A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 3, Scene 1

Are we all met?

Are we all here?

Pat, pat; and here’s 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.

Right on time, right on time. And here's a wonderfully convenient place for our rehearsal. This patch of grass will be our stage, this hawthorn thicket our dressing room, and we'll act it out just as we'll do it in front of the Duke.

Peter Quince?

Peter Quince?

What sayest thou, bully Bottom?

What is it, my fine Bottom?

There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?

There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that will never go down well. First, Pyramus has to draw a sword to kill himself, and the ladies can't stand that. How do you answer that?

SNOUT By’r lakin, a parlous fear.

SNOUT By our little lady, that's a terrible worry.

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

I think we'll have to cut the killing out, when all's said and 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 out of fear.

Not at all. I have a plan to make it all fine. Write me a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say that we'll do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus isn't really killed; and for even better reassurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus but Bottom the weaver. That will stop them being afraid.

Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in eight and six.

All right, we'll have a prologue like that, and it will be written in lines of eight and six syllables.

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

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

SNOUT Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?

SNOUT Won't the ladies be frightened of the lion?

I fear it, I promise you.

I'm afraid they will, I assure you.

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 look to it.

Gentlemen, you ought to think it over among yourselves: to bring in a lion (God protect us!) among ladies is a most dreadful thing. For there's no more frightening wild bird alive than your lion, and we ought to see to it.

SNOUT Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.

SNOUT So another prologue must say that he isn't a lion.

Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion’s 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.

No, you must give his name, and half his face must show through the lion's neck; and he himself must speak through it, saying this, or something to the same defect: 'Ladies,' or, 'Fair ladies, I would wish you,' or, 'I would request you,' or, 'I would beg you, do not be afraid, do not tremble: I'll answer for your safety with my life. If you think I come here as a lion, my life would be in danger. No, I am no such thing; I am a man like other men are.' And then, truly, let him give his name and tell them plainly that 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 Thisbe meet by moonlight.

All right, that's how it will be. But there are two difficult things: that is, to bring moonlight into a room, because you know Pyramus and Thisbe meet by moonlight.

SNOUT Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?

SNOUT Will the moon be shining the night we perform our play?

A calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanack; find out moonshine, find out moonshine.

A calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanac; find out about the moonlight, find out about the moonlight.

Yes, it doth shine that night.

Yes, it does shine that night.

Why, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber window, where we play, open; and the moon may shine in at the casement.

Well then, you can leave one window of the great chamber, where we perform, open, and the moon can shine in through the window.

Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lantern, 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 Thisbe, says the story, did talk through the chink of a wall.

Yes, or else someone must come in with a bundle of thorns and a lantern and say he comes to disfigure, or to represent, the character of Moonshine. Then there's another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber, because Pyramus and Thisbe, so the story goes, talked through the crack in a wall.

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

SNOUT You can never bring in a wall. What do you say, 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 and Thisbe whisper.

Some man or other must play Wall. And let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough plaster on him, to show he's a wall; and let him hold his fingers like this, and Pyramus and Thisbe can whisper through that gap.

If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother’s son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake; and so everyone according to his cue.

If that can be done, then everything's fine. Come on, sit down, every mother's son of you, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you start: when you've said your speech, go into that thicket; and everyone else the same, according to his cue.

What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here, So near the cradle of the Fairy Queen? What, a play toward? I’ll be an auditor; An actor too perhaps, if I see cause.

What coarse country workmen are these, strutting about here so close to the Fairy Queen's resting place? What, a play in the works? I'll be in the audience — and maybe an actor too, if I see a reason for it.

Speak, Pyramus.—Thisbe, stand forth.

Speak, Pyramus. — Thisbe, step forward.

Thisbe, the flowers of odious savours sweet

Thisbe, the flowers with hateful smells are sweet—

Odours, odours.

Odours, odours.

. . . odours savours sweet. So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisbe dear. But hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile, And by and by I will to thee appear.

. . . odours smell sweet. So does your breath, my dearest dear Thisbe. But listen, a voice! Just wait here a moment, and I'll be back with you shortly.

A stranger Pyramus than e’er played here!

A stranger Pyramus than was ever acted here!

Must I speak now?

Do I speak now?

Ay, marry, must you, For you must understand he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.

Yes, indeed you do, because you have to understand that he's only gone to look into a noise he heard, and he's going to come back.

Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew, As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, I’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb.

Most radiant Pyramus, whitest of complexion, coloured like the red rose on the splendid briar, most lively young man, and also most lovely Jew, as faithful as the most faithful horse that would never tire, I'll meet you, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.

Ninus’ tomb, man! Why, you must not speak that yet. That you answer to Pyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues, and all.—Pyramus enter! Your cue is past; it is ‘never tire.’

Ninus' tomb, man! And you mustn't say that yet. That's your reply to Pyramus. You're speaking your whole part all at once, cues and all. — Pyramus, come in! Your cue has gone by; it's 'never tire.'

O, As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire.

Oh — As faithful as the most faithful horse that would never tire.

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

If I were handsome, Thisbe, I would be yours alone.

O monstrous! O strange! We are haunted. Pray, masters, fly, masters! Help!

Oh, monstrous! Oh, strange! We're bewitched. Please, gentlemen, run, gentlemen! Help!

I’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round, Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier; Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound, A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire; And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.

I'll come after you. I'll lead you round and round, through swamp, through bush, through thicket, through briar. Sometimes I'll be a horse, sometimes a hound, a hog, a headless bear, sometimes a fire; and I'll neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, like a horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.

Why do they run away? This is a knavery of them to make me afeard.

Why are they running away? This is a trick of theirs to frighten me.

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

SNOUT Oh, Bottom, you're changed! What is that I see on you?

What do you see? You see an ass-head of your own, do you?

What do you see? You're seeing a donkey's head of your own, are you?

Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! Thou art translated.

God bless you, Bottom, bless you! You've been transformed.

I see their knavery. This is to make an ass of me, to fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I will walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am not afraid. [Sings.] The ousel cock, so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill, The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill.

I see their trick. It's to make an ass of me, to scare me, if they could. But I won't move from this spot, whatever they do. I'll walk up and down here, and I'll sing, so they can hear that I'm not afraid. [He sings.] The male blackbird, so black in colour, with an orange-brown beak, the song thrush with his note so true, the wren with his little voice.

[Waking.] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

[Waking.] What angel is waking me from my bed of flowers?

[Sings.] The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, The plain-song cuckoo gray, Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer nay. for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Who would give a bird the lie, though he cry ‘cuckoo’ never so?

[He sings.] The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, the grey cuckoo with its simple tune, whose note so many a man takes note of, and dares not answer no to. Because, really, who would match his brains against such a foolish bird? Who would call a bird a liar, however much it cries 'cuckoo'?

I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. Mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note. So is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape; And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me, On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.

Please, gentle mortal, sing again. My ear is deeply in love with your tune. And my eye is just as captivated by your shape; and the power of your fine goodness forces me, at first sight, to say, to swear, that I love you.

Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that. And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays. The more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

It seems to me, madam, that you'd have little reason for that. And yet, to tell the truth, reason and love keep very little company together these days. More the pity that some honest neighbours won't make friends of them. No, I can joke when the occasion calls for it.

Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

You are as wise as you are beautiful.

Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.

Not really that, either; but if I had enough cleverness to get out of this wood, I'd have enough to serve my own purposes.

Out of this wood do not desire to go. Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no. I am a spirit of no common rate. The summer still doth tend upon my state; And I do love thee: therefore, go with me. I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee; And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, And sing, while thou on pressèd flowers dost sleep. And I will purge thy mortal grossness so That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.— Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

Don't wish to leave this wood. You'll stay here whether you want to or not. I am a spirit of no ordinary rank. Summer always waits upon my court. And I love you, so come with me. I'll give you fairies to wait on you, and they'll fetch you jewels from the deep sea, and sing while you sleep on crushed flowers. And I'll purge away your mortal coarseness so that you'll move like an airy spirit. — Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

Ready.

Ready.

And I.

And I.

And I.

And I.

And I.

And I.

Where shall we go?

Where shall we go?

Be kind and courteous to this gentleman; Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes; Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, 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-worm’s eyes, To have my love to bed and to arise; And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes. Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

Be kind and polite to this gentleman; skip along wherever he walks and dance before his eyes; feed him with apricots and dewberries, with purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; steal the honey-bags from the bumblebees, and cut off their waxy legs for night candles, and light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, to see my love to bed and up again; and pull the wings off painted butterflies to fan the moonbeams away from his sleeping eyes. Bow to him, elves, and pay him your respects.

Hail, mortal!

Greetings, mortal!

Hail!

Greetings!

Hail!

Greetings!

Hail!

Greetings!

I cry your worships mercy, heartily.—I beseech your worship’s name.

I sincerely beg your worships' pardon.—Please tell me your worship's name.

Cobweb.

Cobweb.

I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you.—Your name, honest gentleman?

I'd like to get to know you better, good Master Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I'll take the liberty of using you.—Your name, honest gentleman?

Peaseblossom.

Peaseblossom.

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?

Please give my regards to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I'd like to get to know you better as well.—Your name, I beg you, sir?

Mustardseed.

Mustardseed.

Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well. That same cowardly giant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you of more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.

Good Master Mustardseed, I know all about your patience. That same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef has eaten up many a gentleman of your family. I promise you, your relatives have made my eyes water before now. I'd like to get to know you better, good Master Mustardseed.

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, Lamenting some enforced chastity. Tie up my love’s tongue, bring him silently.

Come, attend on him; take him to my bower. The moon, I think, looks out with a watery eye, and when she weeps, every little flower weeps too, mourning some chastity that has been violated. Tie up my love's tongue, and bring him along in silence.