A Midsummer Nights Dream

Her. You Mistris, all this coyle is long of you. Nay, goe not backe Hel. I will not trust you I, Nor longer stay in your curst companie. Your hands then mine, are quicker for a fray, My legs are longer though to runne away. Enter Oberon and Pucke. Ob. This is thy negligence, still thou mistak'st, Or else committ'st thy knaueries willingly Puck. Beleeue me, King of shadowes, I mistooke, Did not you tell me, I should know the man, By the Athenian garments he hath on? And so farre blamelesse proues my enterprize, That I haue nointed an Athenians eies, And so farre am I glad, it so did sort, As this their iangling I esteeme a sport Ob. Thou seest these Louers seeke a place to fight, Hie therefore Robin, ouercast the night, The starrie Welkin couer thou anon, With drooping fogge as blacke as Acheron, And lead these testie Riuals so astray, As one come not within anothers way. Like to Lysander, sometime frame thy tongue, Then stirre Demetrius vp with bitter wrong; And sometime raile thou like Demetrius; And from each other looke thou leade them thus, Till ore their browes, death-counterfeiting, sleepe With leaden legs, and Battie-wings doth creepe: Then crush this hearbe into Lysanders eie, Whose liquor hath this vertuous propertie, To take from thence all error, with his might, and make his eie-bals role with wonted sight. When they next wake, all this derision Shall seeme a dreame, and fruitless vision, And backe to Athens shall the Louers wend With league, whose date till death shall neuer end. Whiles I in this affaire do thee imploy, Ile to my Queene, and beg her Indian Boy; And then I will her charmed eie release From monsters view, and all things shall be peace Puck. My Fairie Lord, this must be done with haste, For night-swift Dragons cut the Clouds full fast, And yonder shines Auroras harbinger; At whose approach Ghosts wandring here and there, Troope home to Church-yards; damned spirits all, That in crosse-waies and flouds haue buriall, Alreadie to their wormie beds are gone; For feare least day should looke their shames vpon, They wilfully themselues exile from light, And must for aye consort with blacke browd night Ob. But we are spirits of another sort: I, with the mornings loue haue oft made sport, And like a Forrester, the groues may tread, Euen till the Easterne gate all fierie red, Opening on Neptune, With faire blessed beames, Turnes into yellow gold, his salt greene streames. But not withstanding haste, make no delay: We may effect this businesse, yet ere day Puck. Vp and downe, vp and downe, I will leade them vp and downe: I am fear'd in field and towne. Goblin, lead them vp and downe: here comes one. Enter Lysander. Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speake thou now Rob. Here villaine, drawne & readie. Where art thou? Lys. I will be with thee straight Rob. Follow me then to plainer ground. Enter Demetrius. Dem. Lysander, speake againe; Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? Speake in some bush: Where dost thou hide thy head? Rob. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars, Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, And wilt not come? Come recreant, come thou childe, Ile whip thee with a rod. He is defil'd That drawes a sword on thee Dem. Yea, art thou there? Ro. Follow my voice, we'l try no manhood here. Enter. Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on, When I come where he cals, then he's gone. The Villaine is much lighter heel'd then I: I followed fast, but faster he did flye; shifting places. That fallen am I in darke vneuen way, And here wil rest me. Come thou gentle day: lye down. For if but once thou shew me thy gray light, Ile finde Demetrius, and reuenge this spight. Enter Robin and Demetrius. Rob. Ho, ho, ho; coward, why com'st thou not? Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st. For well I wot, Thou runst before me, shifting euery place, And dar'st not stand, nor looke me in the face. Where art thou? Rob. Come hither, I am here Dem. Nay then thou mock'st me; thou shalt buy this deere, If euer I thy face by day-light see. Now goe thy way: faintnesse constraineth me, To measure out my length on this cold bed, By daies approach looke to be visited. Enter Helena. Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, Abate thy houres, shine comforts from the East, That I may backe to Athens by day-light, From these that my poore companie detest; And sleepe that sometime shuts vp sorrowes eie, Steale me a while from mine owne companie. Sleepe. Rob. Yet but three? Come one more, Two of both kindes makes vp foure. Here she comes, curst and sad, Cupid is a knauish lad, Enter Hermia. Thus to make poore females mad Her. Neuer so wearie, neuer so in woe, Bedabbled with the dew, and torne with briars, I can no further crawle, no further goe; My legs can keepe no pace with my desires. Here will I rest me till the breake of day, Heauens shield Lysander, if they meane a fray Rob. On the ground sleepe sound, Ile apply your eie gentle louer, remedy. When thou wak'st, thou tak'st True delight in the sight of thy former Ladies eye, And the Country Prouerb knowne, That euery man should take his owne, In your waking shall be showne. Iacke shall haue Iill, nought shall goe ill. The man shall haue his Mare againe, and all shall bee well. They sleepe all the Act. Actus Quartus. Enter Queene of Fairies, and Clowne, and Fairies, and the King behinde them. Tita. Come, sit thee downe vpon this flowry bed, While I thy amiable cheekes doe coy, And sticke muske roses in thy sleeke smoothe head, And kisse thy faire large eares, my gentle ioy Clow. Where's Peaseblossome? Peas. Ready Clow. Scratch my head, Pease-blossome. Wher's Mounsieuer Cobweb Cob. Ready Clowne. Mounsieur Cobweb, good Mounsier get your weapons in your hand, & kill me a red hipt humble-Bee, on the top of a thistle; and good Mounsieur bring mee the hony bag. Doe not fret your selfe too much in the action, Mounsieur; and good mounsieur haue a care the hony bag breake not, I would be loth to haue you ouerflowne with a hony-bag signiour. Where's Mounsieur Mustardseed? Mus. Ready Clo. Giue me your neafe, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you leaue your courtesie good Mounsieur Mus. What's your will? Clo. Nothing good Mounsieur, but to help Caualery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the Barbers Mounsieur, for me-thinkes I am maruellous hairy about the face. And I am such a tender asse, if my haire do but tickle me, I must scratch Tita. What, wilt thou heare some musicke, my sweet loue Clow. I haue a reasonable good eare in musicke. Let vs haue the tongs and the bones. Musicke Tongs, Rurall Musicke. Tita. Or say sweete Loue, what thou desirest to eat