Chapter: ACT V. SCENE I.
Athens. The palace of THESEUS

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS

  HIPPOLYTA. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak
of.
  THESEUS. More strange than true. I never may believe
    These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
    Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
    Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
    More than cool reason ever comprehends.
    The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
    Are of imagination all compact.
    One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
    That is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,
    Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.
    The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
    Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
    And as imagination bodies forth
    The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
    Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
    A local habitation and a name.
    Such tricks hath strong imagination
    That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
    It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
    Or in the night, imagining some fear,
    How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear?
  HIPPOLYTA. But all the story of the night told over,
    And all their minds transfigur'd so together,
    More witnesseth than fancy's images,
    And grows to something of great constancy,
    But howsoever strange and admirable.

          Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and HELENA

  THESEUS. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.
    Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love
    Accompany your hearts!
  LYSANDER. More than to us
    Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!
  THESEUS. Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have,
    To wear away this long age of three hours
    Between our after-supper and bed-time?
    Where is our usual manager of mirth?
    What revels are in hand? Is there no play
    To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
    Call Philostrate.
  PHILOSTRATE. Here, mighty Theseus.
  THESEUS. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening?
    What masque? what music? How shall we beguile
    The lazy time, if not with some delight?
  PHILOSTRATE. There is a brief how many sports are ripe;
    Make choice of which your Highness will see first.
                                                [Giving a paper]
  THESEUS. 'The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung
    By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.'
    We'll none of that: that have I told my love,
    In glory of my kinsman Hercules.
    'The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
    Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.'
    That is an old device, and it was play'd
    When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
    'The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
    Of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary.'
    That is some satire, keen and critical,
    Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.
    'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus
    And his love Thisby; very tragical mirth.'
    Merry and tragical! tedious and brief!
    That is hot ice and wondrous strange snow.
    How shall we find the concord of this discord?
  PHILOSTRATE. 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.
    And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
    For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
    Which when I saw rehears'd, I must confess,
    Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
    The passion of loud laughter never shed.
  THESEUS. What are they that do play it?
  PHILOSTRATE. Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,
    Which never labour'd in their minds till now;
    And now have toil'd their unbreathed memories
    With this same play against your nuptial.
  THESEUS. And we will hear it.
  PHILOSTRATE. No, my noble lord,
    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 stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain,
    To do you service.
  THESEUS. I will hear that play;
    For never anything can be amiss
    When simpleness and duty tender it.
    Go, bring them in; and take your places, ladies.
                                                Exit PHILOSTRATE
  HIPPOLYTA. I love not to see wretchedness o'er-charged,
    And duty in his service perishing.
  THESEUS. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.
  HIPPOLYTA. He says they can do nothing in this kind.
  THESEUS. 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
    Takes it in might, not merit.
    Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
    To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
    Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
    Make periods in the midst of sentences,
    Throttle their practis'd 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 pick'd a welcome;
    And in the modesty of fearful duty
    I read as much as from the rattling tongue
    Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
    Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
    In least speak most to my capacity.

                       Re-enter PHILOSTRATE

  PHILOSTRATE. So please your Grace, the Prologue is address'd.
  THESEUS. Let him approach.              [Flourish of trumpets]

                 Enter QUINCE as the PROLOGUE

  PROLOGUE. If we offend, it is with our good will.
    That you should think, we come not to offend,
    But with good will. To show our simple skill,
    That is the true beginning of our end.
    Consider then, we come but in despite.
    We do not come, as minding to content 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,
  THESEUS. This fellow doth not stand upon points.
  LYSANDER. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows
not
    the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak,
but
    to speak true.
  HIPPOLYTA. Indeed he hath play'd on this prologue like a child
on a
    recorder- a sound, but not in government.
  THESEUS. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing im
paired,
    but all disordered. Who is next?

          Enter, with a trumpet before them, as in dumb show,
            PYRAMUS and THISBY, WALL, MOONSHINE, and LION

  PROLOGUE. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
    But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
    This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
    This beauteous lady Thisby is certain.
    This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present
    Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder;
    And through Wall's 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,
    Did scare away, or rather did affright;
    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 Thisby's mantle slain;
    Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
    He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast;
    And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade,
    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, PYRAMUS, THISBY,
                                             LION, and MOONSHINE
  THESEUS. I wonder if the lion be to speak.
  DEMETRIUS. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses
do.
  WALL. In this same interlude it doth befall
    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,
    Did whisper often very secretly.
    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.
  THESEUS. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?
  DEMETRIUS. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard
    discourse, my lord.

                       Enter PYRAMUS

  THESEUS. Pyramus draws near the wall; silence.
  PYRAMUS. O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black!
    O night, which ever art when day is not!
    O night, O night, alack, alack, alack,
    I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot!
    And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
    That stand'st between her father's ground and mine;
    Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,
    Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.
                                     [WALL holds up his fingers]
    Thanks, courteous wall. Jove shield thee well for this!
    But what see what see I? No Thisby do I see.
    O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,
    Curs'd be thy stones for thus deceiving me!
  THESEUS. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse
again.
  PYRAMUS. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving me is
Thisby's
    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.

                          Enter THISBY

  THISBY. O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,
    For parting my fair Pyramus and me!
    My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones,
    Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.
  PYRAMUS. I see a voice; now will I to the chink,
    To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face.
    Thisby!
  THISBY. My love! thou art my love, I think.
  PYRAMUS. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace;
    And like Limander am I trusty still.
  THISBY. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.
  PYRAMUS. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.
  THISBY. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.
  PYRAMUS. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.
  THISBY. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.
  PYRAMUS. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?
  THISBY. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.
                                       Exeunt PYRAMUS and THISBY
  WALL. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;
    And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.           Exit WALL
  THESEUS. Now is the moon used between the two neighbours.
  DEMETRIUS. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear
    without warning.
  HIPPOLYTA. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.
  THESEUS. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst
are
    no worse, if imagination amend them.
  HIPPOLYTA. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.
  THESEUS. 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.

                   Enter LION and MOONSHINE

  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 as Snug the joiner am
    A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam;
    For, if I should as lion come in strife
    Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.
  THESEUS. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
  DEMETRIUS. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.
  LYSANDER. This lion is a very fox for his valour.
  THESEUS. True; and a goose for his discretion.
  DEMETRIUS. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his
    discretion, and the fox carries the goose.
  THESEUS. 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.
  MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present-
  DEMETRIUS. He should have worn the horns on his head.
  THESEUS. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within
the
    circumference.
  MOONSHINE. This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;
    Myself the Man i' th' Moon do seem to be.
  THESEUS. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the man
should
    be put into the lantern. How is it else the man i' th' moon?
  DEMETRIUS. He dares not come there for the candle; for, you
see, it
    is already in snuff.
  HIPPOLYTA. I am aweary of this moon. Would he would change!
  THESEUS. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he
is
    in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must
stay
    the time.
  LYSANDER. Proceed, Moon.
  MOONSHINE. All that I have to say is to tell you that the lanthorn
is
    the moon; I, the Man i' th' Moon; this thorn-bush, my
thorn-bush;
    and this dog, my dog.
  DEMETRIUS. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all
these
    are in the moon. But silence; here comes Thisby.

                        Re-enter THISBY

  THISBY. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?
  LION. [Roaring] O-                           [THISBY runs off]
  DEMETRIUS. Well roar'd, Lion.
  THESEUS. Well run, Thisby.
  HIPPOLYTA. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good
    grace.            [The LION tears THISBY'S Mantle, and exit]
  THESEUS. Well mous'd, Lion.

                        Re-enter PYRAMUS

  DEMETRIUS. And then came Pyramus.
  LYSANDER. And so the lion vanish'd.
  PYRAMUS. 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,
    I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.
             But stay, O spite!
             But mark, poor knight,
           What dreadful dole is here!
             Eyes, do you see?
             How can it be?
           O dainty duck! O dear!
             Thy mantle good,
             What! stain'd with blood?
           Approach, ye Furies fell.
             O Fates! come, come;
             Cut thread and thrum;
           Quail, crush, conclude, and quell.
  THESEUS. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go
    near to make a man look sad.
  HIPPOLYTA. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
  PYRAMUS. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
    Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear;
    Which is- no, no- which was the fairest dame
    That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer.
             Come, tears, confound;
             Out, sword, and wound
           The pap of Pyramus;
             Ay, that left pap,
             Where heart doth hop.               [Stabs himself]
           Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
             Now am I dead,
             Now am I fled;
           My soul is in the sky.
             Tongue, lose thy light;
             Moon, take thy flight.             [Exit MOONSHINE]
           Now die, die, die, die, die.                   [Dies]
  DEMETRIUS. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.
  LYSANDER. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.
  THESEUS. With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and
yet prove an ass.
  HIPPOLYTA. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisby comes
back
    and finds her lover?

                       Re-enter THISBY

  THESEUS. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and
her
    passion ends the play.
  HIPPOLYTA. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a
    Pyramus; I hope she will be brief.
  DEMETRIUS. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which
    Thisby, is the better- he for a man, God warrant us: She for
a
    woman, God bless us!
  LYSANDER. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.
  DEMETRIUS. And thus she moans, videlicet:-
  THISBY.      Asleep, my love?
               What, dead, my dove?
             O Pyramus, arise,
               Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
               Dead, dead? A tomb
             Must cover thy sweet eyes.
               These lily lips,
               This cherry nose,
             These yellow cowslip cheeks,
               Are gone, are gone;
               Lovers, make moan;
             His eyes were green as leeks.
               O Sisters Three,
               Come, come to me,
             With hands as pale as milk;
               Lay them in gore,
               Since you have shore
             With shears his thread of silk.
               Tongue, not a word.
               Come, trusty sword;
             Come, blade, my breast imbrue.      [Stabs herself]
               And farewell, friends;
               Thus Thisby ends;
             Adieu, adieu, adieu.                         [Dies]
  THESEUS. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
  DEMETRIUS. Ay, and Wall too.
  BOTTOM. [Starting up] No, I 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 of our company?
  THESEUS. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no
excuse.
    Never excuse; for when the players are all dead there need
none
    to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus,
and
    hang'd himself in Thisby's garter, it would have been a fine
    tragedy. And so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd.
But
    come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue alone.     [A dance]
    The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.
    Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.
    I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn,
    As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
    This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd
    The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
    A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
    In nightly revels and new jollity.                    Exeunt

                     Enter PUCK with a broom

  PUCK.      Now the hungry lion roars,
             And the wolf behowls the moon;
             Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
             All with weary task fordone.
             Now the wasted brands do glow,
             Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
             Puts the wretch that lies in woe
             In remembrance of a shroud.
             Now it is the time of night
             That the graves, all gaping wide,
             Every one lets forth his sprite,
             In the church-way paths to glide.
             And we fairies, that do run
             By the triple Hecate's team
             From the presence of the sun,
             Following darkness like a dream,
             Now are frolic. Not a mouse
             Shall disturb this hallowed house.
             I am sent with broom before,
             To sweep the dust behind the door.

         Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with all their train

  OBERON.    Through the house give glimmering light,
             By the dead and drowsy fire;
             Every elf and fairy sprite
             Hop as light as bird from brier;
             And this ditty, after me,
             Sing and dance it trippingly.
  TITANIA.      First, rehearse your song by rote,
                To each word a warbling note;
                Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
                Will we sing, and bless this place.

           [OBERON leading, the FAIRIES sing and dance]

  OBERON.    Now, until the break of day,
             Through this house each fairy stray.
             To the best bride-bed will we,
             Which by us shall blessed be;
             And the issue there create
             Ever shall be fortunate.
             So shall all the couples three
             Ever true in loving be;
             And the blots of Nature's hand
             Shall not in their issue stand;
             Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
             Nor mark prodigious, such as are
             Despised in nativity,
             Shall upon their children be.
             With this field-dew consecrate,
             Every fairy take his gait,
             And each several chamber bless,
             Through this palace, with sweet peace;
             And the owner of it blest
             Ever shall in safety rest.
             Trip away; make no stay;
             Meet me all by break of day.    Exeunt all but PUCK
  PUCK.      If we shadows have offended,
             Think but this, and all is mended,
             That you have but slumb'red here
             While these visions did appear.
             And this weak and idle theme,
             No more yielding but a dream,
             Gentles, do not reprehend.
             If you pardon, we will mend.
             And, as I am an honest Puck,
             If we have unearned luck
             Now to scape the serpent's tongue,
             We will make amends ere long;
             Else the Puck a liar call.
             So, good night unto you all.
             Give me your hands, if we be friends,
             And Robin shall restore amends.                Exit


THE END

 In the evening, in Theseus's palace, Hippolyta remarks on the strange tale the four lovers have told them. Theseus is prepared to dismiss it as a fanciful story, no more true than something a madman or a poet might conjure up. Hippolyta is not convinced. She points out that the stories the young people tell are all consistent with one another, which makes her think they are reliable. Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia and Helena enter. Theseus asks Philostrate what the entertainment will be for the remainder of the evening. Philostrate hands him a sheet of paper with a list of acts for him to choose from. The artisans' play, Pyramus and Thisbe, is fourth on the list, and it attracts Theseus's attention. Philostrate tells him that it is a very bad play, and that when he saw it in rehearsal it made him laugh, even though it is a tragedy. Theseus asks who is to perform it, and after Philostrate tells him that it is being done by some artisans from Athens who have never exercised their minds in anything before, Theseus decides, over Philostrate's protests, to hear it. He tells the doubtful Hippolyta that what matters is not the quality of the product, but the honesty and simplicity with which it is offered. There is a flourish of trumpets. Peter Quince enters and speaks the play's prologue. according to the watching aristocrats, Theseus, Hippolyta and Lysander, he delivers the lines badly. As the rest of the players enter, Peter Quince continues his prologue, explaining who the characters are, including Wall , Moonshine , and Lion . He also explains the plot of the play. Pyramus and Thisbe are to meet at Ninus' tomb and woo each other there. But Thisbe is scared away by a lion, and as she flees she drops her mantle. The lion mangles it and leaves it looking bloodstained. When Pyramus arrives, he is so distraught at the sight of the apparently bloody mantle that he kills himself, thinking his lover dead. The players perform their parts as best they can, despite the rude interruptions from the aristocrats, who enjoy themselves by mocking the farcical performance. Snout explains at length that he is playing a wall. Pyramus approaches the wall, on the other side of which Thisbe eventually appears. The two lovers engage in a love dialogue in which they both mangle the names of the characters from classical mythology. Then they part, agreeing to meet at Ninus' tomb. Snug enters and explains that he is Lion, as does Starveling as Moonshine. They manage to get their lines out in spite of the mocking comments from the aristocrats. Lion chases Thisbe away, and then Pyramus enters and passionately laments what he thinks is the death of Thisbe. He stabs himself and dies. Thisbe returns to find her lover dead, and stabs herself in grief. After some generous praise for their performance from Theseus, they conclude with a rustic dance. It is midnight, and Theseus and the others retire to bed. Puck enters and announces that now is the time that fairies frolic. Oberon and Titania and their train sing and dance a blessing on the house. The last word is given to Puck, who speaks directly to the audience. He says that if anything in the play has offended them, they should consider themselves to have been sleeping, and the play to be nothing more than a dream.

