A Midsummer Night's Dream- Nick Bottom Lines

QUINCE: Is all our company here?

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

QUINCE: Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is

thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our

interlude before the duke and the duchess, on his

wedding-day at night.

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

QUINCE: Marry, our play is, the most lamentable comedy, and

most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

A very good piece of work I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves.

QUINCE: Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.

Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.

QUINCE: You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

What is Pyramus--- a lover or a tyrant?

QUINCE: A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.

That will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes. I will move storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest-- Yet my chief humor is for a tyrant. I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.

The raging rocks

And shivering shocks

Shall break the locks

Of prison gates

And Phibbus' car

Shall shine from far

And make and mar

The foolish fates

This was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrants vein. A lover's is more condoling.

QUINCE: That's all one: you shall play it in a mask, and

you may speak as small as you will.

An I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too! Ill speak in a monstrous little voice, 'Thisne, Thisne!' --'Ah Pyramus, my lover dear! Thy Thisbe dear and lady dear!'

QUINCE: No, no; you must play Pyramus: and, Flute, you Thisby.

Well, proceed.

QUINCE: You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

Let me play the lion too. I will roar that I will do any man's heart good to hear. I will roar that I will make the duke say, 'Let him roar again, let him roar again!'

ALL: That would hang us, every mother's son.

I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us: but I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.

QUINCE: You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely gentleman-like man: therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in?

Quince: why what you will

I will discharge it in either your straw-colour

beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain

beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your

perfit yellow.

QUINCE: Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play barefaced. But masters, here are your parts, and I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you to con them by tomorrow night and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight. There will we rehearse, for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with company and our devices known. In the meantime I will draw a bill of properties such as our play wants. I pray you fail me not.

We will meet. And there we may rehearse most obscenely and courageously. Take pains. Be perfect. Adieu

QUINCE: At the Duke's Oak we meet.

Enough; hold or cut bow-strings.

QUINCE: Pat, pat. And here's a marvelous 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.

Peter Quince?

QUINCE: What sayest thou, bully 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?

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

Not a whit! I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue and let the prologue say that we will do no harm with our swords and 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 their fear.

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

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

STARVELING: I fear it, I promise you.

Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves: to bring in a [God shield us!] Lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing! For there is not a more fearful wildfoul than your lion living. And we ought to look to't.

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

Nay, we must name his name, and half his face must be shown through the lion's neck and he shall speak through it 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, pity on 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.

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

A calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanac. Find out moonshine, find out moonshine.

QUINCE: Yes, it doth 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.

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

Some man or other must present Wall. And let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some roughcast about him to signify wall, or let him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisbe whisper.

QUINCE: Speak Pyramus--Thisbe, stand forth.

Thisne- Thisbe, the flowers of odious savors sweet-

QUINCE: Odors, odors!

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

FLUTE: O! As truest as truest horse, that yet would never tire.

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

ROBIN: I'll follow you. I'll lead you about a round. through a 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.

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

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

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

Quince: Bless thee, Bottom! Bless thee! Thou art translated.

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. [He sings.]

The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,

The plainsong cuckoo gray,

Whose note full many a man doth mark

And dares not answer "nay"-

TITANIA: What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

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?

TITANIA: ...On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.

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 neighbors will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion

MUSTARDSEED: Hail!

I cry your worship's mercy, heartily.-- I beseech your worship's name.

COBWEB: Cobweb

I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master

Cobweb. Your name, honest gentleman?

Mustardseed: Mustardseed

Good master Mustardseed, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too.

TITANIA: ...And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.

Where's Mustardseed?

Mustardseed: Ready

Scratch my head, Mustardseed. Where's Monsieur Cobweb?

COBWEB: Ready

Monsiour Cobweb, good monsiour, get you your weapons in your hand and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thisle and good monsiour bring me the honey bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the action monsieur; and good monsieur have a care the honey bag break not; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag signior. Where's Monsiuer Mustardseed?

MUSTARDSEED: Ready What's your will?

Nothing, good Mustardseed, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur; for methinks I am marvels hairy about the face; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.

TITANIA: What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?

I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let's have the tongs and the bones.

Titania: Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.

Truly, a peck of provender. I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay. Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

TITANIA: I have a venturous fairy that shall seek the squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.

I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.

[LOVERS EXIT]

[FALLS OFF BED] When my cue comes, call me, and I will

answer: my next is, 'Most fair Pyramus.' Heigh-ho!

Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout,

the tinker! Starveling! God's my life, stolen

hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare

vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to

say what dream it was. Man is but an ass, if he go

about to expound this dream. Methought I was--there

is no man can tell what. Methought I was,--and

methought I had,--but man is but a patched fool, if

he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye

of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not

seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue

to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream

was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of

this dream: it shall be called 'Bottom's Dream',

because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the

latter end of a play, before the duke. Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall

sing it at her death.

FLUTE: ...Sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing!

Where are these lads? Where are these hearts?

QUINCE: Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!

Masters, I am to discourse wonders. But ask me not what; for if I tell you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you everything right as it fell out.

QUINCE: Let us hear, sweet Bottom.

Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is that the Duke hath dined. For the shot and the long is, our play is preferred! In any case, let Thisbe have clean linen, and let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath, and I do not doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy. No more words. Away! Go Away!

THESUS: Pyramus draws near the wall. Silence

[as Pyramus]

O, grim-looked night! O night with hue so black!

O night, which ever art when day is not!

O night! O night! Alack, alack, alack!

I fear my Thisbe's promise is forgot.

And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,

That stand'st between her father's ground and mine,

Thou wall , O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,

Show me thy chink to blink through with mine eyne.

Thanks, courteous wall. Jove shield thee well for this.

But what see I? No Thisbe do I see.

O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,

Cursed be they stones for thus deceiving me!

THESUS: The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.

No, in truth, sir, he should not. 'Deceiving me' is Thisbe's cue. She is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.

FLUTE: [as Thisbe] ...Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.

I see a voice! Now will I to the chink

To spy an I can hear my Thisbe's face.

Thisbe?

FLUTE: [as Thisbe] And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.

Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.

FLUTE: [as Thisbe] Not Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.

O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.

FLUTE: [as Thisbe] My love thou art, my love I think.

Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace,

And, like Limeander, am I trusty still.

FLUTE: [as Thisbe] I kiss the wall's hole, [BREAKING CHARACTER] not your lips at all.

Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightaway?

LYSANDER: And so the lion vanished.

Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams.

I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright,

For by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,

I trust to take of truest Thisbe sight.--

But stay! O spite!

But mark, poor knight,

What dreadful dole is here!

Eyes, do you see!

How can it be!

O dainty duck! O dear!

Thy mantle good--

What, stained with blood?

Approach, ye Furies fell!

O Fates, come, come

Cut thread, and thrum,

Qual, crush, conclude, and quell!

HIPPOLYTA: Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

O, wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame,

Since lion vile hath here deflowered my dear,

Which is-- no, no-- which was the fairest dame

That lived, that loved, that liked, that looked with cheer?

Come, tears, confound!

Out, sword, and wound [TAKE OUT SWORD]

The pap of Pyramus;

Ay, that left pap,

Where hear doth hop. [PYRAMUS STABS HIMSELF]

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.

Now am I dead [HE FALLS]

[HE AWAKENS] Now am I feld;

My soul is in the sky [DIES AGAIN]

[HE AWAKENS] Tongue, lose thy light!

Moon, take thy flight!

Now die, die, die, die, die. [FINALLY DIES]

After Thisby dies

I must assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between of our company