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Modern English
Are we all met?
Are we all here?
Pat, pat; and here’s a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiring-house; and we will do it in action as we will do it before the duke.
Yep, yep; and this is a really good spot for our rehearsal. This grassy area will be our stage, this hawthorn bush our backstage; and we’ll perform it just like we will in front of the duke.
Peter Quince,--
Peter Quince,--
What sayest thou, bully Bottom?
What is it, tough guy Bottom?
There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?
There are things in this play of Pyramus and Thisby that won’t work. First, Pyramus has to pull a sword to kill himself, which the ladies won’t like at all. What do you think about that?
By’r lakin, a parlous fear.
Good grief, that sounds pretty scary.
I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.
I think we should leave out the killing part, after all.
Not a whit: I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and, for the more better assurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: this will put them out of fear.
Not at all: I have a plan to fix it. Write me a prologue, and let the prologue say that we won’t do any harm with our swords, and that Pyramus isn’t really dead; and, to be extra sure, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not actually Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver. That’ll calm them down.
Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in eight and six.
Alright, we’ll have a prologue like that; and it’ll be written in 8-line and 6-line verses.
No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.
No, make it two more; let it be written in 8-line and 8-line verses.
Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?
Won’t the ladies be scared of the lion?
I fear it, I promise you.
I’m worried about it, honestly.
Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves: to bring in--God shield us!--a lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to look to ’t.
Gentlemen, you need to think about this: bringing in--God help us!--a lion among ladies is a truly terrifying idea; because there’s nothing more frightening than a lion in the wild; and we should be careful about that.
Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
So, another prologue needs to explain he’s not a lion.
Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion’s neck: and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the same defect,--’Ladies,’--or ’Fair-ladies--I would wish You,’--or ’I would request you,’--or ’I would entreat you,--not to fear, not to tremble: my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life: no I am no such thing; I am a man as other men are;’ and there indeed let him name his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.
No, you have to say his name, and half his face has to be visible through the lion’s neck: and he himself has to speak, saying something like, or close to this,--"Ladies,"--or "Fair ladies,--I would ask You,"--or "I would request you,"--or "I would beg you,--don’t be scared, don’t tremble: I’d give my life for yours. If you think I’m here as a lion, it would be a waste of my life: no, I’m not a lion; I’m a man just like other men;" and there, he should say his name, and tell them clearly he’s Snug the carpenter.
Well it shall be so. But there is two hard things; that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber; for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.
Okay, we’ll do that. But there are two tricky things; that is, getting moonlight into a room; because, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.
Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?
Will the moon be shining the night we do our play?
A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanac; find out moonshine, find out moonshine.
A calendar, a calendar! Check the almanac; look for moonshine, find moonshine.
Yes, it doth shine that night.
Yes, it will be shining that night.
Why, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber window, where we play, open, and the moon may shine in at the casement.
Well, then you can leave open a window of the big room where we’re performing, and the moon can shine in through the window.
Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and say he comes to disfigure, or to present, the person of Moonshine. Then, there is another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby says the story, did talk through the chink of a wall.
Yes; or someone could come in with a bundle of thorns and a lantern, and say they’re here to impersonate, or to represent, Moonshine. Then, there’s another thing: we need a wall in the big room; because Pyramus and Thisby, according to the story, spoke through a crack in a wall.
You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?
You can’t bring in a wall. What do you think, Bottom?
Some man or other must present Wall: and let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall; and let him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper.
Some man or someone needs to play Wall: and they should have some plaster, or some clay, or some rough texture on them, to look like a wall; and they should hold their fingers like this, and through that crack, Pyramus and Thisby can whisper.
If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother’s son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake: and so every one according to his cue.
If that works, then everything’s fine. Come, sit down, everyone, and rehearse your lines. Pyramus, you start: after you speak your lines, go into that bush: and then everyone else, follow your cue.
What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here, So near the cradle of the fairy queen? What, a play toward! I’ll be an auditor; An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause.
What kind of simple country folk are these, making noise here, so close to the fairy queen’s realm? What, a play? I’ll listen; Maybe I’ll even join in, if I find a good reason.
Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth.
Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, step forward.
Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet,--
Thisby, the flowers with terrible smells are sweet,--
Odours, odours.
Smells, smells.
--odours savours sweet: So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. But hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile, And by and by I will to thee appear.
--smells sweet: So does your breath, my dearest Thisby. But listen, I hear a voice! stay here for a moment, And soon I’ll come to you.
A stranger Pyramus than e’er played here.
A stranger Pyramus than anyone who’s ever performed here.
Must I speak now?
Do I have to speak now?
Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.
Yes, you do; you need to know he’s just gone to check on a noise he heard, and he’ll be back.
Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew, As true as truest horse that yet would never tire, I’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb.
Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white in color, Like the red rose on a thorny bush, Most youthful and also most beautiful Jew, As true as the most reliable horse that never tires, I’ll meet you, Pyramus, at Ninus’ tomb.
’Ninus’ tomb,’ man: why, you must not speak that yet; that you answer to Pyramus: you speak all your part at once, cues and all Pyramus enter: your cue is past; it is, ’never tire.’
’Ninus’ tomb, man: wait, you’re not supposed to say that yet; you need to answer as Pyramus: you’re saying all your lines at once, including the cues and all—Pyramus should enter now. Your cue was "never tire."
O,--As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire.
Oh,--As true as the most reliable horse, that would never tire.
If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.
If I were beautiful, Thisby, I’d be only yours.
O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted. Pray, masters! fly, masters! Help!
Oh, monstrous! Oh, strange! we’re being haunted. Please, everyone! run away, everyone! Help!
I’ll follow you, I’ll lead you about a round, Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier: Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound, A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire; And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.
I’ll follow you, I’ll lead you around in circles, Through swamp, through bushes, through thorns, through briars: Sometimes I’ll be a horse, sometimes a hound, A pig, a headless bear, sometimes a fire; And I’ll neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, Like a horse, a hound, a pig, a bear, a fire, at every turn.
Why do they run away? this is a knavery of them to make me afeard.
Why are they running away? This is trickery—they’re trying to scare me.
O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on thee?
Oh Bottom, you’ve changed! What do I see on you?
What do you see? you see an asshead of your own, do you?
What do you see? You see an ass’s head on me, don’t you?
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated.
Bless you, Bottom! Bless you! You’ve been transformed.
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.
I see what they’re up to: this is to make a fool of me; to scare me, if they could. But I won’t move from here, no matter what they do. I’ll walk back and forth here, and I’ll sing, so they can hear I’m not afraid.
The ousel cock so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill, The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill,--
The blackbird so dark of color, With its orange-brown beak, The thrush with its voice so clear, The wren with its tiny little song,--
[Awaking] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
[Waking] What angel wakes me from my bed of flowers?
[Sings] The finch, the sparrow and the lark, The plain-song cuckoo gray, 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?
[Sings] The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, The cuckoo with its plain call, Whose song many people notice, But none dare say no to it;-- For, really, who would try to outwit such a silly bird? Who would contradict a bird, even if it sings ’cuckoo’ as loudly as it can?
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again: Mine ear is much enamour’d 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.
Please, sweet mortal, sing again: My ear loves your song; And my eyes are captivated by your form; And your beauty’s power makes me feel That at first sight, I must say, I love you.
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 neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.
I don’t think, lady, you have much reason for that; and yet, to be honest, reason and love rarely go hand in hand these days; it’s a pity that some good people can’t bring them together. Well, I can joke when the time comes.
Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
You are as wise as you are handsome.
Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.
Not really: but if I had enough sense to get out of this forest, I’d have enough to take care of myself.
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 airy spirit go. Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!
Don’t wish to leave this forest: You will stay here, whether you like it or not. I am a spirit of no ordinary kind; Summer always attends to my needs; And I love you: so come with me; I’ll give you fairies to look after you, And they will bring you jewels from the deep, And sing while you sleep on soft flowers; And I will remove your mortal heaviness so That you’ll float like a spirit. Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!
Ready.
Ready.
And I.
Me too.
And I.
Me too.
And I.
Me too.
Where shall we go?
Where should we go?
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.
Be kind and polite to this man; Dance around him and play in his sight; Feed him with apricots and blackberries, With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; Steal honey from the bees, And take wax from their hives To light his way with glow-worms’ eyes, To help my love sleep and wake; And pluck the wings from painted butterflies To fan the moonbeams from his closed eyes: Nod to him, elves, and show him respect.
Hail, mortal!
Hello, mortal!
Hail!
Hello!
Hail!
Hello!
Hail!
Hello!
I cry your worship’s mercy, heartily: I beseech your worship’s name.
I beg your pardon, sir, truly: may I ask your name?
Cobweb.
Cobweb.
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?
I hope we’ll become better acquainted, good Master Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I’ll call on you. What’s your name, good sir?
Peaseblossom.
Peaseblossom.
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?
I beg you, say hello to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I’d like to get to know you better too. What’s your name, please, sir?
Mustardseed.
Mustardseed.
Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well: that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house: I promise you your kindred had made my eyes water ere now. I desire your more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.
Good Master Mustardseed, I know you’re very patient: that same big, cowardly ox-beef has eaten up many men from your family: I promise you, your relatives would’ve made me cry by now. I want to get to know you better, good Master Mustardseed.
Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower. The moon methinks looks with a watery eye; And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, Lamenting some enforced chastity. Tie up my love’s tongue bring him silently.
Come, take care of him; lead him to my room. The moon, I think, looks like it’s crying; And when she cries, every little flower weeps, Lamenting some forced vow of chastity. Tie up my love’s tongue, and bring him quietly.