Written in clear, jargon-free language, this is the only book so far in print that offers an extended study of major 20th-century productions of the Dream in their historical context. They are followed by Demetrius, who loves Hermia, and Helena, who is in love with Demetrius. Score: 5. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world , and other notations in the work.
This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity individual or corporate has a copyright on the body of the work. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc.
Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. Hot Romeo and Juliet. Dream Country by Neil Gaiman. A Midsummer Nights Scream by R. Kissing Shakespeare by Pamela Mingle. Shakespeare by Bill Bryson.
La tempesta by William Shakespeare. La tempestad by William Shakespeare. Have you conspired, have you with these contrived To bait me with this foul derision? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key, As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds, Had been incorporate.
So we grow together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet an union in partition; Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart; Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Due but to one and crowned with one crest. And will you rent our ancient love asunder, To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me. And made your other love, Demetrius, Who even but now did spurn me with his foot, To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare, Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this To her he hates? What thought I be not so in grace as you, So hung upon with love, so fortunate, But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise. If you have any pity, grace, or manners, You would not make me such an argument.
Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do: I swear by that which I will lose for thee, To prove him false that says I love thee not. Out, loathed medicine! Hate me! Am not I Hermia? I am as fair now as I was erewhile. Since night you loved me; yet since night you left me: Why, then you left me—O, the gods forbid! You thief of love! Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, No touch of bashfulness?
What, will you tear Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? Fie, fie! And are you grown so high in his esteem; Because I am so dwarfish and so low? How low am I, thou painted maypole? I am not yet so low But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. You perhaps may think, Because she is something lower than myself, That I can match her.
She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce. Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? Let me come to her. Let her alone: speak not of Helena; Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend Never so little show of love to her, Thou shalt aby it. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, My legs are longer though, to run away. Did not you tell me I should know the man By the Athenian garment be had on?
When they next wake, all this derision Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision, And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, With league whose date till death shall never end.
But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay: We may effect this business yet ere day. Here comes one. PUCK Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where art thou? In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head? Lies down Come, thou gentle day! Coward, why comest thou not? Where art thou now? Thou shalt buy this dear, If ever I thy face by daylight see: Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me To measure out my length on this cold bed.
Come one more; Two of both kinds make up four. Here she comes, curst and sad: Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad. Here will I rest me till the break of day. Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! BOTTOM Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag.
Do not fret yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; and, good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good mounsieur. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.
But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me: I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. Fairies, begone, and be all ways away. Exeunt fairies So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle Gently entwist; the female ivy so Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. O, how I love thee! But first I will release the fairy queen. Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.
O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now! Robin, take off this head. Titania, music call; and strike more dead Than common sleep of all these five the sense. Come, my queen, take hands with me, And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. Uncouple in the western valley; let them go: Dispatch, I say, and find the forester. But, soft! But speak, Egeus; is not this the day That Hermia should give answer of her choice?
Horns and shout within. Saint Valentine is past: Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? I know you two are rival enemies: How comes this gentle concord in the world, That hatred is so far from jealousy, To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity? They would have stolen away; they would, Demetrius, Thereby to have defeated you and me, You of your wife and me of my consent, Of my consent that she should be your wife.
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,— But by some power it is,—my love to Hermia, Melted as the snow, seems to me now As the remembrance of an idle gaud Which in my childhood I did dote upon; And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, The object and the pleasure of mine eye, Is only Helena. Egeus, I will overbear your will; For in the temple by and by with us These couples shall eternally be knit: And, for the morning now is something worn, Our purposed hunting shall be set aside.
Come, Hippolyta. It seems to me That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think The duke was here, and bid us follow him? Peter Quince!
Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout, the tinker! 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. Out of doubt he is transported.
Enter SNUG SNUG Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married: if our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men. O most courageous day! O most happy hour! I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out.
All that I will tell you is, that the duke hath dined. 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! Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
Where is our usual manager of mirth? What revels are in hand? Is there no play, To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? Call Philostrate. What masque? How shall we beguile The lazy time, if not with some delight?
Reads The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. Reads The thrice three Muses mourning for the death Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.
Reads A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth. That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow. How shall we find the concord of this discord? Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess, Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears The passion of loud laughter never shed. Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies. Our sport shall be to take what they mistake: And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect Takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed To greet me with premeditated welcomes; Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, Make periods in the midst of sentences, Throttle their practised accent in their fears And in conclusion dumbly have broke off, Not paying me a welcome.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity In least speak most, to my capacity. That you should think, we come not to offend, But with good will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Consider then we come but in despite. We do not come as minding to contest you, Our true intent is. All for your delight We are not here. That you should here repent you, The actors are at hand and by their show You shall know all that you are like to know.
A good moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true. Who is next? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion 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 Thisby is certain. At the which let no man wonder.
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