Original
Modern English
How now, spirit! whither wander you?
Hey, spirit! Where are you going?
Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon’s sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green. The cowslips tall her pensioners be: In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours: I must go seek some dewdrops here And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone: Our queen and all our elves come here anon.
Over hills, over valleys, Through bushes, through thorns, Over parks, over walls, Through floods, through fire, I wander everywhere, Faster than the moon moves in the sky; And I serve the fairy queen, To sprinkle dew on the grass. The tall cowslips are her attendants: You can see spots on their golden petals; Those are rubies, fairy gifts, In those freckles lie their scent: I must go find some dewdrops here And put a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. Goodbye, you lazy spirit; I’ll be gone: Our queen and all our fairies will be here soon.
The king doth keep his revels here to-night: Take heed the queen come not within his sight; For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, Because that she as her attendant hath A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king; She never had so sweet a changeling; And jealous Oberon would have the child Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild; But she perforce withholds the loved boy, Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy: And now they never meet in grove or green, By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, But, they do square, that all their elves for fear Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.
The king is having his party here tonight: Be careful the queen doesn’t see him; For Oberon is really angry, Because she has a beautiful boy with her, A child stolen from an Indian king; She’s never had such a sweet little changeling; And jealous Oberon wants the child To be part of his entourage, to chase through the wild forests; But she won’t give up the boy, Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy: And now they never meet in a grove or meadow, By a clear fountain or in the light of the stars, But they argue, and all their fairies, afraid, Hide inside acorn cups.
Either I mistake your shape and making quite, Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite Call’d Robin Goodfellow: are not you he That frights the maidens of the villagery; Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern And bootless make the breathless housewife churn; And sometime make the drink to bear no barm; Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck, You do their work, and they shall have good luck: Are not you he?
Either I’m completely mistaken about who you are, Or you’re that tricky, mischievous sprite Called Robin Goodfellow: aren’t you the one Who scares the girls in the village; Churns milk, and sometimes works the mill And makes the housewife churn for no reason? And sometimes makes the beer not foam? Mischief-making night-wanderers, laughing at their misfortune? Those who call you Hobgoblin and sweet Puck, You do their bidding, and they’ll have good luck: Are you not the one?
Thou speak’st aright; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, Neighing in likeness of a filly foal: And sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl, In very likeness of a roasted crab, And when she drinks, against her lips I bob And on her wither’d dewlap pour the ale. The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, And ’tailor’ cries, and falls into a cough; And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh, And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear A merrier hour was never wasted there. But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.
You’re right; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I make fun of Oberon and make him smile When I trick a fat, well-fed horse, Making it neigh like a young foal: And sometimes I hide in a gossip’s bowl, In the shape of a roasted apple, And when she drinks, I pop up against her lips And pour ale onto her wrinkled neck. The wisest aunt, telling the saddest story, Sometimes mistakes me for a three-legged stool; Then I slip off her lap, and down she falls, And yells ‘tailor!’ and coughs; And everyone laughs, holding their sides, And they laugh even harder, sneezing and swearing That no hour was ever more fun. But, make way, fairy! Here comes Oberon.
And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!
And here’s my queen. I wish he would leave!
Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.
We meet again under the moonlight, proud Titania.
What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence: I have forsworn his bed and company.
What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, get away: I’ve sworn off your bed and company.
Tarry, rash wanton: am not I thy lord?
Wait, foolish woman: am I not your lord?
Then I must be thy lady: but I know When thou hast stolen away from fairy land, And in the shape of Corin sat all day, Playing on pipes of corn and versing love To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, Come from the farthest Steppe of India? But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, Your buskin’d mistress and your warrior love, To Theseus must be wedded, and you come To give their bed joy and prosperity.
Then I must be your lady: but I know When you left the fairyland, And took the shape of Corin and stayed all day, Playing your pipes and singing love songs To the loving Phillida. Why are you here, Coming from the farthest part of India? But, for that matter, the strong Amazon, Your warrior mistress, and your love for her, To Theseus must be married, and you come To bless their bed with joy and success.
How canst thou thus for shame, Titania, Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, Knowing I know thy love to Theseus? Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night From Perigenia, whom he ravished? And make him with fair AEgle break his faith, With Ariadne and Antiopa?
How can you shame me like this, Titania, Glancing at my reputation with Hippolyta, Knowing I know about your love for Theseus? Didn’t you lead him through the dark night From Perigenia, whom he ravished? And make him break his faith with fair AEgle, With Ariadne and Antiopa?
These are the forgeries of jealousy: And never, since the middle summer’s spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturb’d our sport. Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, As in revenge, have suck’d up from the sea Contagious fogs; which falling in the land Have every pelting river made so proud That they have overborne their continents: The ox hath therefore stretch’d his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn Hath rotted ere his youth attain’d a beard; The fold stands empty in the drowned field, And crows are fatted with the murrion flock; The nine men’s morris is fill’d up with mud, And the quaint mazes in the wanton green For lack of tread are undistinguishable: The human mortals want their winter here; No night is now with hymn or carol blest: Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger, washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound: And thorough this distemperature we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which: And this same progeny of evils comes From our debate, from our dissension; We are their parents and original.
These are just the lies of jealousy: And never, since the middle of summer, Have we met in a hill, in a valley, in a forest, or a meadow, By a paved fountain or a rushing stream, Or by the sea’s sandy shore, To dance our circle to the whistling wind, But your brawls have ruined our fun. So, the winds, singing to us in vain, As revenge, have sucked up fog from the sea; Which, falling on land, Has made every river so proud That they’ve flooded their banks: The ox has stretched his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat, and the corn Has rotted before it could grow tall; The sheepfold is empty in the flooded field, And the crows are fattened on the sick sheep; The nine men’s morris is full of mud, And the pretty mazes in the green fields Are indistinguishable for lack of use: The humans want winter to come; No night is blessed with songs or carols: So the moon, the ruler of the floods, Pale with anger, washes all the air, Causing diseases to spread: And because of this bad weather, we see The seasons change: frosty old winter Creeps into the lap of the blooming rose, And on old Winter’s thin and icy crown A wreath of summer buds is mockingly placed: Spring, summer, autumn, and angry winter, All change their usual colors, and the world, In confusion, no longer knows which is which: And all these bad things happen Because of our quarrels, our disagreement; We are the parents and the cause of them.
Do you amend it then; it lies in you: Why should Titania cross her Oberon? I do but beg a little changeling boy, To be my henchman.
Then fix it, it’s up to you: Why should Titania oppose me, her Oberon? I’m just asking for a little changeling boy, To be my servant.
Set your heart at rest: The fairy land buys not the child of me. His mother was a votaress of my order: And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, Full often hath she gossip’d by my side, And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands, Marking the embarked traders on the flood, When we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind; Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait Following,--her womb then rich with my young squire,-- Would imitate, and sail upon the land, To fetch me trifles, and return again, As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; And for her sake do I rear up her boy, And for her sake I will not part with him.
Calm down: The fairy world doesn’t get my child. His mother was a follower of my group: And in the warm Indian air, at night, She often sat and chatted with me, And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands, Watching the ships sailing on the sea, When we laughed seeing the sails catch the wind And grow large with the playful breeze; She, with her graceful and flowing walk Following her, her belly full with my young servant,-- Would copy that, and sail on land, To bring me little things, and come back, As if from a journey, rich with treasures. But she, being human, died while giving birth to the boy; And for her memory, I raise her son, And for her sake, I won’t give him up.
How long within this wood intend you stay?
How long do you plan to stay in this forest?
Perchance till after Theseus’ wedding-day. If you will patiently dance in our round And see our moonlight revels, go with us; If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.
Maybe until after Theseus’ wedding day. If you want, you can join our circle, And watch our moonlit celebrations, come with us; If not, stay away, and I’ll avoid your places.
Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.
Give me that boy, and I’ll go with you.
Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away! We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.
Not for all your fairy kingdom. Fairies, go away! We’ll argue right here if I stay any longer.
Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove Till I torment thee for this injury. My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath That the rude sea grew civil at her song And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid’s music.
Fine, go your way: you won’t leave this forest Until I get revenge for this insult. My gentle Puck, come here. You remember When I sat on a cliff, And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back Singing such a sweet and beautiful song That the rough sea became calm at her music And some stars crazily fell from the sky, To hear the mermaid sing.
I remember.
I remember.
That very time I saw, but thou couldst not, Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts; But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft Quench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness. Fetch me that flower; the herb I shew’d thee once: The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb; and be thou here again Ere the leviathan can swim a league.
At that very moment I saw, but you didn’t, Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid, all armed: he aimed At a beautiful maiden sitting in the west, And shot his love-arrow sharply from his bow, As if to pierce a hundred thousand hearts; But I saw Cupid’s fiery arrow Doused in the pure light of the moon, And the royal maiden passed by, Lost in her own thoughts, untouched by love. Yet I noticed where Cupid’s arrow fell: It landed on a little flower in the west, White before, now purple with love’s wound, And young women call it “love-in-idleness.” Bring me that flower; the plant I showed you before: The juice of it, put on someone’s eyelids while they sleep, Will make them fall madly in love With the first living thing they see. Bring me that herb; and be back here again Before the great sea monster can swim a mile.
I’ll put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes.
I’ll circle the earth in forty minutes.
Having once this juice, I’ll watch Titania when she is asleep, And drop the liquor of it in her eyes. The next thing then she waking looks upon, Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, On meddling monkey, or on busy ape, She shall pursue it with the soul of love: And ere I take this charm from off her sight, As I can take it with another herb, I’ll make her render up her page to me. But who comes here? I am invisible; And I will overhear their conference.
Once I have this juice, I’ll wait until Titania falls asleep, And drop it in her eyes. The first thing she sees when she wakes up, Whether it’s a lion, bear, wolf, or bull, A meddling monkey, or a busy ape, She’ll chase it, mad with love: And before I remove this spell from her eyes, As I can with another herb, I’ll make her give me the boy she promised. But who’s this? I’m invisible; I’ll eavesdrop on their conversation.
I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? The one I’ll slay, the other slayeth me. Thou told’st me they were stolen unto this wood; And here am I, and wode within this wood, Because I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.
I don’t love you, so stop following me. Where is Lysander and beautiful Hermia? One I’ll kill, the other will kill me. You told me they ran off to this forest; And here I am, lost in this wood, Because I can’t find my Hermia. Go away, and stop following me.
You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.
You’re pulling me like a hard stone; But you’re not pulling iron, because my heart Is as true as steel: stop using your power to drag me, And I won’t have the strength to follow you.
Do I entice you? do I speak you fair? Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?
Am I trying to win you over? Am I being nice to you? Or, to be honest, do I tell you plainly That I don’t love you, and I can’t love you?
And even for that do I love you the more. I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, The more you beat me, I will fawn on you: Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, Unworthy as I am, to follow you. What worser place can I beg in your love,-- And yet a place of high respect with me,-- Than to be used as you use your dog?
And because of that, I love you even more. I am like your dog; and, Demetrius, The more you hurt me, the more I will flatter you: Treat me like your dog, kick me, hit me, Ignore me, abandon me; just let me follow you, Even though I’m not worthy, please let me. What worse place can I ask for in your love— But still a place of great importance to me— Than to be treated like your dog?
Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit; For I am sick when I do look on thee.
Don’t push my anger too far; Because I feel sick when I look at you.
And I am sick when I look not on you.
And I feel sick when I don’t look at you.
You do impeach your modesty too much, To leave the city and commit yourself Into the hands of one that loves you not; To trust the opportunity of night And the ill counsel of a desert place With the rich worth of your virginity.
You’re losing your dignity too much, To leave the city and put yourself In the hands of someone who doesn’t love you; To trust the dark of night And the bad advice of a deserted place With the priceless value of your virginity.
Your virtue is my privilege: for that It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world: Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me?
Your virtue is my right: because It’s not night when I see your face, So I don’t think it’s night; And this forest doesn’t lack company, Because to me, you are the whole world: So how can anyone say I am alone, When the whole world is here with me?
I’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes, And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
I’ll run away from you and hide in the bushes, And leave you to the mercy of wild animals.
The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed, When cowardice pursues and valour flies.
Even the wildest beast doesn’t have a heart like yours. Run if you want, the story will change: Apollo runs, and Daphne keeps chasing him; The dove chases the griffin; the gentle hind Tries to catch the tiger; it’s useless speed, When cowardice runs and courage stays.
I will not stay thy questions; let me go: Or, if thou follow me, do not believe But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.
I won’t answer your questions; let me go: Or, if you follow me, don’t believe That I won’t harm you in the woods.
Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: We cannot fight for love, as men may do; We should be wood and were not made to woo.
Yes, in the temple, in the town, in the field, You harm me. Shame on you, Demetrius! Your wrongs make my gender look bad: We can’t fight for love, like men can; We should be shy, and we weren’t made to chase love.
I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well.
I’ll follow you and turn this hell into heaven, To die by the hand I love so much.
Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this grove, Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love.
Farewell, nymph: before he leaves this grove, You will outrun him, and he will seek your love.
Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.
Do you have the flower? Welcome, traveler.
Ay, there it is.
Yeah, that’s it.
I pray thee, give it me. I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine: There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight; And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin, Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in: And with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes, And make her full of hateful fantasies. Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove: A sweet Athenian lady is in love With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes; But do it when the next thing he espies May be the lady: thou shalt know the man By the Athenian garments he hath on. Effect it with some care, that he may prove More fond on her than she upon her love: And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.
Please, give it to me. I know a spot where wild thyme grows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet bloom, Completely covered by sweet honeysuckle, With musk-roses and eglantine: There, Titania sleeps sometimes at night, Lulled by the flowers, with dancing and joy; And there the snake sheds her shiny skin, A piece large enough to wrap a fairy in: With the juice of this, I’ll paint her eyes, And fill her mind with ugly fantasies. You take some of it, and search through this grove: A sweet Athenian lady is in love With a proud young man: anoint his eyes; But do it when the next thing he sees Might be the lady: you’ll know him By the Athenian clothes he’s wearing. Do it carefully, so that he may fall More in love with her than she with him: And make sure you meet me before the first rooster crows.
Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.
Don’t worry, my lord, your servant will do it.