User:Herr Beethoven/Sandbox

O then, what graces in my Loue do dwell, That he hath turn’d a heauen into hell.

Lyſ. Helen, to you our mindes we will vnfold, To morrow night, when Phbe doth behold Her ſiluer viſage, in the watry glaſſe, Decking with liquid pearle, the bladed graſſe (A time that Louers flights doth ſtill conceale) Through Athens gates, haue we deuis’d to ſteale.

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I, Vpon faint Primroſe beds, were wont to lye, Emptying our boſomes, of their counſell ſweld: There my Lyſander, and my ſelfe ſhall meete, And thence from Athens turne away our eyes To ſeeke new friends and ſtrange companions, Farwell ſweet play-fellow, pray thou for vs, And good lucke grant thee thy Demetrius. Keepe word Lyſander we muſt ſtarue our ſight, From louers foode, till morrow deepe midnight.

Exit Hermia.

Lyſ. I will my Hermia. Helena adieu, As you on him, Demetrius dotes on you.

Exit Lyſander.

Hele. How happy ſome, ore otherſome can be? Through Athens I am thought as faire as ſhe. But what of that? Demetrius thinkes not ſo: He will not know, what all, but he doth know, And as hee erres, doting on Hermias eyes; So I, admiring of his qualities: Things baſe and vilde, holding no quantity, Loue can tranſpoſe to forme and dignity, Loue lookes not with the eyes, but with the minde, And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blinde. Nor hath loues minde of any iudgement taste: Wings and no eyes, figure, vnheedy haste. And therefore is Loue said to be a childe, Because in choise he is often beguil’d, As waggish boyes in game themselues forsweare; So the boy Loue is periur’d euery where. For ere Demetrius lookt on Hermias eyne, He hail’d downe oathes that he was onely mine. And when this Haile some heat from Hermia felt, So he dissolu’d, and showres of oathes did melt, I will goe tell him of faire Hermias flight: Then to the wood will he, to morrow night Pursue her; and for his intelligence, If I haue thankes, it is a deere expence: But heerein meane I to enrich my paine, To haue his sight thither, and backe againe. Exit.

Enter Quince the Carpenter, Snug the Ioyner, Bottome the Weauer, Flute the bellowes-mender, Snout the Tinker, and Starueling the Taylor.

Quin. Is all our company heere?

Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by man according to the scrip.

Qui. Here is the scrowle of euery mans name, which is thought fit through all Athens, to play in our Enterlude before the Duke and the Dutches, on his wedding day at night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on: then read the names of the Actors: and so grow on to a point.

Quin. Marry our play is the most lamentable comedy, and most cruell death of Pyramus and Thisbie.

Bot. A very good peece of worke I assure you, and a merry. Now good Peter Quince, call forth your Actors by the scrowle. Masters spread your selues.

Quince. Answere as I call you. Nick Bottome the Weauer.

Bottome. Ready; name what part I am for, and proceed.

Quince. You Nicke Bottome are set downe for Pyramus.

Bot. What is Pyramus, a louer, or a tyrant?

Quin. A Louer that kills himselfe most gallantly for loue.

Bot. That will aske some teares in the true performing of it: if I do it, let the audience looke to their eies: I will mooue stormes; I will condole in some measure. To the rest yet, my chiefe humour is for a tyrant. I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to teare a Cat in, to make all split the raging Rocks; and shiuering shocks shall break the locks of prison gates, and Phibbus carre shall shine from farre, and make and marre the foolish Fates. This was lofty. Now name the rest of the Players. This is Ercles vaine, a tyrants vaine: a louer is more condoling.

Quin. Francis Flute the Bellowes-mender.

Flu. Heere Peter Quince.

Quin. You must take Thisbie on you.

Flut. What is Thisbie, a wandring Knight?

Quin. It is the Lady that Pyramus must loue.

Flut. Nay faith, let not mee play a woman, I haue a beard comming.

Qui. That’s all one, you shall play it in a Maske, and you may speake as small as you will.

Bot. And I may hide my face, let me play Thisbie too: Ile speake in a monstrous little voyce; Thisne, Thisne, ah Pyramus my louer deare, thy Thisbie deare, and Lady deare.

Quin. No no, you must play Pyramus, and Flute, you Thisby.

Bot. Well, proceed.

Qu. Robin Starueling the Taylor.

Star. Heere Peter Quince.

Quince. Robin Starueling, you must play Thisbies mother? Tom Snowt, the Tinker.

Snowt. Heere Peter Quince.

Quin. you, Pyramus father; my self, Thisbies father; Snugge the Ioyner, you the Lyons part: and I hope there is a play fitted.

Snug. Haue you the Lions part written? pray you if be, giue it me, for I am slow of studie.

Quin. You may doe it extemporie, for it is nothing but roaring.

Bot. Let mee play the Lyon too, I will roare that I will doe any mans heart good to heare me. I will roare, that I will make the Duke say, Let him roare againe, let him roare againe.

Quin. If you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Dutchesse and the Ladies, that they would shrike, and that were enough to hang us all.

All. That would hang vs euery mothers sonne.

Bottome. I graunt you friends, if that you should fright the Ladies out of their Wittes, they would haue no more discretion but to hang vs: but I will aggrauate my voyce so, that I will roare you as gently as any sucking Doue; I will roare and’twere any Nightingale.

Quin. You can play no part but Piramus, for