Chapter VIII: Part 8

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

TITANIA.

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 pressèd flowers dost sleep:
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so.
That thou shalt like airy spirit go.
Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

(_Enter_ PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, _and_
MUSTARDSEED)

PEASEBLOSSOM. Ready.

COBWEB. And I.

MOTH. And I.

MUSTARDSEED. And I.

ALL. Where shall we go?

TITANIA.

Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricots 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.

PEASEBLOSSOM. Hail, mortal!

COBWEB. Hail!

MOTH. Hail!

MUSTARDSEED. Hail!

TITANIA.

Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.

SCENE III

(_Enter_ TITANIA _and_ BOTTOM; PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, MUSTARDSEED, _and other_ FAIRIES _attending_; OBERON _behind, unseen_.)

TITANIA.

Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head.

BOTTOM. Where's Peaseblossom?

PEASEBLOSSOM. Ready.

BOTTOM.

Scratch my head, Peaseblossom.—Where's
Monsieur Cobweb?

COBWEB. Ready.

BOTTOM.

Monsieur Cobweb, good monsieur,
get 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 loath to have you overflown with
a honey-bag, signior. Where's Monsieur
Mustardseed?

MUSTARDSEED (_bowing_). Ready.

BOTTOM.

Give me your neaf, Monsieur
Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy,
good monsieur.

MUSTARDSEED. What's your will?

BOTTOM.

Nothing, good monsieur, but to
help Cavalery 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.

TITANIA.

What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet
love?

BOTTOM.

I have a reasonable good ear in
music. Let's have the tongs and the bones.

(_Rough music is played_)

TITANIA.

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

BOTTOM.

Truly, a peck of provender; I
could munch your good dry oats. Methinks
I have a great desire to a bottle of
hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

TITANIA.

I have a venturous fairy that shall
seek the squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee
thence new nuts.

BOTTOM.

I had rather have a handful or two
of dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of
your people stir me. I have an exposition
of sleep come upon me.

TITANIA.

Sleep thou:
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away.

(_Exeunt_ FAIRIES)

(_Enter_ PUCK)

OBERON (_advancing_).

Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet sight?
Her dotage now I do begin to pity;
For, meeting her of late behind the wood,
Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,
I did upbraid her and fall out with her:
For she his hairy temples then had rounded
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds
Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls,
Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes
Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.
When I had at my pleasure taunted her
And she in mild terms begg'd my patience,
I then did ask of her her changeling child,
Which straight she gave me, and her fairies sent
To bear him to my bower in Fairyland.
And now I have the boy, I will undo
This hateful imperfection of her eyes:
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp
From off the head of this Athenian swain;
That, he awaking ...
May to Athens back again repair
And think no more of this night's accidents
But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
But first I will release the Fairy Queen.

(OBERON _touches the queen's eyes with an
herb which lifts the charm_)

Be as thou wast wont to be,
See as thou wast wont to see:
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower
Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet Queen!

TITANIA.

My Oberon! what visions have I seen!
Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.

OBERON.

Sound music! Come, my Queen, take hands with me....

PUCK.

Fairy King, attend and mark:
I do hear the morning lark.

OBERON.

Then, my Queen, in silence sad,
Trip we after the night shade:
We the globe can compass soon
Swifter than the wand'ring moon.

TITANIA.

Come, my lord.

(_Exeunt_ OBERON, TITANIA, _and train_)

PUCK.

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumberéd here
While these visions did appear.
So, good-night unto you all;
Give me your hands if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING

In the cool of the evening, when the low sweet whispers waken,
When the labourers turn them homeward, and the weary have their will,
When the censers of the roses o'er the forest-aisles are shaken,
Is it but the wind that cometh o'er the far green hill?

For they say 'tis but the sunset winds that wander through the heather,
Rustle all the meadow-grass and bend the dewy fern;
They say 'tis but the winds that bow the reeds in prayer together,
And fill the shaken pools with fire along the shadowy burn.

In the beauty of the twilight, in the Garden that He loveth,
They have veiled His lovely vesture with the darkness of a name!
Thro' His Garden, thro' His Garden it is but the wind that moveth,
No more; but O the miracle, the miracle is the same!

In the cool of the evening, when the sky is an old story
Slowly dying, but remembered, ay, and loved with passion still,
Hush! ... the fringes of His garment, in the fading golden glory,
Softly rustling as He cometh o'er the far green hill.

ALFRED NOYES.

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FOOTNOTES:

Transcriber's Note

The original spelling and punctuation has been retained.

Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.

Italicized words and phrases in the text version are presented by surrounding the text with underscores.