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Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say.

[Exit, pursuing HELENA. Obe. [Advances with PUCK.] This is thy negligence: still

thou mistak'st,

Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully.

Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
Did not you tell me, I should know the man

By the Athenian garments he had on ?
And so far blameless proves my enterprise,
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes:
And so far am I glad it so did sort,

As this their jangling I esteem a sport.

Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight:

Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;

The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog as black as Acheron ;
And lead these testy rivals so astray,
As one come not within another's way.
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius;
And from cach other look thou lead them thus,
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep:
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye,
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
To take from thence all error, with his might,
And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,

I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;

And then I will her charmed eye release

From monster's view, and all things shall be peace.

Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste;

[The mists begin to fall, and the scene commences to darken.

For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,

And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ;

At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,

Already to their wormy beds are gone ;
And wilfully themselves exile from light,
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.
Obe. But we are spirits of another sort:

I with the morning's love have oft made sport;
And, like a forester, the groves may tread,
Even till the castern gate, all fiery-red,
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.
But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay:
We may effect this business yet cre day.
Puck. Up and down, up and down,
I will lead them up and down;

I am fear'd in field and town;
Goblin, lead them up and down.

Here comes one.

Enter LYSANDER [below].

[Exit OBERON.

Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou now. Puck. Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where art thou? Lys. I will be with thee straight.

Puck.

Follow me then,

To plainer ground. [Exit LYSANDER, as following the voice.

Enter DEMETRIUS [above, from the same direction].

Dem.

Lysander! speak again. [Re-enter PUCK.

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?

Speak-in some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head ?
Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,

Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,

And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou child;
I'll whip thee with a rod: he is defil'd

That draws a sword on thee.

Dem.

Yea; art thou there?

Puck. Follow my voice: we'll try no manhood here.

[Exeunt. The fog grows more dense.

Re-enter LYSANDER [above].

Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on; When I come where he calls, then he is gone.

The villain is much lighter heel'd than I.

I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly;

That fallen am I in dark uneven way,

And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day! [Lies down. For if but once thou show me thy gray light,

I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.

Re-enter PUCK and DEMETRIUS [below].

Puck. Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com'st thou not?
Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place,
And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face.
Where art thou now?

Puck.

[Sleeps.

[Sits on a bank.

Thou shalt 'by this

Come hither; I am here. Dem. Nay, then, thou mock'st me.

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.

By day's approach look to be visited.

[Lics down and sleeps. The scene becomes blacker.

Enter HERMIA.

Her. Never so weary, never so in woe,

Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers;

I can no further crawl, nor further go,

My legs can keep no pace with my desires.
Here will I rest me, till the break of day.
Heaven shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!
Puck. Yet but three? 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.

[Lies down.

Enter HELENA.

Hel. O, weary night! O, long and tedious night, Abate thy hours: shine, comforts, from the cast, That I may back to Athens by daylight,

From these that my poor company detest :And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's cye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.

[Sleeps.

[The light of fire-flies breaks through the darkness, and the Goblins and Fairies begin to assemble in the mists.

Spirits.

On the ground

Sleep thou sound:
We'll apply

To your eye,

Gentle lover, remedy.

Puck. [Squeezes the juice on LYSANDER's eye.]

A fairy. [Sings.]

When thou wak'st,

Thou tak'st

True delight

In the sight

Of thy former lady's cye :

And the country proverb known,
That every man should take his own,
In your waking shall be shown:

Jack shall have Jill;

Nought shall go ill.

THE CURTAIN DESCENDS.

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ACT IV.

SCENE 1.-A TANGLED WOOD AND GLEN. TITANIA is discovered seated on a mound of flowers, at the base of a fallen tree. BOTTOM is beside her still wearing the ass's head, The four Goblins are behind. It is still dark and misty.

Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
While I thy amiable checks do coy,

And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.

Bot. Where's Peas-blossom?

Peas. Ready.

Bot. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom.-Where's monsieur Cobweb?

Cob. Ready.

Bot. Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get you your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good monsieur, 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 loth to have you over-flown with a honey-bag, signior. Where's monsieur Mustard-seed?

Mus. What's your will?

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

Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?
Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music; let us have

the tongs and the bones.

Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat.

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