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<- Previous | Table of Contents | Next -> Digital Library - Digital Library-A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare

But, my good lord, I wot not by what powerBut by some power it is-my love to
Hermia, Melted as the snow, seems to me now As the remembrance of an idle gaud
Which in my childhood I did dote upon;

And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, The object and the pleasure of mine eye, Is
only Helena. To her, my lord, Was I betroth’d ere I saw Hermia.

But, like a sickness, did I loathe this food; But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, And will for evermore be true to it.

THESEUS Fair lovers, you are fortunately met; Of this discourse we more will hear

Egeus, I will overbear your will; For in the temple, by and by, with us These couples
shall eternally be knit.

And, for the morning now is something worn, Our purpos’d hunting shall be set aside.
Away with us to Athens, three and three; We’ll hold a feast in great solemnity.

Come, Hippolyta.
Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train DEMETRIUS These things seem
small and undistinguishable, Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.

HERMIA Methinks I see these things with parted eye, When every thing seems double.
HELENA So methinks; And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, Mine own, and not
mine own.

DEMETRIUS Are you sure That we are awake? It seems to me That yet we sleep, we
dream. Do not you think The Duke was here, and bid us follow him? HERMIA Yea,
and my father.

HELENA And Hippolyta.
LYSANDER And he did bid us follow to the temple.
DEMETRIUS Why, then, we are awake; let’s follow him; And by the way let us recount
our dreams.

BOTTOM [Awaking] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is ‘Most
fair Pyramus.’ Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout, the tinker!
Starveling! God’s my life, stol’n hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare

I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.

Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was-there is no
man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had, but man is but a patch’d
fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the
ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his
heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this
dream. It shall be call’d ‘Bottom’s Dream,’ because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it
in the latter end of a play, before the Duke.
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