Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and PUCK
How now, spirit! whither wander you?
Over hill, over dale,Thorough bush, thorough brier,Over park, over pale,Thorough flood, thorough fire,I do wander everywhere,Swifter than the moon's sphere;And I serve the fairy queen,To dew her orbs upon the green.The cowslips tall her pensioners be:In their gold coats spots you see;Those be rubies, fairy favours,In those freckles live their savours:I must go seek some dewdrops hereAnd hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:Our queen and all our elves come here anon.
The king doth keep his revels here to-night:Take heed the queen come not within his sight;For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,Because that she as her attendant hathA lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;She never had so sweet a changeling;And jealous Oberon would have the childKnight of his train, to trace the forests wild;But she perforce withholds the loved boy,Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy:And now they never meet in grove or green,By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,But, they do square, that all their elves for fearCreep into acorn-cups and hide them there.
Either I mistake your shape and making quite,Or else you are that shrewd and knavish spriteCall'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you heThat frights the maidens of the villagery;Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quernAnd bootless make the breathless housewife churn;And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,You do their work, and they shall have good luck:Are not you he?
Thou speak'st aright;I am that merry wanderer of the night.I jest to Oberon and make him smileWhen I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,In very likeness of a roasted crab,And when she drinks, against her lips I bobAnd on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough;And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swearA merrier hour was never wasted there.But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.
And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!Enter, from one side, OBERON, with his train; from the other, TITANIA, with hers
Enter, from one side, OBERON, with his train; from the other, TITANIA, with hers
Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.
What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence:I have forsworn his bed and company.
Tarry, rash wanton: am not I thy lord?
Then I must be thy lady: but I knowWhen thou hast stolen away from fairy land,And in the shape of Corin sat all day,Playing on pipes of corn and versing loveTo amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,Come from the farthest Steppe of India?But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love,To Theseus must be wedded, and you comeTo give their bed joy and prosperity.
How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering nightFrom Perigenia, whom he ravished?And make him with fair AEgle break his faith,With Ariadne and Antiopa?
These are the forgeries of jealousy:And never, since the middle summer's spring,Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead,By paved fountain or by rushy brook,Or in the beached margent of the sea,To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,As in revenge, have suck'd up from the seaContagious fogs; which falling in the landHave every pelting river made so proudThat they have overborne their continents:The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain,The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green cornHath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard;The fold stands empty in the drowned field,And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud,And the quaint mazes in the wanton greenFor lack of tread are undistinguishable:The human mortals want their winter here;No night is now with hymn or carol blest:Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,Pale in her anger, washes all the air,That rheumatic diseases do abound:And thorough this distemperature we seeThe seasons alter: hoary-headed frostsFar in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,And on old Hiems' thin and icy crownAn odorous chaplet of sweet summer budsIs, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,The childing autumn, angry winter, changeTheir wonted liveries, and the mazed world,By their increase, now knows not which is which:And this same progeny of evils comesFrom our debate, from our dissension;We are their parents and original.
Do you amend it then; it lies in you:Why should Titania cross her Oberon?I do but beg a little changeling boy,To be my henchman.
Set your heart at rest:The fairy land buys not the child of me.His mother was a votaress of my order:And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,Full often hath she gossip'd by my side,And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands,Marking the embarked traders on the flood,When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceiveAnd grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;Which she, with pretty and with swimming gaitFollowing,--her womb then rich with my young squire,--Would imitate, and sail upon the land,To fetch me trifles, and return again,As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;And for her sake do I rear up her boy,And for her sake I will not part with him.
How long within this wood intend you stay?
Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day.If you will patiently dance in our roundAnd see our moonlight revels, go with us;If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.
Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.
Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.Exit TITANIA with her train
Exit TITANIA with her train
Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this groveTill I torment thee for this injury.My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberestSince once I sat upon a promontory,And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's backUttering such dulcet and harmonious breathThat the rude sea grew civil at her songAnd certain stars shot madly from their spheres,To hear the sea-maid's music.
That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,Flying between the cold moon and the earth,Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he tookAt a fair vestal throned by the west,And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaftQuench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon,And the imperial votaress passed on,In maiden meditation, fancy-free.Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:It fell upon a little western flower,Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,And maidens call it love-in-idleness.Fetch me that flower; the herb I shew'd thee once:The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laidWill make or man or woman madly doteUpon the next live creature that it sees.Fetch me this herb; and be thou here againEre the leviathan can swim a league.
I'll put a girdle round about the earthIn forty minutes.Exit
Having once this juice,I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,And drop the liquor of it in her eyes.The next thing then she waking looks upon,Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,She shall pursue it with the soul of love:And ere I take this charm from off her sight,As I can take it with another herb,I'll make her render up her page to me.But who comes here? I am invisible;And I will overhear their conference.Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA, following him
Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA, following him
I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood;And here am I, and wode within this wood,Because I cannot meet my Hermia.Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.
You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;But yet you draw not iron, for my heartIs true as steel: leave you your power to draw,And I shall have no power to follow you.
Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?Or, rather, do I not in plainest truthTell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?
And even for that do I love you the more.I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,Unworthy as I am, to follow you.What worser place can I beg in your love,--And yet a place of high respect with me,--Than to be used as you use your dog?
Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;For I am sick when I do look on thee.
And I am sick when I look not on you.
You do impeach your modesty too much,To leave the city and commit yourselfInto the hands of one that loves you not;To trust the opportunity of nightAnd the ill counsel of a desert placeWith the rich worth of your virginity.
Your virtue is my privilege: for thatIt is not night when I do see your face,Therefore I think I am not in the night;Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,For you in my respect are all the world:Then how can it be said I am alone,When all the world is here to look on me?
I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
The wildest hath not such a heart as you.Run when you will, the story shall be changed:Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hindMakes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed,When cowardice pursues and valour flies.
I will not stay thy questions; let me go:Or, if thou follow me, do not believeBut I shall do thee mischief in the wood.
Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex:We cannot fight for love, as men may do;We should be wood and were not made to woo.Exit DEMETRIUSI'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,To die upon the hand I love so well.Exit
Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this grove,Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love.Re-enter PUCKHast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.
Ay, there it is.
I pray thee, give it me.I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in:And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,And make her full of hateful fantasies.Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove:A sweet Athenian lady is in loveWith a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes;But do it when the next thing he espiesMay be the lady: thou shalt know the manBy the Athenian garments he hath on.Effect it with some care, that he may proveMore fond on her than she upon her love:And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.
Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.Exeunt