A Midsummer Night's Dream

Hippolyta.

I wooed you with my sword

and won your love doing you injuries.

But I will wed you in another key.

With pomp, with triumph

and with reveling.

Theseus be blessed

For making up this peace

When earthly things made

Even atone together

Then there is mirth

In heavens

Theseus be blessed

For making up this peace

When earthly things made

Even atone together

Then there is mirth

In heaven

Theseus be blessed

For making up this peace

When earthly things made

Even atone together

Then there is mirth in heaven

In heaven

Trumpets and fifes

Trumpets and fifes

Make dance the sun

Make dance the sun

Trumpets and fifes

Trumpets and fifes

Make dance the sun

Make dance the sun

Trumpets and fifes

Trumpets and fifes

Make dance the sun

Make dance the sun

Trumpets and fifes

Trumpets and fifes

Make dance the sun

Make dance the sun

Theseus be blessed, be blessed

Theseus be blessed

Welcome, welcome, Theseus

Welcome, Theseus

Hail

Theseus, hail

Go, Philostrate.

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments.

Awake the pert

and nimble spirit of mirth.

Turn melancholy forth to funerals.

The pale companion is not for our pomp.

Stand forth, Lysander.

With cunning did you steal

my daughter's heart.

Turned her obedience,

which is due to me,

to stubborn harshness.

I am, my lord,

beloved of beauteous Hermia.

But she is mine. I may dispose of her.

Which shall be either to Demetrius,

or to her death.

According to our law,

immediately provided in that case.

So will I die, my father.

Before I yield my maiden virtue

up unto his lordship,

whose unwished yoke

my soul consents not to give sovereignty.

Relent, sweet Hermia.

Lysander, yield your crazed title

to my certain right.

You have her father's love, Demetrius.

Let me have Hermia's.

- You marry him.

- Scornful Lysander.

True, he has my love.

And what is mine,

my love shall give to him.

And she is mine, and all my right of her,

I hereby grant unto Demetrius.

My fortune is, my lord, as fairly ranked,

if not with vantage, as Demetrius'.

Here is the scroll of every man's name

which is thought fit through all Athens.

To play...

In our interlude...

Shhh.

...before the duke and the duchess

on his wedding day at night.

Now, fair Hippolyta,

our nuptial hour draws on apace.

Four happy days bring in another moon:

But, oh, methinks how slow

this old moon wanes.

She lingers my desires.

Four days will quickly

steep themselves in night.

Four nights will quickly

dream away the time.

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 you?

Full of vexation am I

and complain against my child,

my daughter, Hermia.

Stand forth, Demetrius.

My noble lord,

this man has my consent to marry her.

Stand forth, Lysander.

And, my gracious duke, this man

has bewitch'd the bosom of my child.

You, you, Lysander, you have

by moonlight at her window, sung

with feigning voice,

verses of feigning love.

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.

For disobedience to her father's will,

either to die the death

or to give up forever

the society of men.

What say you, Hermia?

Be advised, fair maid.

Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

So is Lysander.

In himself, he is.

But in this case, lacking your father's voice,

the other must be held the worthier.

I am, my lord, as nobly born as he,

as well possess'd.

My love is more than his. Demetrius...

I'll declare it to his face.

Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,

and won her soul.

And she, sweet lady, dotes,

devoutly dotes,

dotes in idolatry

upon this fickle and inconstant man.

But I beseech your grace

that I may know that

the worst that may befall me in this case

if I refuse to wed Demetrius.

Either to fit your fancies

to your father's will,

or else the law of Athens yields you up,

and mark, by no means may we alter it.

To death, or to avow a single life.

So will I...

Hermia.

The course of true love

never did run smooth.

Oh, spite.

To choose love by another's eyes.

Hear me, Hermia.

And if you love me,

then steal forth your father's house

tomorrow night.

To the wood, a league without the town,

will I go with you.

I have a widow aunt,

a dowager from Athens

is her house removed seven leagues.

There, gentle Hermia,

may I marry you.

And to that place,

the sharp Athenian law cannot pursue us.

Keep word, Lysander.

We must starve our sight

from lovers' food

till morrow deep midnight.

Oh, my good Lysander.

Larry, our play

is "the most lamentable comedy

"and most cruel death

of Pyramus and Thisbe. "

First, good Peter Quince,

say what the play treats on.

Then read the names of the actors

and so grow on to a point.

- Answer as I call you.

- Masters, spread yourselves.

Answer as I call you.

- "Nick Bottom, the Weaver. "

- Ready.

Name what part I am for and proceed.

Nick Bottom, you are set down

for... Pyramus.

I play Pyramus. I play Pyramus.

I play Pyramus.

What is Pyramus?

A lover or a tyrant?

A lover...

that kills himself

most gallantly for love.

A lover.

A lover.

If I do it,

let the audience look to their eyes.

I will move storms:

Yet my chief humor is for a tyrant.

I could play Ercles rarely, or a part

to tear a cat in, to make all split.

"Francis Flute. "

The raging rocks and shivering shocks

shall break the locks of prison gates.

And Phibbus' car shall shine from far

and make and mar the foolish fates.

Francis Flute.

This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein.

A lover is more, uh, mm...

condoling.

Francis Flute, the Bellows-mender!

Nay.

Here, Peter Quince.

Flute...

Flute, you must take... Thisbe on you.

Thisbe?

What is Thisbe? A wandering knight?

A wandering knight.

It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

A lady.

Nay, faith, let not me play a woman.

- Flute.

- Nay, I have a beard coming.

That's all one. You shall play it in a mask,

and you may speak as small as you will.

Pyramus, Pyra...

As small as you will.

If I may hide my face,

let me play Thisbe too.

- No.

- I will speak in a monstrous little voice.

- No.

- Listen, listen.

Oh, Pyramus, my lover dear.

- No.

Thy Thisbe dear, and lady dear.

No, no!

No.

You must play Pyramus.

And, Flute, you Thisbe.

Well...

proceed.

- "Robin Starveling, the Tailor. "

- Here, Peter Quince, here, Peter Quince.

You must play...

Thisbe's mother.

"Tom Snout, the Tinker. "

Here, Peter Quince.

You, Pyramus' father.

Myself, Thisbe's father.

Snug, the joiner.

You, the lion's part.

And I hope here is a play fitted.

Have you the lion's part written?

Pray you, if it be, give it me,

for I am slow of study.

You may do it extempore,

for it is nothing but roaring.

Let me play the lion too.

I will roar you, that I will do

any man's heart good to hear me:

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