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This is a knavery of them to make me afeard.

       Enter Snout.

      Snout. O Bottom, thou art chang’d! What do I see on thee?

      Bot. What do you see? You see an ass-head of your own, do you?

       [Exit Snout.]

       Enter Quince.

      Quin. Bless thee. Bottom, bless thee! Thou art translated.

       Exit.

      Bot. 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.

       [Sings.]

      The woosel cock so black of hue,

      With orange-tawny bill,

      The throstle with his note so true,

      The wren with little quill—

      Tita. [Awaking.]

      What angel wakes me from my flow’ry bed?

      Bot. [Sings.]

      The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,

      The plain-song cuckoo grey,

      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?

       Tita.

      I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.

      Mine ear is much enamored 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.

      Bot. 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 neighbors will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

      Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

      Bot. Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine owe turn.

       Tita.

      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 aery spirit go.

      Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

       Enter four Fairies [Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustardseed].

       [Peas.]

      Ready.

       [Cob.]

      And I.

       [Moth.]

      And I.

       [Mus.]

      And I.

       [All.]

      Where shall we go?

       Tita.

      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.

      [Peas.] Hail, mortal!

      [Cob.] Hail!

      [Moth.] Hail!

      [Mus.] Hail!

      Bot. I cry your worships mercy, heartily. I beseech your worship’s name.

      Cob. Cobweb.

      Bot. 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?

      Peas. Peaseblossom.

      Bot. I pray you commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, sir?

      Mus. Mustardseed.

      Bot. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well. That same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath devour’d many a gentleman of your house. I promise you your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you [of] more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.

       Tita.

      Come wait upon him; lead him to my bower.

      The moon methinks looks with a wat’ry eye;

      And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,

      Lamenting some enforced chastity.

      Tie up my lover’s tongue, bring him silently.

       Exeunt.

       ¶

[Scene II]

       Enter King of Fairies [Oberon].

       Obe.

      I wonder if Titania be awak’d;

      Then what it was that next came in her eye,

      Which she must dote on in extremity.

       [Enter Puck.]

      Here comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit?

      What night-rule now about this haunted grove?

       Puck.

      My mistress with a monster is in love.

      Near to her close and consecrated bower,

      While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,

      A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,

      That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,

      Were met together to rehearse a play

      Intended for great Theseus’ nuptial day.

      The

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