5

Snout (as 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 Thisbe
Did whisper often, very secretly.
This loam, this roughcast, 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.

Quince (as 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 Thisbe is, certain.
This man with lime and roughcast 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 lantern, 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 grizzly beast – which “Lion” hight by name –
The trusty Thisbe 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 Thisbe's mantle slain;
Whereat, with blade — with bloody blameful blade —
He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast;
And Thisbe, 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.
[Exit all the actors except Snout as Wall]

Theseus

I wonder if the lion be to speak.

Quince (as 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 Thisbe is, certain.
This man with lime and roughcast 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 lantern, 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 grizzly beast – which “Lion” hight by name –
The trusty Thisbe 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 Thisbe's mantle slain;
Whereat, with blade — with bloody blameful blade —
He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast;
And Thisbe, 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.

Quince (as 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 Thisbe is, certain.
This man with lime and roughcast 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 lantern, 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 grizzly beast – which “Lion” hight by name –
The trusty Thisbe 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 Thisbe's mantle slain;
Whereat, with blade — with bloody blameful blade —
He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast;
And Thisbe, 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.

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 played on this prologue like a
child on a recorder: a sound, but not in government.

Theseus

His speech was like a tangled chain: nothing
impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?

Theseus

What are they that do play it?

Philostrate

Hard-handed men that work in Athens here
Which never labored in their minds till now,
And now have toiled 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 stretched and conned 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'ercharged,
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.

Theseus

Say, what abridgement 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.
[Reads] “The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.”

Theseus

We'll none of that. That have I told my love
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.

Philostrate

“The riot of the tipsy bacchanals 
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.”

Theseus

That is an old device, and it was played
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

Philostrate

“The thrice-three muses mourning for the death
Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.”

Theseus

That is some satire, keen and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.

Theseus

Say, what abridgement 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.
[Reads] “The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.”

Theseus

We'll none of that. That have I told my love
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.

Philostrate

“The riot of the tipsy bacchanals 
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.”

Theseus

That is an old device, and it was played
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

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