A Midsummer Night's Dream

We'll eat with these.

Crystal!

Ah.

[ Sighs ]

Now, fair Hippolyta,

our nuptial hour draws on apace.

Four happy days

bring in another moon.

But O, methinks, how slow

this old moon wanes!

She lingers my desires,

like to a stepdame or a dowager,

long withering out

a young man's revenue.

Four days will quickly

steep themselves in night,

four nights will quickly

dream away the time.

[ Laughs ]

And then the moon,

like to a silver bow

new-bent in heaven,

shall behold the night

of our solemnities.

Happy be Theseus,

our renowned duke.

Thanks, good Egeus.

What's the news with thee?

Full of vexation come I,

with complaint against my child,

my daughter Hermia.

Egeus:

Stand forth, Demetrius.

My noble lord,

this man hath

my consent to marry her.

Stand forth, Lysander.

This man hath bewitched

the bosom of my child.

Thou, thou, Lysander,

thou hast given her rhymes

and interchanged love tokens

with my child.

With cunning hast thou filched

my daughter's heart.

Turned her obedience,

which is due to me,

to stubborn harshness.

And, my gracious duke,

be it so she will not

here before your grace

consent to marry

with Demetrius.

I beg the ancient

privilege of Athens.

As she is mine,

I may dispose of her,

and that shall be either

to this gentleman...

or to herdeath,

according to ourlaw...

immediately provided

in that case.

What say you, Hermia?

Relent, sweet Hermia,

and, Lysander, yield

thy crazed title

to my certain right.

You have her father's love,

Demetrius.

Let me have Hermia's.

Do you marry him.

Cur. Cur!

Scornful Lysander,

true, he hath my love,

and what is mine

my love shall render him.

And she is mine,

and all my right of her

I do estate unto Demetrius.

I am, my lord,

as well derived as he,

as well possessed.

My love is more than his,

and which is more than

all these boasts can be,

I am beloved

of beauteous Hermia.

Why should not I

then prosecute my right?

Demetrius,

I'll avouch it to his head,

made love to

Nedar's daughter Helena

and won her soul.

And she, sweet lady, dotes,

devoutly dotes,

dotes in idolatry,

upon this spotted

and inconstant man.

I must confess

I have heard so much.

I do entreat your grace

to pardon me.

I know not by what power

I am made bold,

nor how it may concern

my modesty

in such a presence here

to plead my thoughts...

but I beseech your grace

that I may know

the worst that may

befall me in this case.

Either to die the death,

orto abjure forever

the society of men.

And therefore, fair Hermia,

question your desires,

know of your youth,

examine well your blood,

whether, if you yield not

to your father's choice,

you can endure

the livery of a nun,

for aye to be

in shady cloister mewed,

to live a barren sister

all your life,

chanting faint hymns

to the cold fruitless moon.

So will I grow...

so live, so die, my lord,

ere I will yield

my virgin patent up

unto his lordship

whose unwished yoke

my soul consents

not to give sovereignty.

Take time to pause.

By the next new moon,

upon that day

either prepare to die

for disobedience

to your father's will,

or else to wed Demetrius,

as he would,

or on Diana's altar to protest

for aye austerity

and single life.

For you, fair Hermia,

look you arm yourself

to fit your fancies

to your father's will.

Come, Hippolyta.

Demetrius, come.

And come, Egeus.

I have some private schooling

for you both.

[Crying ]

Hownow, my love?

Why is your cheek so pale?

How chance the roses there

do fade so fast?

Belike for want of rain,

which I could well beteem them

from the tempest of my eyes.

Aye me!

For aught

that I could ever read,

could ever hear

by tale or history,

the course of true love

never did run smooth.

If there were

a sympathy in choice,

war, death, or sickness

did lay siege to it,

making it momentary as a sound,

swift as a shadow,

short as any dream,

as brief as the lightning

in the collied night,

that, in a spleen,

unfolds both heaven and earth,

and ere a man hath power

to say 'behold!'

the jaws of darkness

to devour it up.

So quick bright things

come to confusion.

Therefore hear me, Hermia.

I have a widow aunt,

a dowager of great revenue,

and she respects me

as her only son.

Helena:
Demetrius!

Demetrius!

[ Indistinct Conversation ]

Demetrius!

Ohh.

Demetrius!

How happy some

o'er other some can be!

Through Athens I am thought

as fair as she.

But what of that?

Demetrius thinks not so.

He will not know what all

but he do know.

Love looks not with the eyes,

but with the mind,

and therefore is winged Cupid

painted blind.

God speed, fair Helena.

Whither away?

Call you me fair?

That fair again unsay.

Demetrius loves your fair.

O...happy fair!

Sickness is catching.

O, were favor so,

yours would I catch,

fair Hermia, ere I go.

O, teach me how you look,

and with what art

you sway the motion

of Demetrius' heart.

His folly, Helena,

is no fault of mine.

None but your beauty.

Would that fault were mine!

Take comfort.

He no more shall see my face.

Lysander and myself

shall fly this place.

Helen...

to you our minds we will unfold.

Tomorrow night,

when Phoebe doth behold

her silver visage

in the watery glass,

a time that lovers' flights

doth still conceal,

through Athens gates

have we devised to steal.

And thence from Athens

turn away our eyes

to seek new friends

and stranger companies.

Egeus:
Hermia!

Ohh.

Hermia!

Fare well, sweet play fellow.

Pray thou for us,

and good luck grant thee

thy Demetrius.

Egeus:
Hermia!

Ohh.

Keep word, Lysander.

I will, my Hermia.

Helena, adieu.

As you on him,

Demetrius dote on you.

Oh...spite!

Oh, hell.

[Church Bells Tolling ]

[ Italian Operatic Singing ]

Ah, buon giorno!

[Speaking Italian ]

Is all our company here?

Here, Peter Quince.

Best to call them

generally, man by man,

according to the scrip.

[ Laughing ]

Come here, here.

Here is the scroll

of every man's name

which is thought fit

through all our town

to play in our interlude

before the duke and duchess

on his wedding day at night.

But first,

good Peter Quince,

say what the play treats on,

then read the names

of the actors,

and so grow to a point.

Marry, our play is

The Most Lamentable Comedy

and Cruel Death

of Pyramus and Thisby.

A very good piece of work,

I assure you, and a merry.

Now, good Peter Quince,

call forth your actors

by the scroll.

Masters...

spread yourselves.

So, uh, answer as I call you.

Nick Bottom the weaver.

Ready.

Name what part I am for,

and proceed.

You, Nick Bottom,

are set down for Pyramus.

What is Pyramus?

A lover or a tyrant?

He's a lover

that kills himself,

most gallant, forlove.

All:
Ahh.

That will ask some tears

in the true performing of it.

If I do it, let the audience

look to their eyes.

I will move storms.

I will condole in some measure.

Now, to the rest.

Quince:
Well--

Yet, my chief humor

is for a tyrant.

I could play Ercles rarely,

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