;


though, Ill be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is


false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and


fair Hero is won: I have broke with her father,


and his good will obtained: name the day of


Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my


fortunes: his grace hath made the match, and an


Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were


but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as


you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for


Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth


with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.


Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on


the windy side of care. My cousin tells him in his


Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the


world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a


I would rather have one of your fathers getting.


Hath your grace neer a brother like you? Your


father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.


No, my lord, unless I might have another for


working-days: your grace is too costly to wear


every day. But, I beseech your grace, pardon me: I


was born to speak all mirth and no matter.


Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best


becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in


No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there


was a star danced, and under that was I born.


Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?


I cry you mercy, uncle. By your graces pardon.


Theres little of the melancholy element in her, my


lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps, and


not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say,


she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and waked


She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.


O, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.


She were an excellent wife for Benedict.


O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married,


County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?


To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches till love


Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just


seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have all


Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing:


but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go


dully by us. I will in the interim undertake one of


Hercules labours; which is, to bring Signior


Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of


affection the one with the other. I would fain have


it a match, and I doubt not but to fashion it, if


you three will but minister such assistance as I


My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten


I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my


And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that


I know. Thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble


strain, of approved valour and confirmed honesty. I


will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she


shall fall in love with Benedick; and I, with your


two helps, will so practise on Benedick that, in


despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he


shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this,


Cupid is no longer an archer: hi s glory shall be


ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me,


It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the


Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be


medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him,


and whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges


evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage?


Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no


I think I told your lordship a year since, how much


I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting


I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night,


appoint her to look out at her ladys chamber window.


What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?


The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to


the prince your brother; spare not to tell him that


he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned


Claudio--whose estimation do you mightily hold


up--to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.


Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio,


to undo Hero and kill Leonato. Look you for any


Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing.


Go, then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and


the Count Claudio alone: tell them that you know


that Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal both to the


prince and Claudio, as,--in love of your brothers


honour, who hath made this match, and his friends


reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the


semblance of a maid,--that you have discovered


thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial:


offer them instances; which shall bear no less


likelihood than to see me at her chamber-window,


hear me call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me


Claudio; and bring them to see this the very night


before the intended wedding,--for in the meantime I


will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be


absent,--and there shall appear such seeming truth


of Heros disloyalty that jealousy shall be called


assurance and all the preparation overthrown.


Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put


it in practise. Be cunning in the working this, and


Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning


I will presently go learn their day of marriage.


In my chamber-window lies a book: bring it hither


I know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again.


I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much


another man is a fool when he dedicates his


behaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed at


such shallow follies in others, become the argument


of his own scorn by failing in love: and such a man


is Claudio. I have known when there was no music


with him but the drum and the fife; and now had he


rather hear the tabour and the pipe: I have known


when he would have walked ten mile a-foot to see a


good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake,


carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to


speak plain and to the purpose, like an honest man


and a soldier; and now is he turned orthography; his


words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many


strange dishes. May I be so converted and see with


these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not


be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster; but


Ill take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster


of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman


is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am


well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all


graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in


my grace. Rich she shall be, thats certain; wise,


or Ill none; virtuous, or Ill never cheapen her;


fair, or Ill   never look on her; mild, or come not


near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good


discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall


be of what colour it please God. Ha! the prince and


Monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour.


Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,


See you where Benedick hath hid himself?


Come, Balthasar, well hear that song again.


To put a strange face on his own perfection.


I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.


Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;


Since many a wooer doth commence his suit


To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,


Theres not a note of mine thats worth the noting.


Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks;


Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it


not strange that sheeps guts should hale souls out


of mens bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when


Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.


An he had been a dog that should have howled thus,


they would have hanged him: and I pray God his bad


voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the


night-raven, come what plague could have come after


Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee,


get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we


would have it at the Lady Heros chamber-window.


Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of


to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with


O, ay: stalk on. stalk on; the fowl sits. I did


never think that lady would have loved any man.


No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she


should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in


all outward behaviors seemed ever to abhor.


Ist possible? Sits the wind in that corner?


By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think


of it but that she loves him with an enraged


affection: it is past the infinite of thought.


O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of


passion came so near the life of passion as she


Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.


What effects, my lord? She will sit you, you heard


How, how, pray you? You amaze me: I would have I


thought her spirit had been invincible against all


I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially


I should think this a gull, but that the


white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot,


Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?


No; and swears she never will: thats her torment.


Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: Shall


I, says she, that have so oft encountered him


with scorn, write to him that I love him?


This says she now when she is beginning to write to


him; for shell be up twenty times a night, and


there will she sit in her smock till she have writ a


sheet of paper: my daughter tells us all.


Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a


O, when she had writ it and was reading it over, she


found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?


O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence;


railed at herself, that she should be so immodest


to write to one that she knew would flout her; I


measure him, says she, by my own spirit; for I


should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I


Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs,


beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; O


She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the


ecstasy hath so much overborne her that my daughter


is sometime afeared she will do a desperate outrage


It were good that Benedick knew of it by some


To what end? He would make but a sport of it and


An he should, it were an alms to hang him. Shes an


excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion,


O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender


a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood hath


the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just


cause, being her uncle and her guardian.


I would she had bestowed this dotage on me: I would


have daffed all other respects and made her half


myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear


Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she


will die, if he love her not, and she will die, ere


she make her love known, and she will die, if he woo


her, rather than she will bate one breath of her


She doth well: if she should make tender of her


love, tis very possible hell scorn it; for the


man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.


He hath indeed a good outward happiness.


He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.


As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of


quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he


avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes


If he do fear God, a must necessarily keep peace:


if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a


And so will he do; for the man doth fear God,


howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests


he will make. Well I am sorry for your niece. Shall


we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?


Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with


Nay, thats impossible: she may wear her heart out first.


Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter:


let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I


could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see


My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.


If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never


Let there be the same net spread for her; and that


must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The


sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of


anothers dotage, and no such matter: thats the


scene that I would see, which will be merely a


dumb-show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.


[Coming forward]  This can be no trick: the


conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of


this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it


seems her affections have their full bent. Love me!


why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured:


they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive


the love come from her; they say too that she will


rather die than give any sign of affection. I did


never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy


are they that hear their detractions and can put


them to mending. They say the lady is fair; tis a


truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous; tis


so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving


me; by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor


no great argument of her folly, for I will be


horribly in love with her. I may chance have some


odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me,


because I have railed so long against marriage: but


doth not the appetite alter? a man loves the meat


in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.


Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of


the brain awe a man from the career of his humour?


No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would


die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I


were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day!


shes a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in


Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.


Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.


I took no more pains for those thanks than you take


pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I would


Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knifes


point and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach,


Ha! Against my will I am sent to bid you come in


to dinner; theres a double meaning in that I took


no more pains for those thanks than you took pains


to thank me. thats as much as to say, Any pains


that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do


not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not


love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture.


There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice


Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursula


Walk in the orchard and our whole discourse


Is all of her; say that thou overheardst us;


And bid her steal into the pleached bower,


Forbid the sun to enter, like favourites,


Made proud by princes, that advance their pride


Against that power that bred it: there will she hide her,


To listen our purpose.  This is thy office;


Bear thee well in it and leave us alone.


Ill make her come, I warrant you, presently.


To praise him more than ever man did merit:


Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter


For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs


Close by the ground, to hear our conference.


The pleasantst angling is to see the fish


Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,


And greedily devour the treacherous bait:


Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing


Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.


No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;


That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?


So says the prince and my new-trothed lord.


And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?


They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;


But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick,


Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,


Misprising what they look on, and her wit


All matter else seems weak: she cannot love,


Nor take no shape nor project of affection,