CERVANTES:
A la entrada del duque de Medina en Cádiz
Vimos en julio otra Semana Santa
Hubo de plumas muchedumbre tanta,
Bramó el becerro, y púsoles en sarta;
y al cabo, en Cádiz, con mesura harta,
atestada de ciertas cofradías,
que los soldados llaman compañías,
de quien el vulgo, no el inglés, se espanta.
que en menos de catorce o quince días
volaron sus pigmeos y Golías,
y cayó su edificio por la planta.
tronó la tierra, oscurecióse el cielo,
amenazando una total ruina;
ido ya el conde sin ningún recelo,
triunfando entró el gran duque de Medina
On the entrance of the Duke of Medina in Cádiz
In July we saw another Holy Week
crammed full with certain confraternities
--that soldiers around here call companies--
that turn our folks, but not the English, meek.
Such a crowd of feathers loomed around,
that in barely fourteen or fifteen days
Al túmulo del Rey Felipe II en Sevilla
Voto a Dios que me espanta esta grandeza
Por Jesucristo vivo, cada pieza
Apostaré que el ánima del muerto
Esto oyó un valentón, y dijo: "Es cierto
Y luego, incontinente,
y que diera un doblón por describilla;
porque ¿a quién no sorprende y maravilla
esta máquina insigne, esta riqueza?
vale más de un millón, y que es mancilla
que esto no dure un siglo, ¡oh gran Sevilla!,
Roma triunfante en ánimo y nobleza.
por gozar este sitio hoy ha dejado
la gloria donde vive eternamente.
cuanto dice voacé, señor soldado.
Y el que dijere lo contrario, miente."
caló el chapeo, requirió la espada,
miró al soslayo, fuese, y no hubo nada.
At the catafalque of King Philip II in Seville
I swear to God such grandeur frightens me.
By Christ alive, each part of it is worth
I'll bet the very soul of this here corpse
A braggart overheard these words and said:
And then, quite suddenly,
(©Alix Ingber, 1995)
* Sonnets from http://sonnets.spanish.sbc.edu/
I'd pay good money to describe it well;
for whom would this great structure, all this wealth,
not hold in wonder with its awesome spell?
more than a million; isn't it a shame
that it won't last a century -- Great Seville! --
triumphant Rome in zeal and noble fame.
just to enjoy this spot today has quit
that heaven where he endlessly resides.
"Oh, Mr. soldier, what you say is true.
And anyone who says it's not, he lies."
he checked his sword with care, pulled down his hat,
he looked away, moved on, and that was that.
Don Quijote de la Mancha
En un lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme, no ha mucho tiempo que vivía un hidalgo de los de lanza en astillero, adarga antigua, rocín flaco y galgo corredor. Una olla de algo más vaca que carnero, salpicón las más noches, duelos y quebrantos los sábados, lentejas los viernes, algún palomino de añadidura los domingos, consumían las tres partes de su hacienda. El resto della concluían sayo de velarte, calzas de velludo para las fiestas con sus pantuflos de lo mismo, los días de entre semana se honraba con su vellori de lo más fino. Tenía en su casa una ama que pasaba de los cuarenta, y una sobrina que no llegaba a los veinte, y un mozo de campo y plaza, que así ensillaba el rocín como tomaba la podadera. Frisaba la edad de nuestro hidalgo con los cincuenta años, era de complexión recia, seco de carnes, enjuto de rostro; gran madrugador y amigo de la caza. Quieren decir que tenía el sobrenombre de Quijada o Quesada (que en esto hay alguna diferencia en los autores que deste caso escriben), aunque por conjeturas verosímiles se deja entender que se llama Quijana; pero esto importa poco a nuestro cuento; basta que en la narración dél no se salga un punto de la verdad.
* Text from: http://www.cyberspain.com/year/capit1.htm
Don Quixote from La Mancha
In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for coursing. An olla of rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, scraps on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so extra on Sundays, made away with three-quarters of his income. The rest of it went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to match for holidays, while on week-days he made a brave figure in his best homespun. He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, and a lad for the field and market-place, who used to saddle the hack as well as handle the bill-hook. The age of this gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty; he was of a hardy habit, spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser and a great sportsman. They will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for here there is some difference of opinion among the authors who write on the subject), although from reasonable conjectures it seems plain that he was called Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to our tale; it will be enough not to stray a hair's breadth from the truth in the telling of it.
* Text from: http://www.spanisharts.com/books/quijote/chapter1.htm
SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.
Enter ROMEO
ROMEO
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
JULIET appears above at a window
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
JULIET
Ay me!
ROMEO
She speaks:
JULIET
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
ROMEO
[Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
JULIET
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
ROMEO
I take thee at thy word:
JULIET
What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night
ROMEO
By a name
JULIET
My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
ROMEO
Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
JULIET
How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
ROMEO
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;
JULIET
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
ROMEO
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
JULIET
I would not for the world they saw thee here.
ROMEO
I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
JULIET
By whose direction found'st thou out this place?
ROMEO
By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;
JULIET
Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
ROMEO
Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear
JULIET
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
ROMEO
What shall I swear by?
JULIET
Do not swear at all;
ROMEO
If my heart's dear love--
JULIET
Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
ROMEO
O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
JULIET
What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
ROMEO
The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.
JULIET
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
ROMEO
Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?
JULIET
But to be frank, and give it thee again.
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
Nurse calls within
I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!
Exit, above
ROMEO
O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
Re-enter JULIET, above
JULIET
Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
Nurse
[Within] Madam!
JULIET
I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well,
Nurse
[Within] Madam!
JULIET
By and by, I come:--
ROMEO
So thrive my soul--
JULIET
A thousand times good night!
Exit, above
ROMEO
A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.
Retiring
Re-enter JULIET, above
JULIET
Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,
ROMEO
It is my soul that calls upon my name:
JULIET
Romeo!
ROMEO
My dear?
JULIET
At what o'clock to-morrow
ROMEO
At the hour of nine.
JULIET
I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.
ROMEO
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
JULIET
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
ROMEO
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
JULIET
'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
ROMEO
I would I were thy bird.
JULIET
Sweet, so would I:
Exit above
ROMEO
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Exit
* From: http://the-tech.mit.edu/Shakespeare/romeo_juliet/romeo_juliet.2.2.html
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
So stumblest on my counsel?
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.
And but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that within my breast!
And yet I would it were to give again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
I do beseech thee--
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from
their books,
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
With repetition of my Romeo's name.
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
Shall I send to thee?
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Remembering how I love thy company.
Forgetting any other home but this.
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such
sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
Acto II. Escena II.
Bajo el balcón de Julieta. (Romeo entra sin ser visto en el palacio de los Capuleto. Julieta aparece en una ventana)
Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romero:- Julieta:- Romero:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Ama:- Julieta:- Ama:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- Julieta:- Romeo:- * From: http://www.geocities.com/Paris/Library/3227/libros/fragroyju.htm#frag2
¡Silencio! ¿Qué resplandor se abre paso a través de aquella ventana? ¡Es el Oriente, y Julieta, el sol! ¡Surge, esplendente sol, y mata a la envidiosa luna, lánguida y pálida de sentimiento porque tú, su doncella, la has aventajado en hermosura! ¡No la sirvas, que es envidiosa! Su tocado de vestal es enfermizo y amarillento, y no son sino bufones los que lo usan, ¡Deséchalo! ¡Es mi vida, es mi amor el que aparece!… Habla… más nada se escucha; pero, ¿qué importa? ¡Hablan sus ojos; les responderé!…Soy demasiado atrevido. No es a mi a quien habla. Do de las más resplandecientes estrellas de todo el cielo, teniendo algún quehacer ruegan a sus ojos que brillen en sus esferas hasta su retorno. ¿Y si los ojos de ella estuvieran en el firmamento y las estrellas en su rostro? ¡El fulgor de sus mejillas avergonzaría a esos astros, como la luz del día a la de una lámpara! ¡Sus ojos lanzarían desde la bóveda celestial unos rayos tan claros a través de la región etérea, que cantarían las aves creyendo llegada la aurora!… ¡Mirad cómo apoya en su mano la mejilla! ¡Oh! ¡Mirad cómo apoya en su mano la mejilla! ¡Oh! ¡Quién fuera guante de esa mano para poder tocar esa mejilla!
¡Ay de mí!
Habla. ¡Oh! ¡Habla otra vez ángel resplandeciente!… Porque esta noche apareces tan esplendorosa sobre mi cabeza como un alado mensajero celeste ante los ojos extáticos y maravillados de los mortales, que se inclinan hacia atrás para verle, cuando él cabalga sobre las tardas perezosas nubes y navega en el seno del aire.
¡Oh Romeo, Romeo! ¿Por qué eres tú Romeo? Niega a tu padre y rehusa tu nombre; o, si no quieres, júrame tan sólo que me amas, y dejaré yo de s
er una Capuleto.
(Aparte) ¿Continuaré oyéndola, o le hablo ahora?
¡Sólo tu nombre es mi enemigo! ¡Porque tú eres tú mismo, seas o no Montesco! ¿Qué es Montesco? No es ni mano, ni pie, ni brazo, ni rostro, ni parte alguna que pertenezca a un hombre. ¡Oh, sea otro nombre! ¿Qué hay en un nombre? ¡Lo que llamamos rosa exhalaría el mismo grato perfume con cualquiera otra denominación! De igual modo Romeo, aunque Romeo no se llamara, conservaría sin este título las raras perfecciones que atesora. ¡Romeo, rechaza tu nombre; y a cambio de ese nombre, que no forma parte de ti, tómame a mi toda entera!
Te tomo la palabra. Llámame sólo "amor mío" y seré nuevamente bautizado. ¡Desde ahora mismo dejaré de ser Romeo!
¿Quién eres tú, que así, envuelto en la noche, sorprendes de tal modo mis secretos?
¡No sé cómo expresarte con un nombre quien soy! Mi nombre, santa adorada, me es odioso, por ser para ti un enemigo. De tenerla escrita, rasgaría esa palabra.
Todavía no he escuchado cien palabras de esa lengua, y conozco ya el acento. ¿No eres tú Romeo y Motesco?
Ni uno ni otro, hermosa doncella, si los dos te desagradan.
Y dime, ¿cómo has llegado hasta aquí y para qué? Las tapias del jardín son altas y difíciles de escalar, y el sitio, de muerte, considerando quién eres, si alguno de mis parientes te descubriera.
Con ligeras alas de amor franquee estos muros, pues no hay cerca de piedra capaz de atajar el amor; y lo que el amor puede hacer, aquello el amor se atreve a intentar. Por tanto, tus parientes no me importan.
¡Te asesinarán si te encuentran!
¡Ay! ¡Más peligro hallo en tus ojos que en veinte espadas de ellos! Mírame tan sólo con agrado, y quedo a prueba de su enemistad.
¡Por cuanto vale el mundo, no quisiera que te viesen aquí!
El manto de la noche me oculta a sus miradas; pero, si no me quieres, déjalos que me hallen aquí. ¡Es mejor que termine mi vida víctima de su odio, que se retrase mi muerte falto de tu amor.
¿Quién fue tu guía para descubrir este sitio?
Amor, que fue el primero que me incitó a indagar; él me prestó consejo y yo le presté mis ojos. No soy piloto; sin embargo, aunque te hallaras tan lejos como la más extensa ribera que baña el más lejano mar, me aventuraría por mercancía semejante.
Tú sabes que el velo de la noche cubre mi rostro; si así lo fuera, un rubor virginal verías teñir mis mejillas por lo que me oíste pronunciar esta noche. Gustosa quisiera guardar las formas, gustosa negar cuanto he hablado; pero, ¡adiós cumplimientos! ¿Me amas? Sé que dirás: sí, yo te creeré bajo tu palabra. Con todo, si lo jurases, podría resultar falso, y de los perjurios de los amantes dicen que se ríe Júpiter. ¡Oh gentil Romeo! Si de veras me quieres, decláralo con sinceridad; o, si piensas que soy demasiado ligera, me pondré desdeñosa y esquiva, y tanto mayor será tu empeño en galantearme. En verdad, arrogante Montesco, soy demasiado apasionada, y por ello tal vez tildes de liviana mi conducta; pero, créeme, hidalgo, daré pruebas de ser más sincera que las que tienen más destreza en disimular. Yo hubiera sido más reservada, lo confieso, de no haber tú sorprendido, sin que yo me apercibiese, mi verdadera pasión amorosa. ¡Perdóname, por tanto, y no atribuyas a liviano amor esta flaqueza mía, que de tal modo ha descubierto la oscura noche!
Júrote, amada mía, por los rayos de la luna que platean la copa de los árboles…
No jures por la luna, que es su rápida movimiento cambia de aspecto cada mes. No vayas a imitar su inconstancia.
¿Pues por quién juraré?
No hagas ningún juramento. Si acaso, jura por ti mismo, por tu persona que es el dios que adoro y en quien he de creer.
¿Pues por quién juraré?
No jures. Aunque me llene de alegría el verte, no quiero esta noche oír tales promesas que parecen violentas y demasiado rápidas. Son como el rayo que se extingue, apenas aparece. Aléjate ahora: quizá cuando vuelvas haya llegado abrirse, animado por las brisas del estío, el capullo de esta flor. Adiós, ¡ojalá caliente tu pecho en tan dulce clama como el mío!
¿Y no me das más consuelo que ése?
¿Y qué otro puedo darte esta noche?
Tu fe por la mía.
Antes de la di que tú acertaras a pedírmela. Lo que siento es no poder dártela otra vez.
¿Pues qué? ¿Otra vez quisieras quitármela?
Sí, para dártela otra vez, aunque esto fuera codicia de un bien que tengo ya. Pero mi afán de dártelo todo es tan profundo y tan sin límite como los abismos de la mar. ¡Cuando más te doy, más quisiera date!… Pero oigo ruido dentro. ¡Adiós no engañes mi esperanza… Ama, allá voy… Guárdame fidelidad, Montesco mío. Espera un instante, que vuelvo en seguida.
¡Noche, deliciosa noche! Sólo temo que, por ser de noche, no pase todo esto de un delicioso sueño
(Asomada otra vez a la ventana) Sólo te diré dos palabras. Si el fin de tu amor es honrado, si quieres casarte, avisa mañana al mensajero que te enviaré, de cómo y cuando quieres celebrar la sagrada ceremonia. Yo te sacrificaré mi vida e iré en pos de ti por el mundo.
(Llamando dentro) ¡Julieta!
Ya voy. Pero si son torcidas tus intenciones, suplícote que…
¡Julieta!
Ya corro… Suplícote que desistas de tu empeño, y me dejes a solas con mi dolor. Mañana irá el mensajero…
Por la gloria…
Buenas noches.
No. ¿Cómo han de ser buenas sin tus rayos? El amor va en busca del amor como el estudiante huyendo de sus libros, y el amor se aleja del amor como el niño que deja sus juegos para tornar al estudio.
(Otra vez a la ventana) ¡Romeo! ¡Romeo! ¡Oh, si yo tuviese la voz del cazador de cetrería, para llamar de lejos a los halcones¡ Si yo pudiera hablar a gritos, penetraría mi voz hasta en la gruta de la ninfa Eco, y llegaría a ensordecerla repitiendo el nombre de mi Romeo.
¡Cuán grado suena el acento de mi amada en la apacible noche, protectora de los amantes! Más dulce es que la música en oído atento.
¡Romeo!
¡Alma mía!
¿A qué hora irá mi criado mañana?
A las nueve.
No faltará. Las horas se me harán siglos hasta que llegue. No sé para qué te he llamado.
¡Déjame quedar aquí hasta que lo pienses!
Con el contento de verte cerca me olvidaré eternamente de lo que pensaba, recordando tu dulce compañía.
Para que siga tu olvido no he de irme.
Ya es de día. Vete… Pero no quisiera que te alejaras más que el breve trecho que consiente alejarse al pajarillo la niña que le tiene sujeto de una cuerda de seda, y que a veces le suelta de la mano, y luego le coge ansiosa, y le vuelve a soltar…
¡Ojalá fuera yo ese pajarillo!
¿Y qué quisiera yo sino que lo fueras? Aunque recelo que mis caricias habían de matarte. ¡Adiós, adiós! Triste es la ausencia y tan dulce la despedida, que no sé cómo arrancarme de los hierros de esta ventana.
¡Qué el sueño descanse en tus dulces ojos y la paz en tu alma! ¡Ojalá fuera yo el sueño, ojalá fuera yo la paz en que se duerme tu belleza! De aquí voy a la celda donde mora mi piadoso confesor, para pedirle ayuda y consejo en este trance.
SCENE I. The wood. TITANIA lying asleep.
Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING
BOTTOM
Are we all met?
QUINCE
BOTTOM
QUINCE
BOTTOM
SNOUT
STARVELING
BOTTOM
QUINCE
BOTTOM
SNOUT
STARVELING
BOTTOM
Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves: to
SNOUT
BOTTOM
QUINCE
SNOUT
BOTTOM
QUINCE
BOTTOM
QUINCE
SNOUT
BOTTOM
QUINCE
Enter PUCK behind
PUCK
QUINCE
BOTTOM
QUINCE
Odours, odours.
BOTTOM
Exit
PUCK
Exit
FLUTE
QUINCE
FLUTE
Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
QUINCE
FLUTE
Re-enter PUCK, and BOTTOM with an ass's head
BOTTOM
If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.
QUINCE
Exeunt QUINCE, SNUG, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING
PUCK
Exit
BOTTOM
Re-enter SNOUT
SNOUT
BOTTOM
Exit SNOUT
Re-enter QUINCE
QUINCE
Exit
BOTTOM
Sings
The ousel cock so black of hue,
TITANIA
BOTTOM
TITANIA
BOTTOM
TITANIA
BOTTOM
TITANIA
Enter PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, and MUSTARDSEED
PEASEBLOSSOM
COBWEB
MOTH
MUSTARDSEED
ALL
TITANIA
PEASEBLOSSOM
COBWEB
MOTH
MUSTARDSEED
BOTTOM
COBWEB
BOTTOM
PEASEBLOSSOM
BOTTOM
I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your
MUSTARDSEED
BOTTOM
TITANIA
Exeunt
*Text from: http://the-tech.mit.edu/Shakespeare/midsummer/midsummer.3.1.html
Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous 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,--
What sayest thou, bully Bottom?
There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and
Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus must
draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies
cannot abide. How answer you that?
By'r lakin, a parlous fear.
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 seem to
say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that
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 fear.
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.
Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?
I fear it, I promise you.
bring in--God shield us!--a lion among ladies, is a
most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful
wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to
look to 't.
Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must
be seen through the lion's neck: and he himself
must speak through, 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, it
were pity of 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.
Well it shall be so. But there is two hard things;
that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber; for,
you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.
Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?
A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanac; find
out moonshine, find out moonshine.
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.
Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns
and a lanthorn, and say he comes to disfigure, or to
present, the person of Moonshine. Then, there is
another thing: we must have a wall in the great
chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby says the story, did
talk through the chink of a wall.
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 rough-cast
about him, to signify wall; and let him hold his
fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus
and Thisby whisper.
If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down,
every mother's son, and rehearse your parts.
Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your
speech, enter into that brake: and so every one
according to his cue.
What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,
So near the cradle of the fairy queen?
What, a play toward! I'll be an auditor;
An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause.
Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth.
Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet,--
--odours savours sweet:
So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.
But hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile,
And by and by I will to thee appear.
A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here.
Must I speak now?
Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he goes
but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew,
As true as truest horse that yet would never tire,
I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.
'Ninus' tomb,' man: why, you must not speak that
yet; that you answer to Pyramus: you speak all your
part at once, cues and all Pyramus enter: your cue
is past; it is, 'never tire.'
O,--As true as truest horse, that yet would
never tire.
O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted. Pray,
masters! fly, masters! Help!
I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round,
Through 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 afeard.
O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on thee?
What do you see? you see an asshead of your own, do
you?
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.
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill,--
[Awaking] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
[Sings]
The finch, the sparrow and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo gray,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer nay;--
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?
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me
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 now-a-days; the
more the pity that some honest neighbours will not
make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.
Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out
of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.
Out of this wood do not desire to go:
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate;
The summer still doth tend upon my state;
And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee,
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!
Ready.
And I.
And I.
And I.
Where shall we go?
Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,
And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,
To have my love to bed and to arise;
And pluck the wings from Painted butterflies
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
Hail, mortal!
Hail!
Hail!
Hail!
I cry your worship's mercy, heartily: I beseech your
worship's name.
Cobweb.
I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master
Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall make bold with
you. Your name, honest gentleman?
Peaseblossom.
mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good
Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of more
acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, sir?
Mustardseed.
Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well:
that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath
devoured many a gentleman of your house: I promise
you your kindred had made my eyes water ere now. I
desire your more acquaintance, good Master
Mustardseed.
Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
The moon methinks looks with a watery eye;
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
Tie up my love's tongue bring him silently.