Chapter 4
Act Two of A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act Two. Scene One.
A wood, near, enter, a bed, at one door, at another. How now, spirit? Whither wander you? Over hill, over dale, through a bush, through a briar, over park, over pale, through a flood, through a fire. I do wander everywhere, swifter than the moon sphere, and I serve the fairy queen, to do her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her panginous be, in their gold coats, spots you see. Those be rubies, fairy favors, in those freckles live their sabres. I must go seek some dewdrops here, and hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. Farewell, thou love of spirits, I'll be gone. Our queen and all her elves come here anon.
The king doth keep his rebels here tonight. Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. For Oberon is passing fell under us, because that she has her attendant hath a lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king. She never hath so sweet a changeling, and jealous Oberon would have the child, night of his train, to trace the forest's wild. But she perforce withholds the lov'd boy, crams him with flowers, and makes him all her joy.
And now they never meet in grove or green, by panting clear or spangled starlight sheen. But they do squab, that all their elves for fear creep into acorn-cups, and hide them there. Either I mistake your shape in making quite, or else you are that shrewd and navish sprite called Robin Goodfellow. Are you not he that fright's the maidens of the villagerry? Skim milk and sometimes labour in the quorn, and bootless make the breathless housewife churn,
and sometimes make the drink to bear no balm? 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, speakest right, I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to overrun and make him smile, when I have fattened bean-fed horse Beguiled, nay, in likeness of a filly foal, and sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, in very likeness of a roasted crab. When she drinks, against her lips I bob, and on her withered julep pour the ale. The wisest aren't telling the saddest tale, some time but three puts still mistake at me, then, the pipe from her bum down topples she, and Taylor cries and falls into a cull,
and then the whole choir hold their hips and laugh and waxen in their mouth and knees, and swear a merry hour was never wasted there. But room, fairy, here comes Oberon. And here my mistress, would that he were gone. Enter Oberon at one door with his train, and Titania at another with hers.
Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. What? Jealous? Oberon? Fairy, skip him. I have forsworn his bed and company. Terri rash wanton, am I not thy lord? Then I must be thy lady. But I know, when thou hast stolen away from Fairyland,
and in the shape of Curran, sat all the day, playing on pipes of corn, and versing slums, to amorous villager. Why art thou here? Come from the farthest steppe of India.
But that photo, the fencing Amazon, your bust and mistress and your warrior love, to Theseus must be wedded, and you come to give that bed joy and prosperity. How canst thou thus forshaim Titania?
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, knowing I know thy love to Theseus. Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night from Perigenea, whom he ravished, and make him with fair igloo break his faith with Ariadne and Antioch?
These are the forgeries of jealousy. Never since the middle summer spring met we on hill in dale, forest or mead, by paved mountain, or by rushy brook, or on the beached margin of the sea,
to dance our ringlets to the whistling wind. But with thy breath thou hast disturbed us both. Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, as in revenge have sucked up from the sea contagious fog,
which falling in the land hath every pelting river made so proud that they have over-borne their continents. The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain. The ploughman lost his sweat
and the green corn hath rotted as his yoke attained a beard. The fold stands empty in the drowned field and crows are fattened with the morian flock. The nine men's mori is filled up with mud
and the quaint mazes in the wanton green for lack of trep are undistinguishable. The human mortals want their winter here. No night is night with him, or Carol blest. Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
pale in her anger, washes all the air that rheumatic diseases do abound. And through this distemperature we see the season's alter, hoary-headed rusts
fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose. And on old hyams' thin and icy crown an odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds is as in mockery set. The spring, the summer, the childing autumn
and the angry winter change their wanton liberies and the mazed world by their increase now knows not which is which. And this same progeny of evils comes from our debate, from our dissentium.
We are their parents and originals. Do you amend it then? It lies in you. I do but beg a little changeling boy to be my henchman. Set your heart at rest.
The fairy land by is not the child of me. His mother was a vulture of my order, and in the spiced Indian air by night full often hath she gossiped by my side and sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands
mocking the embarked traders on the flood. When we have laughed to see the sails conceive and grow big-bellied with the wanton wind with she, with pretty and with swimming gait her womb then rich with my young squire
would imitate and sail upon the land to fetch meach rifles and return again as from a voyage rich with merchandise. But she, being mortal, thought 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? But dance till after the third wedding day. If you will patiently dance in a round and see our moonlight revels go with us
if not send me and I will spare your horn. Give me that boy and I will go with you. Not for thy fairy kingdom, fairies, away with so tired downright if I no longer stay. Take exit to Tanya with her train.
Well, go thy way. Thou shalt not from this grove till I torment thee for this injury, my gentle puck, come hither. Thou rememberest since once I sat upon a promontory and heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back
uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath that the rude sea grew civil at her song and certain stars shot madly from their spheres to hear the sea maid's music. I remember.
At very time I saw her, but thou couldst not. Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid, all armed, a certain aim he took and set a fair vessel thrown it 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 shaft quenched in the chased beams of the watery moon and the imperial voteress passed on in maiden meditation, fancy free.
Yet marked 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 showed thee once.
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid will make o'er man or woman madly doped upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again ere the Leviathan can swim a league.
I'll put a guddle round about the earth in forty minutes. Exe-pa. Having once this juice, I'll watch Titania when she is asleep and drop the litter of it in her eyes. The next thing then she waking looks upon,
be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, or 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 will overhear their conference Unto 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 toldst me they were stolen into this wood, and here am I, and ward 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 heart is 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 truth tell 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. Spam me, strike me, neglect me, lose me, only give me leave, unworthy as I am to follow you.
What worse a place can I beg in your love, and yet a place of high respect with me, than to be usurped 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 sane when I look not on you. You do impeach your modesty too much to leave the city, and commit yourself into the hands of one that loves you not, to trust the opportunity of night and the ill counsel of a desert place with the rich worth of your virginity.
Your virtue is my privilege for that. It 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 breaks, and lead 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 griffon, the mild hind makes speed to catch the tiger, bootless speed when cowardice pursues,
and valor flies. I will not stay thy questions. Let me go, or if thou follow me, do not believe, but I shall do thee mischief in the wood. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, you do me mischief.
Why, Demetrius, your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex. We cannot fight for love as men may do. We should be wooed, and were not made to woo, I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell. To die upon the hand I love so well.
Exeunt Demetrius and Havner. Fare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave this grove, thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. Ari and da Bappa.
Hast 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 ox slips and the nodding violet grows,
and I'll sit over a canopy with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk roses and with eglantine. There sleeps Titania some time of the night, lulled in these flowers with dances and delight, and there the snake throws her enameled skin,
weed wide enough to wrap a fairion. 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 love with a disdainful youth.
Anoint his eyes, but do it when the next thing he aspires may be the lady. Thou shalt know the man by the Athenian garments he hath on. Effect it with some care, that he may prove more fond on her than she upon her love. And look thou meet mere the first cock-crow.
Fear not, my lord. Your servant shall do so. Exceon. Scene Two Another part of the wood. Enter Titania with her train.
Come now, around her and a fairy song. Them for the third part of a minute, hen. Some to kill tankers in the muskrow's bud. Some war with rear-mights for their leavened wings, to make my small albs curl.
And some keep back the clamorous owl That nightly hoots and wonders at our quaint spirit. Sing me now, Ursuline, then to your offices and land. You spotted snakes with double tongue, Sony hedgehogs be not seen.
Nudes and blind worms do no wrong, Come not near our fairy queen. Fill a mell with melody, Sing ye now, sweet lullaby. La la la la no charm, come our love.
So grieving spiders come not here, Hence you long-legged spinners, hence Beetles black, approach not near, Worm nor snail do no offence. Fill a mell with melody,
Sing ye now, sweet lullaby. La la la la no charm, come our love. So grieving spiders come not here, Hence away, now all is well. One aloof stand sentinel. Exeunt fairies, titanient, oh!
What thou seest when thou dost wake, Do it for thy true love take, Love and languish for his sake, Be it ounce or cat or bear, Pod or boar with bristled hair,
In thy eye that shall appear when thou wakest, It is thy dear, wake when some bright thing is near. Squeezes the flower on Titania's eyelid, Exit, enter Lysander and Hermia. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood,
And to speak truth, I have forgot our way. We'll rest as Hermia if you think it good, And tarry for the comfort of the day. Be it so, Lysander, find you out of bed, For I upon this bank will rest my head.
One turf shall serve as pillow for us both, One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one truth. Nay, good Lysander, for my sake, my dear, Lie farther off yet, do not lie so near. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence,
A love takes the meaning in love's conférence. I mean that my heart unto yours is knit, So that but one heart we can make of it. Two bosoms interchained with an oath, So then two bosoms and a single truth,
Then by your side no bedroom me deny, For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. Lysander riddles very prettily. Now much be sure my manners and my pride, If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied.
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy, Lie further off. In human modesty such separation as may well be said, Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid. So far be distant, and good night, sweet friend.
Thy love never alter till thy sweet life end. Amen, amen to that fair prayer say I, And then end life when I end loyalty. Here is my bed. Sleep give thee all his rest. With half that wish the wishers' eyes be pressed.
They sleep and to fuck. Through the forest have I gone, But Athenian found I numb. On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring love.
Night and silence. Who is here? Weeds of Athens. Athens he doth wear. This is he, my master said, Despised the Athenian maid.
And hear the maiden sleeping sound On the dank and dirty ground. Pretty so she does not lie near this lack love. This kill courtesy chill upon thy eyes. I throw over power this charmed doth owe.
When thou wake, let love forbid. Sleep his seat on thy eyelids. So awake when I am gone, But I must now to oboe run. Exit. Enter Demetrius and Helena running.
Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. I charge thee hence, and do not haunt me thus. O wilt thou darken glee me? Do not so. Stay on my peril. I alone will go. Exit Demetrius.
O, I am out of breath in this fond chase. The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is her mere whereso'er she lies. For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. How came her eyes so bright, not with salt tears,
If so my eyes are often awash than hers? No, no, I am as ugly as a bear. For beasts that meet me run away for fear. Therefore no marvel, though Demetrius do. As a monster fly my presence thus.
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine Make me compare with her mere, speary eyeing? But who is here? Lysander on the ground. Dead or asleep, I see no blood, no wound. Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.
Lysander, waking. And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake. Transparent, Hell on earth. Nature shows art, that through thy bosom Makes me see thy heart.
Where is Demetrius? Oh, how fit a word is that vile name To perish on my sword. Do not say so, Lysander, say not so. What, though he love your her mere, Lord, what though?
Yet her mere still loves you, then be content. Content, wait, her mere? No, I do repent the tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not her mere, but Hell on earth I love. Who will not change a raven for a dove?
The will of man is by his reason swayed, And reason says you are the worthier made. Things growing are not ripe until their season, So I, being young till now, ripe not to reason, And touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will, And leads me to your eyes where I all look. Love's stories written in love's richest book. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
Is it not enough, is it not enough, young man, That I did never know, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficient sigh? Good truth you do me wrong, good suit you do,
In such disdainful manner me to woo. But fare you well, for force I must confess, I thought you lord of more true gentleness. Oh, that a lady of one man repute Should of another therefore.
Exit. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there, And never mayst thou come Lysander near, For as a serpent of the sweetest things,
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, Or as the heresies that men do leave, Are hated most of those they did deceive, So thou, my serpent and my heresy, Of all be hated.
But the most of me and all my powers Address your love and might to honor Helen, And to be a knight. Exit. Hermia, starting.
Help me, Lysander, help me. Do thy best to pluck this crawling serpent from my breast. Ay me, for pity, what a dream was here. Lysander, look how I do quake with fear. I thought a serpent eat my heart away,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. Lysander. What? Removed? Lysander.
Lord. What, out of hearing? Gone? No sound, no word? Elec, where are you?
Speak, and if you hear, speak of all loves. I swoon almost with fear. No? Then I well perceive you are not nigh. Either death or you I'll find immediately.
Exit. End of Act Two.
