Thes. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.

Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. Thes. The best in this kind are but shadows: and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.

Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.

Thes. If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion. Enter LION and MOONSHINE. LION.

You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear

The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am

A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam:

For if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place, 't were pity on my life.

Thes. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.

Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. Thes. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose. Thes. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well leave it to his discretion, aud let us listen to the moon.

MOONSHINE.

This lanthorn doth the hornéd moon present;

Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.

Thes. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.

MOONSHINE.

This lanthorn doth the hornéd moon present;
Myself the man i' th' moon do scem to be.

Thes. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be put into the lanthorn, how is it else the man i' the moon?

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: for you see it is already in snuff.

Hip. I am weary of this moon: would he would change!

Thes. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane: but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.

Lys. Proceed, moon.

Sweet moon,

Enter PYRAMUS.

PYRAMUS.

I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright:
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams,
I trust to taste of truest Thisby's 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;

Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

Thes. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

Dem. No die but an ace for him; for he is but one.

Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.

Thes. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and prove an ass.

Hip. How chance moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?

Thes. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.

Enter THISBE.

Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one, for such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better.

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.

Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.

THISBE.

Asleep, my love?

What, dead, my dove?

O Pyramus, arise,

Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Dead, dead? A tomb

Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These lily lips,

This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone :
Lovers, make moan!

His eyes were green as leeks.

O sisters three,

Come, come to me, With hands as pale as milk;

Lay them in gore,

Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.

Thes. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead.

Dem. Ay, and wall too.

Bot. No, I 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 two of our company.

Thes. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy and so it is,

truly; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone.

[Here a dance of Clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve: Lovers to bed; 't is almost fairy time.

I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn,
As much as we this night have overwatched.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled
The heavy gait of night.—Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Enter PUCK.

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,

Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,

Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.

Now it is the time of night

That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,

In the churchway paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,

Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic: not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed house:
I am sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train.
Obe. Through this house give glimmering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:

Every elf and fairy sprite

Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,

Sing, and dance it trippingly.
Tita. First rehearse this song by rote:
To each word a warbling note,
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

SONG, AND DANCE.

Obe. Now, until the break of day,

Through this house each fairy stray;
To the best bridebed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue there create
Ever shall be fortunate;
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be:

And the blots of nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,

Shall upon their children be.-
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait;

And each several chamber bless,

Through this palace with sweet peace: E'er shall it in safety rest,

And the owner of it blest.

Trip away;

Make no stay:

Meet me all by break of day.

[Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and Train.

Puck. If we shadows have offended,
Think but this (and all is mended),
That you have but slumbered here,
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I'm an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call.

So, goodnight unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit.

"As she is mine, I may dispose of her: Which shall be either to this gentleman, Or to her death; according to our law."

Act I., Scene 1.

By a law of Solon, parents had an absolute power of life and death over their children. It suited the poet's purpose to suppose that the Athenians had it before.

"Your eyes are lode-stars."—Act I., Scene 1.

This was a compliment not unfrequent among the old poets. The lode-star is the leading or guiding star; that is, the pole-star. The magnet is for the same reason called the lode-stone, either because it leads iron, or because it guides the sailor. Milton has the same thought in "L'ALLEGRO:"

"Towers and battlements it sees, Bosomed high in tufted trees; Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighbouring eyes."

Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seemed Athens like a paradise to me:

O then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turned a heaven unto a hell!"

Act I., Scene 1. Perhaps every reader may not discover the propriety of these lines. Hermia is willing to comfort Helena, and to avoid all appearance of triumph over her. She, therefore, bids her not to consider the power of pleasing as an advantage to be much envied or much desired; since Hermia, whom she considers as possessing it in the supreme degree, has found no other effect of it than the loss of happiness.JOHNSON.

"A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry." Act I., Scene 2. This is said in ridicule of the ancient Moralities and Interludes. Skelton's "MAGNIFICENCE" is called "a goodly interlude, and a merry."

"You shall play il in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will."-Act I., Scene 2.

This passage shews how the want of women on the old stage was supplied. If they had not a young man who could perform the part with a face that might pass for feminine, the character was acted in a mask; which was at that time a part of a lady's dress so much in use, that it did not give any unusual appearance to the scene; and he that could modulate his voice in a female tone might play the woman very successfully. Some of the catastrophes of the old comedies, which make lovers marry the wrong women, are, by recollection of the common use of masks, brought nearer to probability. Prynne, in his "HISTRIOMASTIX,' exclaims with great vehemence through several pages, because a woman acted a part in a play at Blackfriars, in the year 1628.

"And I serve the fairy queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green."-Act II., Scene 1. The orbs here mentioned are the circles supposed to be made by the fairies upon the ground. Drayton says:

"They in their courses make that round,

In meadows and in marshes found,
Of them so called the fairy ground."

"The cowslips tall her pensioners be."-Act II., Scene 1.

That is, her guards. The golden-coated cowslips are selected as pensioners to the fairy queen, the dress of the band of gentlemen-pensioners being very splendid in the time of Queen Elizabeth, and the tallest and handsomest men being generally chosen for the office. These glittering attendants on royalty are alluded to by Dame Quickly, in the "MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR."

"Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite,
Called Robin Goodfellow."-Act II., Scene 1.

The account given of this "knavish sprite," in these lines, corresponds with what is said of him in Harsenet's "Declaration," 1603:-" And if that the bowl of curds and cream were not duly set out for Robin Goodfellow, the friar, and Sisse the dairymaid, why then either the pottage was burnt next day in the pot, or the cheeses would not curdle, or the butter would not come, or the ale in the vat never would have good head." Scot also speaks of him, in his "DISCOVERY OF WITCHCRAFT:"-" Your grandams' maids were wont to set a bowl of milk for him, for his pains in grinding of malt and mustard, and sweeping the house at midnight. This white bread, and bread and milk, was his standing fee."

In his "NYMPHYDIA" (1619), Drayton thus speaks of Puck, "the merry wanderer of the night:"

"This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt;

Still walking like a ragged colt,

And oft out of a bush doth bolt,

Of purpose to deceive us; And leading us, makes us to stray Long winter nights, out of the way, And when we stick in mire and clay, He doth with laughter leave us."

"The nine-men's morris is filled up with mud." Act II., Scene 2. "Nine-men's morris" is a game played by the shepherds, &c., in the midland counties. A figure is made on the ground, by cutting out the turf; and two persons take each nine stones, which they place by turns in the angles, and afterwards move alternately, as at chess or draughts. He who can place three in a straight line, may then take off any one of his adversary's, where he pleases, till one, having lost all his men, loses the game.-ALCHORNE.

The foregoing explanation is probably the true one. Some, however, have thought that the "nine-men's morris" here means the ground marked out for a morris-dance performed by nine persons.-MALONE,

"The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts

Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose."

Act II., Scene 2.

This passage is thought to refer particularly to the year 1595. In Churchyard's poem of " CHARITIE," published in that year, the unseasonable weather is thus described:

"A colder time in world was never seen:

The skies do lower, the sun and moon wax dim;
Summer scarce known but that the leaves are green.
The winter's waste drives water o'er the brim;
Upon the land great floats of wood may swim,
Nature thinks scorn to do her duty right,
Because we have displeased the Lord of Light."

It appears, from contemporary authorities, that 1593 and 1594 had also been remarkable for disastrous seasons.

"Cupid all armed: a certain aim he took

At a fair vestal, throned by the west."

Act II., Scene 2.

The "fair vestal" alluded to was doubtless Queen Elizabeth. Similar compliments were not uncommon. In "TANCRED AND GISMUNDA" (1592), we find,

"There lives a virgin, one without compare, Who of all graces hath her heavenly share: In whose renown, and for whose happy days, Let us record this pæan of her praise." "Love takes the meaning, in love's conference." Act II., Scene 3. That is, in the conversation of those who are assured of each other's kindness, not suspicion, but love takes the meaning. No malevolent interpretation is to be made, but all is to be received in the sense which love can find, and which love can dictate.-JOHNSON.

"A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing." Act III., Scene 1. There is an odd coincidence between this passage and a real occurrence at the Scottish court in 1594. Prince Henry, the eldest son of James the First, was christened in August in that year. While the king and queen were at dinner, a triumphal chariot, with several allegorical personages on it, was drawn in "by a black-moore. This chariot should have been drawne in by a lyon, but because his presence might have brought some fear to the nearest, or that the sight of the lighted torches might have commoved his tameness, it was thought meete that the Moore should supply that roome."

"The plain-song cuckoo gray.-Act III., Scene 1. The cuckoo, having no variety of strains, is said to sing in plain-song; by which expression the uniform modulation or simplicity of the chant was anciently distinguished, in opposition to prick-song, or variegated music sung by note.

"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." Act III., Scene 2. No satisfactory explanation of this obscure passage has yet been given. Mr. Douce's solution of it is, perhaps, the best:-"Helen says, 'we had two seeming bodies, but only one heart.' She then exemplifies the position by a simile,'we had two of the first (i. e. bodies), like the double coats in heraldry that belong to man and wife, as one person, but which, like one single heart, have but one crest.'"

"You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made." Act III., Scene 2. Knot-grass was anciently supposed to prevent the growth of an animal or child.

"Go one of you find out the forester:

For now our observation is performed."—Act IV., Scene 1. The "observation" here spoken of is that alluded to by Lysander in the first Act:

"Where I did meet thee once with Helena,

To do observance to a morn of May."

Stubbs, in his "ANATOMIE OF ABUSES" (1585), thus speaks of the general spirit of revelry which at this season took possession of the community:

"Against May, Whitsunday, or some other time of the year, every parish, town, and village, assemble themselves together, both men, women, and children, old and young, even all indifferently; and either going all together, or dividing themselves into companies, they go some to the woods and groves, some to the hills and mountains, some to one place, some to another, where they spend all the night in pleasant pastimes, and in the morning they return, bringing with them birch-boughs and branches of trees, to deck their assemblies withal."

Marvellous as it may seem, all this innocent hilarity appears to be so much heathenism to the puritanic spirit of Goodman Stubbs.