Modern Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act 1, Scene 1

The young Duke of Athens was in a good mood as he led his bride–to–be into the garden. Quite a conquest she was, in more ways than one. She was Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. He had just defeated the Amazons in battle and their queen was a warrior as brave and skilled as any man he had encountered. She was beautiful and brave, and although he had won the battle, he had lost his heart. They had fallen in love and that was that.

Philostrate, a party arranger, followed them into the garden. He had come to discuss the wedding arrangements with the couple because Theseus was determined to have a big and joyous public celebration.

‘Our wedding day is very close, dear Hippoplyta,’ Theseus was saying as they strolled among the brightly coloured flowers. ‘The new moon will rise in four days.’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘What a long time the old moon is taking to go down! It’s making time drag in the way a long–lived stepmother or widow makes time drag for a young man who longs for his inheritance.’

Hippolyta laughed at his metaphor. ‘Four days will quickly turn into four nights and we’ll just dream those nights away,’ she assured him. ‘And soon the new moon, like a silver bow in the sky, will see the night of our celebrations.’

‘Go, Philostrate,’ said Theseus, ‘Stir the young people of Athens up into festive mood. Get the spirit of joy moving among them. Sadness is for funerals: there’s no room for it at our celebration.’

As Philostrate left on his pleasant mission, Theseus invited Hippolyta to sit down on a bench. He took her hand. ‘Hippolyta,’ he said, ‘I pursued you as a conqueror, and won your love while doing you harm. But I’ll marry you with celebration, joy and partying.’

The calm of their moment alone in the garden was interrupted by the arrival of an elderly, prominent citizen, who was arguing loudly with some attendants who wouldn’t let him pass. Theseus waved his consent and Egeus strode determinedly across the lawn towards him, followed by his pretty daughter Hermia and two young men. ‘Long live Theseus, our distinguished duke!’ exclaimed Egeus.

‘Thanks, good Egeus,’ said Theseus. ‘And what’s the news with you?’ He looked enquiringly at the three young people. Hermia was grim–faced and the two young men stared at the ground in embarrassment.


‘I’m furious!’ exclaimed Egeus. ‘I’ve got a problem with my daughter Hermia.’ He beckoned to one of the young men. ‘Step forward, Demetrius.’ He put his hand on the young man’s back. ‘My noble lord, this man has my consent to marry her.’ He looked over his shoulder at the other young man. ‘Lysander!’ he barked. ‘Step forward!’

Both young men now stood facing the duke, one on either side of Egeus.

‘This one, my gracious duke,’ wagging a finger at Lysander, ‘has put some kind of spell on her. You… you, Lysander! You have given her poems, and exchanged love–tokens with my child. You have sung beneath her window by moonlight – so–called songs of so–called love! And captured her mind with bracelets of your hair, and rings and ribbons, and baubles, games, toys, knick–knacks, posies, sweets – things giddy girls are easily swayed by. You’ve cunningly stolen her heart and turned her obedience, which I’m entitled to, to obstinate wilfulness.’ Egeus paused briefly to take a breath then rushed on. ‘And, my gracious duke, if she won’t consent to marry Demetrius, right here, in front of your grace, then I claim my ancient Athenian right that, as she is mine, I can do whatever I like with her. She will either marry this gentleman, Demetrius, or die according to the law in such matters.’

Theseus was a good and compassionate ruler but there were some things that were beyond his power to control. This ancient right of citizens was one of them. Egeus was only claiming his right under the law, however grim the prospect of that may be. Theseus sighed. He stood up and went to Hermia then invited her to sit beside him, which she did.

‘What do you say, Hermia?’ he said. ‘Let me advise you, my dear young woman. Your father should be like a god to you. He’s the one who gave you your beauty. Indeed, he stamped your form in wax and can reshape it or melt it as he likes.’ He patted her hand. ‘Demetrius is a good gentleman.’

‘So is Lysander,’ she said.

Theseus nodded. ‘In himself he is,’ he agreed. ‘But in this situation, lacking your father’s blessing, the other one must be regarded as the better.’

‘I wish my father saw through my eyes,’ she said.

Theseus shook his head. ‘You have to see things his way,’ he said.

Hermia cleared her throat. She glanced at Lysander then addressed the duke. ‘I do beg your Grace’s pardon,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where I’ve found the courage to speak out, nor whether it’s proper to say what I think here, but I would ask your grace to tell me what the worst thing is that could happen to me if I refuse to marry Demetrius.’

‘Either to suffer death or never to have anything to do with men again,’ said Theseus. ‘Therefore, fair Hermia, think about what you want. Think about how young you are: examine your feelings carefully: whether, if you don’t give in to your father’s choice, you can endure a nun’s habit: and be cooped up forever in some dark cloister, living a childless virgin all your life, singing soulless hymns to the cold, barren moon. Those who can control their passions to undertake a lifetime of virginity are thrice blessed, but the more earthly rose that gives off its perfume is happier than the one that’s forced to wither on the untouched stem, growing, living and dying in single blessedness.’

‘I will grow, live and die like that, my lord, rather than surrender my virginity to a husband whose unwanted authority my soul hasn’t consented to accept,’ she said.


Theseus stared at her. Her father was sure of his victory and the two young men waited. ‘I’ll give you time to think about it,’ he said, at last. ‘By the next new moon, the day on which my love and I seal the everlasting bond of marriage – on that day, either prepare to die for disobeying your father’s demand, or else marry Demetrius, as he wishes, or take an oath of chastity and live a single, austere life forever.’

‘Change your mind, sweet Hermia,’ said Demetrius. ‘And you, Lysander, give your ridiculous claim up to my certain right.’

Lysander laughed. ‘You have her father’s love, Demetrius: ‘Let me have Hermia’s. You marry him!’

‘True, sarcastic Lysander,’ said Egeus, ‘he has my love. And out of that love I will give him what’s mine. She is mine and I hand over all my rights in her to Demetrius.’

Lysander glanced at Hermia and she nodded slightly. He faced the duke bravely. ‘My lord, I come from as good a family as he does. I’m as wealthy, I love her more than he does: my prospects are as good as, if not better than, his. And, above all, beautiful Hermia loves me. Why shouldn’t I insist on my rights? Demetrius – I’ll say it to his face – courted Nedar’s daughter, Helena, and won her heart. And she, sweet lady, worships and idolises this flawed and unfaithful man.’

Instead of being angry Theseus listened attentively. ‘I must confess that I have heard as much,’ he said, ‘and I was going to talk to Demetrius about it but I overlooked it because I was preoccupied with my personal affairs. But Demetrius, come with me now, and you too, Egeus, I have some advice for both of you in private. As for you, fair Hermia, steel yourself to match your desires to your father’s will or else the law of Athens, which I can’t change, will either condemn you to death or to a vow of lifelong chastity.’ He got up. ‘Come my Hippolyta.’

Hippolyta was looking at Hermes and there were tears in her eyes.

‘Cheer up, my love,’ said Theseus. ‘Demetrius and Egeus, come along. There’s something I want you to do for my wedding celebration, and also, we need to talk about those personal matters.’

When they had gone Lysander joined Hermia on the bench, where she sat, staring at nothing. He took her hand. ‘Well now, my love?’ he said. ‘What pale cheeks? How fast the roses have faded there.’

‘Probably lack of rain, which I could provide with tears.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Lysander. ‘From all that I’ve read and heard, the course of true love never ran smoothly. But it was either something about the class difference or…’

‘Oh what a cross to have to bear!’ she exclaimed. ‘Being too high–born to be allowed to fall in love with someone ‘beneath’ me!’ She laughed in spite of herself.

‘Or else our ages were badly matched…’ Lysander put his thumb in his mouth and sucked it like a child.

‘Oh cruel!’ she exclaimed dramatically. ‘Too old to be engaged to someone so young!’


‘Or else your relations had something to say about it…’

‘Oh hell! To have others choose one’s lover!’

‘Or even if everyone approved, our hope was threatened by war, death or sickness, making it as fleeting as a sound, swift as a shadow, short as a dream: as brief as lightning in the coal–black night, when it illuminates both heaven and earth in its anger,’ he said. ‘And before one can say ‘Look!’ it’s swallowed by darkness again. That’s how quickly bright hopes are destroyed.’

Lysander didn’t seem unduly upset about these events and his light–hearted tone encouraged her. He was actually smiling! She shrugged. ‘If lovers have always been crossed then it must be one of life’s rules,’ she said. ‘We’ll just have to bear it with patience if it’s such a common thing: as much a part of love as thoughts, dreams and sighs, wishes, tears are – all companions of love.’

Lysander smiled broadly and took her hand. ‘A good argument,’ he said. ‘So listen to me then, Hermia. I have a widowed aunt, an elderly lady – very rich – and she has no children. Her house is seven leagues from Athens, and she regards me as her only son. I can marry you there, darling Hermia. The harsh Athenian laws can’t touch us there. If you love me, then slip out of your father’s house tomorrow night and I’ll wait for you in the wood a league outside town, in that place where I encountered you and Helena on that May morning.’

Ah, no wonder he was being so cheerful. He had a plan! She threw herself down on her knees and put her hand over her heart. ‘Oh Lysander!’ she exclaimed. ‘I swear to you. By Cupid’s most powerful bow: by his swiftest, gold–tipped arrow: by the… fidelity of the sacred doves of Venus…’

Lysander revolved his hand in a winding–up motion and nodded, indicating that he wanted her to continue, to swear by more things.

‘Um… By whatever unites souls and makes love prosper…’

Lysander wasn’t satisfied. He nodded solemnly for more.

‘By the fire in which Dido destroyed herself when she saw the false Aeneas sailing away…’ She tried to get up but he raised a finger for more. ‘By all the vows that men have ever broken,’ she said, brushing his finger aside and getting up. ‘And there have been many more of those than women have ever uttered!’ She sat down beside him again. ‘I swear that I’ll meet you in the place you mentioned.’

He kissed her hand. ‘Keep your promise, my love,’ he said.

There was no sign of her father, or Demetrius. They strolled to the palace gate and walked happily towards Hermes’ house.

‘Look, here comes Helena,’ said Lysander, as that young woman swept into view, walking fast.

‘God’s speed, beautiful Helena!’ said Hermia. ‘Where are you off to?’


Helena stopped and looked suspiciously down at Hermia. She was taller, less full–figured, and, although very pretty, had nothing like the stunning looks of her friend. ‘Are you calling me beautiful?’ she said. ‘Take that ‘’beautiful’ back. Demetrius loves your kind of beauty. Oh lucky you! Your eyes are magnets and your voice is more pleasing than the lark’s song is to a shepherd in spring, when the wheat is still green and hawthorn buds appear. I wish that looks were catching, as sickness is – I’d love to catch your looks, fair Hermia, before I go. My ear would catch your voice, my eye your eye: my tongue would catch the modulation of your voice. If I owned the world, I’d give it all, apart from Demetrius, to be you. Oh show me how to look like you and how you control Demetrius’ heart!’

Hermia nodded. She had no idea. ‘I frown at him and yet he still loves me,’ she said.

‘I wish your frowns could teach my smiles something!’ exclaimed Helena.

‘I curse him and he still loves me,’ said Hermia.

‘I wish my prayers could evoke such affection!’ exclaimed Helena.

‘The more I hate him the more he chases me,’ said Hermia.

‘The more I love him the more he hates me,’ said Helena.

‘It’s not my fault that he’s so foolish, Helena.’

‘It’s the fault of your beauty. I wish I had that fault!’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Hermia. ‘He won’t see me again. Lysander and I are going to run away. Before I met Lysander Athens seemed like a paradise. What a wonderful man, that can turn a heaven into a hell.’

‘We’ll confide in you, Helena,’ said Lysander. ‘Tomorrow night, by moonlight, we’re planning to steal through the gates of Athens.’

‘And we’re going to meet in the wood where you and I have often lain on the primrose beds, talking closely together. And then we’re going to turn our backs on Athens and start a new life. Goodbye, dear friend. Pray for us, and good luck with Demetrius.’ Hermia turned to her lover. ‘Keep your promise, Lysander. We’d better stay away from each other till tomorrow night.’

She went into her house. And Lysander carried on walking, to his own house.

Helena, left on her own, walked slowly on, deep in thought. How much happier some people were than others! The whole of Athens considered her as beautiful as Hermia, but so what? Demetrius didn’t think so. He refused to realise what everyone else took for granted. But just as he was mistaken in his obsession with Hermia’s eyes, she was probably at fault, too, for admiring Demetrius’ qualities. Love can transform things that are unpleasant and not to be admired into something beautiful and dignified. Love looks with the mind, not the eyes, and that was why Cupid is always depicted as blind. The mind of love doesn’t have good judgement either: his wings and blindness suggest that he rushes into things without looking. That’s why he’s said to be a child: because he is so easily led. He is deceived everywhere, just as lively boys are, tricking each other all the time in games. Before Demetrius fell in love with Hermia he swore his oaths, thick as hail, to only her. And then the heat from Hermia affected the hailstorm: his love dissolved and the hail showers all melted away.


She would go and tell him about Hermia’s plan to run away. Then he would also go to the wood. If he thanked her at all for the information he would do it grudgingly but it was worth it because she would follow him and at least she would be with him there and back again.

Modern Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act 1, Scene 2

Peter Quince, an Athenian carpenter, greeted his amateur acting company as they trouped into his workshop. Philostrate had announced to all Athens that a play would be performed in front of the Duke, on his wedding day, as part of the wedding celebrations. Any group of citizens could submit their idea and one would be chosen when the time came.

Quince surveyed his would-be actors. ‘Is all our company here?’ he said.

Nick Bottom was a weaver. He was thick-set, sturdy and rugged, and as enthusiastic as anyone could be about the art of acting. ‘It would be best to call the role, man by man, according to your list,’ he said.

Quince lifted a sheet of paper from his workbench. ‘This is the list of everyone in Athens thought fit to take part in the play to be performed before the Duke and the Duchess on their wedding day, at night,’ he said.

He was about to begin the roll-call when Bottom raised his hand. ‘First, good Peter Quince,’ he said, ‘say what the play’s about, then read the names of the actors, and so bring it to an end.’

‘Well, our play is “The sad comedy and cruel death of Pyramus and Thisbe.” ’

Bottom nodded wisely at the assembled company. ‘A very good piece of work, I assure you,’ he said, ‘and very entertaining. Now, good Peter Quince, call the names out from your list. Gentlemen, spread yourselves out.’

Quince adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat. ‘Answer as I call you,’ he said. ‘Nick Bottom, the weaver?’

Bottom snapped to attention. ‘Ready!’ he exclaimed. ‘Tell me the part I’m to play and then carry on.’ ‘You, Nick Bottom, are to play Pyramus.’ Quince put his finger on the next name but before he could call it Bottom interrupted.

‘Who’s Pyramus? A lover or a great hero?’

‘A lover, who kills himself, most heroically, for love.’


Bottom smiled. ‘That will bring out some tears if it’s performed well. If I do it the audience will have to look to their eyes. I’ll storm my passion and rave my grief mightily. And so on and so forth. But my real gift is for playing heroic parts. I can be a great Hercules, or a reveller, enough to bring the house down.’ He placed his hand over his heart and took up a declamatory pose:

‘The raging rocks,
And shivering shocks,
Shall break the locks
Of prison gates:
And Phoebus’ car
Shall shine from far
And make and mar


The foolish fates. High stuff! Now name the rest of the players.’ He smiled round at the company. ‘That was the Hercules style, the heroic method. A lover is more tear-jerking.’

Quince waited until he was sure Bottom had finished then adjusted his spectacles again. ‘Francis Flute, the bellows-mender?’

Francis Flute had been hiding nervously behind his friend, Tom Snout. He raised his hand tentatively, and in a high-pitched voice, registered his presence: ‘Here, Peter Quince.’

Quince looked over his spectacles at the young bellows-mender. ‘Flute, you must take on Thisbe.’

‘Who’s Thisbe,’ said Flute. ‘A wandering knight?’

‘It’s the lady that Pyramus loves.’

Flute shook his head vigorously. ‘No, please, don’t make me play a woman. I’ve got a beard coming.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Quince, kindly. ‘You can play it in a mask. And you can speak in as tiny a voice as you like.’

Bottom clasped his hands together. ’If I can hide my face, let me play Thisbe too,’ he said. ‘I can speak in a wonderfully high voice.’ He put his hands round his mouth to form a trumpet and lowered his voice to a deep bass: ‘Thisne, Thisne!’ he called. Then he ran to the other side of the workshop. ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed in a falsetto, ‘Pyramus, my lover dear! Your Thisbe dear, and lady dear!’

They all stared, speechless, as he looked from one to the other for approval. Quince shook his head and tutted. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘You must play Pyramus. And you, Flute, Thisby.’

Bottom drew himself up. ‘Well, carry on,’ he said.

Quince put his finger on the next name on his list. ‘Robin Starveling, the tailor?’

Starveling raised his hand. ‘Here, Peter Quince.’

‘Robin Starveling, you must play Thisbe’s mother. Tom Snout, the tinker?’

‘Here, Peter Quince.’ Snout smiled.

‘You, Pyramus’ father. Myself, Thisbe’s father. Snug the joiner, you the lion’s part. And I hope the play’s all cast now.’

Snug looked bewildered and he slowly mouthed the word ‘lion’. He put his hand up and Quince nodded. ‘Have you written the lion’s part out?’ said Snug. ‘I’m a very slow learner.’

‘You can make it up,’ said Quince reassuringly, ‘because it’s nothing but roaring.’


‘Let me play the lion, too!’ cried Bottom. ‘I’ll roar so that it will do any man’s heart good to hear me.’ He opened his mouth wide and roared, pawing the air as he did so. ‘I’ll roar so well that the Duke will say, ‘Let him roar again! Let him roar again!’ ’

‘If you did it too terrifying, like that, you’d frighten the Duchess and the ladies, and they’d scream. That would be enough to hang us all,’ said Quince.

Bottom looked to his friends to contradict Quince but they all nodded. ‘We’d all be hanged, every mother’s son of us,’ said Starveling.

Bottom sighed at his friends’ lack of understanding. ‘I grant you, friends, that if you frightened the ladies out of their wits they’d have no choice but to hang us, but I will aggravate my voice so much that I’ll roar for you as gently as any sucking dove.’ He pawed the air again, very delicately this time, and in the most gentle way, he roared ever so softly. ‘I’ll roar for you as though I were a nightingale.’

Quince sighed. ‘You can play no part but Pyramus. Pyramus is a handsome man, as handsome a man as you could ever see on a summer’s day: a really lovely, gentlemanly man. So you have to play Pyramus.’

Bottom nodded decisively. ‘Well, I will take it on! What’s the best beard for me to play it in?’

‘Whichever you like, of course,’ said Quince.

‘I’ll perform it in either your straw-coloured beard, your ginger beard, your bright red dyed beard, your pure yellow – a French king’s golden – beard…’

Quince laughed. ‘Some French kings have no hair at all, so you’d have to play it clean-shaven!’

They all laughed and, after a moment, Bottom laughed too, more loudly than the others.

Quince took a sheaf of papers from his workbench. ‘But gentlemen, here are your parts.’ He handed each man a copy. ‘And I must beg you and ask you and hope that you will learn them off by heart by tomorrow night, and meet me at the palace wood, a mile outside town, by moonlight. We’ll rehearse there because if we meet in the city we’ll be dogged by onlookers and everyone will know what we’re doing. In the meantime I’ll draw up a list of props that our play is going to need.’ He indicated the door. ‘Now don’t let me down,’ he said.

Bottom addressed the departing actors. ‘We’ll meet and we’ll be able to rehearse there most obscenely and courageously. Make the effort. Be word-perfect. Adieu!’

‘We’ll meet at the Duke’s oak,’ said Quince.

‘That’s it,’ said Bottom. ‘Be there or watch out!’

Modern Midsummer Night‚s Dream: Act 2, Scene 1

The moon came up and the fairies came out. Deep in the wood Robin Goodfellow, otherwise known as Puck, stopped a fairy who was flying by, obviously in a hurry.

’Greetings, spirit,‚ said Puck. ’Where are you going?‚

The fairy drifted down and sat on the grass beside him. ’Over hill, over dale, through bush, through briar: over park, over fence, through water, through fire, I go everywhere: faster than the moon in her orbit. And I serve the fairy queen, to dew the rings on village greens. The tall cowslips are her palace guards, and you can see rubies in their golden coats – presents from fairies, still holding their sweet perfume. I have to find some dewdrops here and hang a pearl in every cowslip‚s ear. Goodbye, you naughty spirit: I‚ll be off. Our queen, with all her elves, is coming soon.‚

’The king is celebrating here tonight,‚ said Puck. ’Make sure the queen doesn‚t see her. Oberon is very bad tempered and angry because she‚s taken, as her page, a lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king. She‚s never had such a sweet changeling. And jealous Oberon wants the child as one of his followers, to range through the wild forests with him. But she is holding the lovely child by force. She garlands him with flowers and makes a fuss of him. So now they never meet in a grove or a green, beside a clear fountain or where the stars shine brightly, without a quarrel starting, sending all their elves scurrying into acorn cups in terror.‚

’If I‚m not mistaken you‚re that clever and mischievous spirit, Robin Goodfellow,‚ said the fairy. ’Aren‚t you the one who‚s scared all the village maidens? Skimmed the milk, meddled with the butter press, making the breathless housewives churn without result? And sometimes stopped the beer from fermenting? Led night–travellers astray, laughing at their distress? They call you ’Hobgoblin‚, and ’Sweet Puck‚, and consider themselves lucky if you let them get on with their work! Aren‚t you he?‚

’You‚ve got it right,‚ said Puck. ’I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest for Oberon and make him laugh when I trick a fat, bean–fed horse by neighing in imitation of a filly. And I sometimes hide in an old woman‚s bowl, disguised as an apple, and when she drinks I bob against her lips and the beer spills down her sagging cheeks. The wisest old aunt, telling the saddest story, sometimes mistakes me for a three legged stool: then I slip out from under her bum and down she topples, crying, ’oh, my arse,‚ and begins to cough, which makes everyone laugh and say they‚ve never had such fun. But make way, fairy! Here comes Oberon!‚


’And here comes my lady,‚ said the fairy. ’I wish he weren‚t here!‚

Oberon, king of the fairies, was suddenly there. A troop of fairies surrounded him, glimmering in the moonlight.

Titania, followed by her own fairy band, stopped when she saw the other fairy troop.

’Bad timing to meet you here by moonlight, Titania!‚ said Oberon.

’You!‚ she exclaimed, taken by surprise. ’Jealous Oberon!‚ She turned. ’Come on, fairies: I‚m not talking to him!‚

’Not so fast, rash woman! Aren‚t I your husband?‚

’Then I must be your wife,‚ she retorted sarcastically. ’But I have known you to steal away from fairyland and take the human shape of the mythical lover, Corin, sitting all day long, playing panpipes and writing love–poems to his mistress, Phillida. What brings you here, from the furthest reaches of India if it isn‚t – to be honest – that the gorgeous Amazon, your hunting–booted fantasy woman, is about to marry Theseus: and you‚ve come to bless their bed?‚ She laughed.

’You can talk!‚ said Oberon. ’How can you make snide innuendoes about Hippolyta, knowing that I‚m aware of your crush on Theseus? Didn‚t you lead him to safety through the dark night after he had raped Perigouna? And didn‚t you make him abandon Aegles, and also Ariadne and Antiopa?‚

’These are just figments of your jealousy,‚ she said, ’and since the early summer, whenever we‚ve met to dance our fairy rounds to the wind‚s music – on hills, in valleys, forests, meadows, fountains, rushing streams, sandy beaches – you‚ve ruined our fun with your misbehaviour. It‚s been so bad that the winds have played their music for nothing and then taken revenge on us by sucking up the unwholesome fog from the sea. Then the rain‚s fallen on the land and swollen even the smallest streams until the rivers have burst their banks and made it impossible for oxen to pull their ploughs, so ploughmen have wasted their time even trying. The corn has rotted before it‚s had a chance to ripen. The folds have stood empty in the saturated fields and crows have gorged themselves on the bodies of drowned sheep. The ’nine men‚s morris‚ pitch becomes flooded with mud and the winding country paths disappear. Humans are denied their winter recreation: no evenings are brightened by hymns and sing–songs. And so the moon, that controls the tides, pale with anger, causes so much rain that the dampness brings all kinds of disease. And because of this unpleasant weather we are seeing the seasons alter. Heavy frosts come just as crimson roses are beginning to bloom and a chain of sweet–smelling summer buds, as though in mockery, is set in the thin ice of a lengthened winter. Spring, summer, autumn and angry winter have all changed their features and the bewildered world can‚t tell one from another. And all this catalogue of evils is because of our quarrel, our disagreement. We are the originators of all this confusion.‚

’Sort it out then,‚ said Oberon. ’It‚s up to you. Why does Titania cross her Oberon? All I‚m asking for is a little changeling boy, to be my page.‚

’Forget it,‚ she said. ’I wouldn‚t sell my child for the whole of fairyland. His mother was my dedicated follower, and she often sat and chatted to me in the perfumed Indian air and kept me company on beaches, watching the ships going by. We delighted in the billowing sails together as she, being pregnant with my young page, imitated them, sailing along on the land to fetch this or that thing for me, returning again as though from a voyage, loaded with merchandise. But, being mortal, she died in childbirth and for her sake I‚m bringing up her boy. And also, for her sake, I won‚t part with him.‚


’How long are you intending to stay in this wood?‚ said Oberon.

’Perhaps till after Theseus‚ wedding day. If you‚ll co–operate and dance with us in our fairy ring, and participate in our moonlight parties, come with us. If not, stay away from me and I‚ll stay away from wherever you are.‚

’Give me that boy and I‚ll go with you.‚

Titania laughed. ’Not for all your fairy kingdom! Come fairies, let‚s go. We‚ll have a mighty row if I stay any longer.‚

And that was it. Titania and her attendants simply disappeared.

’Good riddance!‚ Oberon shouted to the empty air. ’You won‚t leave this grove till I‚ve made you pay for this insult!‚

There was no reply. She had gone. Oberon sighed. ’My gentle Puck,‚ he said. ’Come here. Do you remember that time I sat on a jutting rock and listened to a mermaid, who sat on a dolphin‚s back, singing with such sweetness and harmony that the rough see became calm and some of the stars shot crazily out of their spheres when they heard her?‚

’I remember,‚ said Puck.

’Well that‚s when I saw Cupid, all armed up – although you couldn‚t see him – flying between the cold moon and the earth. He aimed his arrow at a chaste queen, ruler of a western isle. He shot it smartly, with enough force to pierce a hundred thousand hearts and, in the sharp beams of the pale moon, missed. So the royal virgin passed on, thinking her maidenly thoughts, which were far from thoughts of love. But I took note of where the arrow fell. It fell on a little western flower, once milk–white, but now purple with love‚s wound, and virgins call it ’Love–in–idleness‚. Fetch me that flower. I showed it to you once. If its juice is laid on the eye–lids of a sleeping person, it will make that man or woman fall in love with the first living creature they see when they open their eyes. Go and get me this flower and come back before the time it takes for a whale to swim a league.‚

’I‚ll encircle the earth in forty minutes!‚ Puck flew up into the air, waved, and was gone. Oberon was pleased with himself. He was going to get his own back on Titania and also get the child. Once he had the juice he would watch out for her and when she was asleep he would drop some of the liquor in her eyes. Then when she woke up she would pursue the first thing she saw with all the passion of being in love, whether it was a lion, a bear, a wolf, a bull or even a mischievous monkey or a chattering ape. And before he would remove the spell, as he could with another herb, he would make her give the child up to him. He heard human voices. Who was that? He made himself invisible so that he could overhear their conversation. It was a young man, looking desperate as he pushed branches aside to move forward. But he stopped suddenly and turned to the young woman who was following him and calling his name, Demetrius.

’I don‚t love you!‚ he shouted. ’So stop following me!‚ He started off once more – half running – and then stopped again. ’Where are Lysander and the lovely Hermia?‚ he demanded. ’I‚m going to kill Lysander!‚ He sat down on a log and thrust his head into his hands. ’And Hermia is going to kill me,‚ he moaned.


The young woman sat down beside him. He looked up and, overwhelmed with fury, pushed her off the log. ’You told me they‚d hidden in this wood, Helena! And here I am, going crazy because I can‚t find my Hermia. Go! Get lost! And stop following me!‚

She got up, rubbing her elbow, then suddenly she pounced on him, sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck, pinning him down. ’You attract me, you hard–hearted magnet. It‚s not iron that you‚re pulling though, because my heart is made of steel. Get rid of your magnetism: that‚s the only way you‚ll stop me.‚ She pressed her mouth against his and he moved his head furiously. She clung to him for a long time, trying to kiss him, but then he managed to loosen himself, and he pushed her away. She landed on the ground again.

He got up and stood over her. ’Have I encouraged you?‚ he shouted. ’Have I spoken nicely to you? No! Just the opposite: haven‚t I told you plainly that I don‚t love you and never could?‚

’And even that makes me love you more,‚ she said. ’I‚m your spaniel and the more you beat me the more I‚ll fawn on you. Treat me as your spaniel. Spurn me, hit me, neglect me, lose me. Just allow me, unworthy as I am, to follow you. What humbler place can I ask – even though to me it‚s a place of pride – than to be treated like a dog?‚

’Don‚t push me too hard,‚ he said. ’Looking at you makes me sick!‚

’And not being able to look at you makes me sick,‚ she said.

’You‚re risking your modesty too much,‚ he said. ’Leaving the city and placing yourself at the mercy of someone who doesn‚t love you, and exposing your precious virginity to the dangers of the night and being alone in a remote place.‚

’Your respectability is my safeguard,‚ she said. ’It isn‚t night when I see your face, so I don‚t think there are any dangers of the night, and this wood isn‚t a remote place because as far as I‚m concerned, when you‚re here, it is the whole world, so how can you say I‚m alone when the whole world is here with me?

Demetrius shook both his fists in the air with frustration. ’I‚m going to run away from you and hide in the bushes and leave you to the mercy of wild animals!‚ he exclaimed.

’The wildest animal doesn‚t have a heart like yours,‚ she said. ’Run where you want to: it will be a reversal of the story of Daphne and Apollo. It will be Apollo running away and Daphne doing the chasing: the dove pursuing the griffin: the meek deer chasing the tiger! How ridiculous when the coward does the chasing and the brave one flees!‚

’I‚m not going to stay here and listen to you!‚ said Demetrius. He turned and started off, hurrying. Helena took off. She dived, flung her arms around his legs and brought him crashing down. They struggled as he tried to release himself.

’Let me go!‚ he yelled. He jerked himself free and scrambled to his feet. ’Don‚t make any mistake about it: if you follow me I‚ll do you some mischief in the wood!‚


’Like you do me mischief everywhere else,‚ she said, ’in church, in town, in the country. Shame on you, Demetrius! You really show my sex up. We can‚t fight for love as men can. We should be wooed!‚ It was a desperate cry. ’We weren‚t made to woo!‚

He shook his head in exasperation and left her sitting on the ground and fled into the woods. She sprang up and ran after him. She would follow him and make a heaven of this hell and die by the hand she loved, if necessary.

Oberon smiled at the idea he‚d just had. Before the young Athenian left this wood she‚d be running away from him. He would be seeking her love!

Puck was suddenly at his side. ’Have you got the flower?‚ said Oberon.

Puck took his hand from behind his back and there it was!

’Welcome, wanderer!‚ exclaimed Oberon. ’Give it to me!‚ He held the flower up. ’I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips grow and violets nod their heads, canopied with luscious honeysuckle interspersed with sweet–smelling ramblers and wild roses. Titania sometimes sleeps there at night, lulled to sleep among the flowers after her dancing. It‚s where snakes shed their bright skins, large enough for fairies to wrap themselves in. And I‚m going to anoint her eyes with the juice of this and fill her mind with obscene fantasies.‚ He pulled a petal off the flower and gave it to Puck. ’You take this and go searching through this grove. A sweet Athenian lady is in love with a scornful youth. Anoint his eyes, but do it when the first thing he will see will be the lady. You‚ll know the man by his Athenian clothes. Take trouble over it to make sure that he‚ll be more infatuated with her than she with him. And be sure to meet me again before dawn.‚

’Don‚t worry, my lord,‚ said Puck. ’Your servant will obey.‚

Modern Midsummer Night‚s Dream: Act 2, Scene 2

Titania was ready for bed. She was sleepy and the bed was inviting – all soft and perfumed. Her fairy attendants brought her nightdress and helped her prepare.

‘Come now,‚ she said, smiling round at them. ‘Let‚s sing a fairy song. Then all of you go: some to kill worms in the rosebuds, some to catch bats for their leather wings, to make coats for my elves: and some to restrain the noisy owl that hoots all through the night, wondering at our antics. Sing me to sleep now, and then off to your duties and let me rest.‚

She lay down and the fairies grouped around her bed of flowers. They began a delicate, intricate dance. One of them sang:

You spotted snakes with double tongue:
You spikey hedgehogs, don‚t be seen:
Newts and blind–worms, do no wrong,
Come not near our fairy queen.

The fairies, still dancing, weaving patterns of movement all round their queen, joined in a harmonious chorus:

Nightingale with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby:
Lulla, lulla, lullaby: lulla, lulla, lullaby:
Never harm, not spell, nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh:
So goodbye with lullaby.

Another fairy sang the second verse as Titania‚s eyelids fluttered and closed.


Weaving spiders, come not here,
Hence, you long–legged spinners, hence!
Beetles b lack, approach not near:
Worm nor snail, do no offence.


The fairies repeated the chorus:
Nightingale with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby:
Lulla, lulla, lullaby: lulla, lulla, lullaby:
Never harm, not spell, nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh:
So goodbye with lullaby.

The first singer put her finger to her lips. ‘Come, away,‚ she whispered to the others. ‘She‚s asleep. One of you stay and guard her.‚

Within a second Titania lay alone in the moonlight, sleeping comfortably on her bed of flowers on the edge of a clearing, just inside the wood. Suddenly Oberon was there. He lost no time in completing his task. He leant down and squeezed the flower so that the juice dropped on to her eyelids.

‘What you see when you awake,
Do it for your true love take.
Love and suffer for his sake,
Be it lynx, wild cat or bear,
Leopard, boar with bristled hair.
In your eye what shall appear
When you awake, will be your dear.
Wake when some vile thing is near.‚

He kissed her gently on the cheek then flew up and was gone in an instant.

It was all quiet. Titania lay in complete repose. Two figures wandered into the clearing. They were Hermia and Lysander, tired and confused. Lysander looked around to try and get his bearings.

‘Dearest love,‚ he said, you‚re exhausted with wandering through the wood, and quite honestly, I‚m lost. We‚ll rest, Hermia, if you like, and wait till tomorrow. It will be easier in daylight.‚

‘Let‚s do that,‚ she said. ‘Find yourself a bed. I‚ll sleep here.‚ She lay down in the middle of a large patch of soft grass.

‘One turf can serve as a pillow for both of us,‚ said Lysander, preparing to lie down beside her. ‘One heart, one bed, two hearts beating as one.‚

She sat up and pushed him away gently. ‘No, dear Lysander. For my sake, dearest, lie further away: don‚t lie so close.‚


‘Oh, trust me, my sweet!‚ he exclaimed. ‘Don‚t misunderstand me. Love has its own meaning when lovers talk. I meant that we are so closely knit that we share one heart. As we have sworn our love for each other our hearts are, in effect, bound together, and that‚s the simple truth that unites us. So don‚t deny me bed–room at your side because if I lie beside you then I‚m not lying.‚

She laughed. ‘Lysander puns most charmingly. Now shame on me if I seemed to suggest that you were lying.‚ He came close again and made to lie down beside her but she pushed him away, less gently this time. ‘Gentle friend!‚ she exclaimed. ‘In the name of love and good manners, lie further away! For the sake of modesty.‚ He moved a few feet away. ‘As far away as would be thought proper between a decent bachelor and a virgin.‚ She got up and went halfway across the clearing. She stamped her foot on the ground. ‘This far away!‚ she said. He went and lay down where she had told him to and she went back to her place. ‘Good night, sweet friend,‚ she said, speaking gently again. ‘May your love never change as long as you live.‚

‘Amen, amen, to that, say I!‚ said Lysander. ‘And I‚ll die before I betray that loyalty.‚ He sighed. ‘Well this is my bed. Sleep well.‚

‘On that wish, my eyes are closing,‚ she murmured. They were both asleep on the instant.

Puck zoomed into the clearing.
‘Through the forest I have gone,‚ he said,
But Athenian found I none
On whose eyes I have to prove
The flower‚s power to stir love.‚
He listened to hear if there were any sounds.
‘Night and silence!‚


As he was about to leave he saw Lysander.
‘Who is here?
Clothes of Athens he does wear:
This is he my master said
Despised the sweet Athenian maid.
And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
On the dank and dirty ground.
Pretty soul, she dared not lie
Beside this cad, this wretched guy.‚
He knelt at Lysander‚s side and squeezed some juice on to his eyes.
‘Selfish man, your eyes I smear
With this magic liquid here
When you awaken love forbids
That you ever shut your lids.
So, awake when I am gone:
For I must go to Oberon.‚

A few minutes after he had gone, during which time the two lovers and Titania all slept soundly, there was a crashing in the undergrowth and Demetrius burst into the clearing, still pursued by Helena. She stopped, gasping for breath.

‘Stop,‚ she called, ‘even if it‚s just to kill me!‚

‘Get away!‚ he snapped. ‘Stop pestering me!‚ He started running again.

‘Oh, are you going to leave me here in the dark?‚ she said. ‘Please don‚t!‚

‘Stay, at your peril,‚ he said. ‘I‚m going.‚ He ran off into the wood.

Helena sank to the ground. She was out of breath after all that foolish chasing after him. The more she prayed for what she wanted the less she got. Lucky Hermia, wherever she was, because she had such lovely eyes. How had she managed that! Not with salt tears or she would have had them too, her eyes were so washed with tears! No, she was as ugly as a bear. Animals that encountered her ran away in terror: no wonder Demetrius ran away from her as though she were a monster. How distorted her mirror must be that she had compared her eyes with Hermia‚s starry eyes!

She suddenly saw a man lying sleeping on the ground right beside her. Who was that? Lysander? Was he dead? Or sleeping? She couldn‚t see any blood or any wound. She shook him. ‘Lysander! If you‚re alive wake up!‚

Lysander stirred. He opened his eyes, looked at her and sprang up. ‘I‚d run through fire for your sweet sake!‚ he exclaimed. ‘Transparent Helena! Nature is wonderful: it makes me see right through you into your loving heart. Where‚s Demetrius? Oh, vile name, fit only to die on my sword!‚

‘Don‚t say that, Lysander, don‚t say it!‚ exclaimed Helena. ‘What if he is in love with your Hermia? Lord! so what! She loves you. Be satisfied with that.‚

‘Satisfied with Hermia?‚ said Lysander. ‘Never! I regret the tedious minutes I‚ve spent with her. It‚s not Hermia but Helena I‚m in love with. Who wouldn‚t exchange a raven for a dove? The mind is governed by reason and reason tells me you‚re the better woman. Growing things don‚t ripen till the right time. I was too young until now to be guided by reason. But now I‚ve matured and reason guides my mind to your eyes, where I see volumes of rich love.‚

Hermia stared at him in growing dismay as he spoke. ‘Why was I born to be mocked so mercilessly?‚ she said. ‘What have I done to deserve this scorn? Isn‚t it enough, isn‚t it enough, that I‚ve never had, nor ever could have, a kind look from Demetrius, without you making fun of me? Good God, you‚re doing me wrong, you really are, to treat me so disrespectfully! Goodbye. I must confess, I thought you were a gentleman. Oh, that a woman rejected by one man should be so abused by another!‚

She ran off into the wood.


Lysander darted a look at the sleeping Hermia. Helena hadn‚t noticed her. Well, as far as he was concerned Hermia could just sleep on, as long as she didn‚t come anywhere near him! In the same way as having too much of sweet things leads to hating them, or people who have had strong beliefs and then abandoned them hate what they had formerly believed, so she – his over–stuffed appetite, his mistaken belief – had become hateful. His entire being would be dedicated to Helena from now on and he would serve her faithfully. He took off in the direction she had gone.

Hermia was having a nightmare and woke up screaming. ‘Help me, Lysander!‚ she cried. ‘Help me! Pull this snake from my breast! Oh God, what a nightmare I had, Lysander: look how I‚m trembling. I thought a snake was eating my heart away and you sat smiling as it preyed on me. Lysander!‚

There was silence. She listened. He wasn‚t there! What? Had he gone somewhere? ‘Lysander!‚ Silence. ‘Can‚t you hear me? Gone? Not answering? Not saying anything? Where are you? If you can hear me say something. Speak! Speak in the name of love! I‚m desperate with fear.‚

There was nothing. He couldn‚t be there. She stood up. She would look for him and find either him or her death straight away.

She looked about and decided on the direction in which the others had gone, leaving Titania sleeping peacefully and dreaming the dreams that fairy queens dream.

Modern Midsummer Night‚s Dream: Act 3, Scene 1

Titania slept on. Having missed the drama that had been played out right beside her, she was now also oblivious to the arrival of Peter Quince and Nick Bottom, who were followed within a few minutes by Snug and Flute, and then Snout and Starveling.

Bottom rubbed his hands. ‘Are we all here?‚ he said.

Quince looked up at the moon. ‘Right on time,‚ he said. ‘And it‚s a wonderfully convenient place for our rehearsal.‚ He stood on the grassy bed Hermia had been asleep on just a few minutes previously. ‘This green plot will be our stage, this hawthorn thicket our dressing room, and we‚ll run through the action just as we‚re going to do it before the Duke.‚ He pulled a sheaf of papers out of his pocket and adjusted his spectacles.

‘Peter Quince!‚ said Bottom.

Quince peered at him over the rims of his glasses. ‘Yes, bully 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 will upset the ladies. How do you answer that?‚

‘My goodness, that‚s a real danger!‚ exclaimed Snout.

Starveling agreed. ‘I think we should leave the killing out when‚s all‚s said and done.‚

Bottom gave them a huge wink. ‘Not a jot,‚ he said. ‘I have a plan for getting round it. Write a prologue for me and let the prologue suggest that we won‚t do any harm with our swords, and that Pyramus isn‚t really killed. And to make doubly sure, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not really Pyramus but Bottom the weaver. That will reassure them.‚

‘Well, we‚ll have such a prologue,‚ said Quince. ‘In verse: eight and six feet alternately.‚

Bottom pondered, while they all waited for his decision. He rubbed his chin, shaking his head slowly. ‘No,‚ he said. ‘Make it two more. Write it eight and eight.‚


Snout raised his hand and Bottom nodded to him. ‘Won‚t the ladies be scared of the lion?‚ he said. Starveling shuddered. ‘I would be scared, I promise you,‚ he said.

‘Gentlemen.‚ Bottom looked round at them triumphantly. ‘You need to think about this. To bring a lion in – God help us! – among ladies, is a terrible thing, because there‚s not a more terrifying wild bird than your lion in the whole of creation. We ought to look into it most carefully.‚

They were all silent for a moment, thinking about it. Snout raised his hand again and Quince looked at him. ‘So there must be another prologue telling them he‚s not really a lion,‚ said Snout.

‘Yes,‚ said Bottom. ‘And you must name him by his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion‚s neck, and he must speak through it as himself, saying this, or something to the same defect: ‘Ladies‚, or ‘beautiful ladies‚, ‘I would like you‚ or ‘I would ask you‚ or ‘I would beg you not to be afraid, not to tremble. If you think I came here as a lion I would be mortified. No, I‚m no such thing. I‚m an ordinary man, like other men.‚ And then let him say his name and tell them plainly that he‚s Snug the joiner.‚

‘Well we‚ll do that,‚ said Quince. ‘But there are two difficult things: that is, how to bring the moonlight into the room because, you know, Pyramus and Thisbe meet by moonlight.‚

‘Will the moon be shining on the night we perform our play?‚ said Snout.

‘A calendar, a calendar!‚ exclaimed Bottom. ‘Look in the almanac: find out moonshine, find out moonshine!‚

Quince shuffled through his papers while they all waited tensely. He found it, perused it, and nodded. ‘Yes, it shines on that night,‚ he said.

‘Well then, you can open the shutters of the great hall where we‚ll be performing and the moon can shine in through the window,‚ said Bottom.

‘Yes,‚ said Quince. Then a better idea came to him. ‘Or,‚ he said, ‘someone must come in with a thornbush and lantern and say he comes to disfigure or present the character, Moonshine. Then there is another thing: we must have a wall in the great hall because in the story, Pyramus and Thisbe talk through a chink in the wall.‚

Snout‚s face showed his scepticism. ‘You‚ll never be able to bring a wall in,‚ he said. ‘What do you think, Bottom?‚

‘Some man or other must represent Wall,‚ said Bottom in a definitive tone. ‘And he must have some plaster, or some loam, or some pebble–dash about him, to show that he‚s a wall: or he should hold his fingers like this.‚ He made his fingers into a V and forced his lips through it. ‘And through that cranny Pyramus and Thisby will whisper.‚

‘If we do that it will all be alright,‚ said Quince. He cleared his throat. ‘Come, sit down, every mother‚s son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin. When you‚ve spoken your lines go into the thicket: and the same with everyone else, according to his cue.‚

Puck landed on a high branch of a tall tree. Who were those rough–clad peasants swaggering about so close to the sleeping fairy queen? What? A play rehearsal? He sprang to a lower branch and sat down to watch. He would be a member of the audience, and maybe an actor too if he got the chance!


Quince pointed sharply at Bottom. ‘Speak, Pyramus,‚ he said. He swung his arm dramatically and pointed at Flute. ‘Thisby, come forward.‚

Bottom placed himself in the centre of the ‘stage‚. He put one leg forward, leant back and placed a hand over his chest. Then stretching his other arm towards Flute, he spoke in a tone deeper than his normal voice. ‘Thisbe, the flowers have odious sweet smells…‚

‘Odorous, odorous,‚ said Quince.

‘Odorous sweet smells,‚ said Bottom. ‘So has your breath, my dearest Thisbe dear.‚ He put a hand dramatically behind his ear and bent over sideways at an extreme angle to listen to some imaginary sound:

‘But hark, a voice! Stay here a little while,
And by and by I will to you appear.‚

He went off, as someone trying not to be discovered. The result was a ludicrous halting, looking–over–the–shoulder, gesticulating spectacle.

Puck had difficulty suppressing his laughter. This was the most weird Pyramus ever!

‘Do I speak now?‚ said Flute.

‘Yes, indeed, you must,‚ said Quince. ‘You have to understand, he‚s only gone to see a noise that he heard, and is coming back.‚

Flute spoke haltingly and in a monotonous tone, failing to make the most of Quince‚s splendid script:

‘Most radiant Pyramus, most lily–white of hue,
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant briar,
Most lively youth and also most lovely Jew:
You trusty horse that‚s never known to tire.
I‚ll meet you, Pyramus, at Ninny‚s tomb.‚

‘Ninus‚ tomb, man!‚ exclaimed Quince. ‘But you don‚t say that yet. That‚s your answer to Pyramus. You‚re speaking all your lines at once, cues and all.‚ He shook his head in despair and turned to the thicket. ‘Pyramus!‚ he called. ‘Enter! You‚ve missed your cue. It‚s ‘never known to tire.‚ ‚

‘Oh,‚ said Flute. ‘You trusty horse that‚s never known to tire.‚

What emerged from the thicket wasn‚t what they had expected. It was a man dressed like Bottom, but he had a donkey‚s head! ‘If I were beautiful, Thisbe…‚ he began, but his voice was high–pitched and quavering. He cleared his throat with an awful braying noise and tried again: ‘If I were beautiful, Thisbe, I‚d be yours alone.‚

They all stared at him in terror for a moment then Quince backed away. ‘Oh monstrous!‚ he said. ‘Oh strange! We‚re being haunted! For heaven‚s sake, run! Gentlemen! Help!‚ He turned and ran, and the others followed him.


Puck was delighted at the effect of the prank he had played on them. Giving Bottom an ass‚s head had made them think he was a monster or a ghost. He would go after them and have some fun. He would lead them all about: through bogs and bushes, shrubs and thorns. He would take on the form of a horse and then a hound, and a headless bear, and a fire. He would neigh and bark and grunt and roar and burn, and terrify the life out of them.

Bottom was left alone, bewildered – unaware of what Puck had done to him. He didn‚t understand this. Why had they run away? It was unkind of them to scare him like that.

Snout was back. He stood nervously at the edge of the wood, ready to take off again. ‘Oh Bottom!‚ he exclaimed. ‘You‚ve changed! What‚s that I see on you?‚

‘What do you see?‚ said Bottom. ‘You see an ass‚s head like yours, do you?‚ He took a step towards Snug and Snug fled.

Quince peered round a tree trunk. ‘Bless you, Bottom, bless you!‚ he said. ‘You‚re translated!‚ And he fled too.

Bottom knew what they were up to. They were playing a trick on him, making an ass of him, to frighten him if they could. They could do what they liked: He wouldn‚t move from this place. He would walk up and down and he would sing, so that they‚d see he wasn‚t afraid.

‘The blackbird cock, so black of hue,
With orange–tawny bill,
The thrush with all his notes so true,
The wren with little quill…‚

Titania was woken by the raucous, braying singing. She opened her eyes and saw Bottom, complete with his ass‚s head. ‘What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?‚ she said, falling instantly in love with this wonderful creature.

Bottom didn‚t see her. He continued with his song, pacing up and down.

‘The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain–song cuckoo grey:
Whose song so many men do mark


And dare not answer nay. Because, indeed, who would match his wits against such a stupid bird? Who would call it a liar, no matter how many times it cried ‘cuckoo‚?‚

Titania watched him enraptured. Then she addressed him: ‘Please, gentle mortal,‚ she said, ‘sing again. I love hearing you sing. Your looks attract me enormously, and your personality moves me to say that I‚ve fallen in love with you at first sight.‚

He didn‚t take that seriously and it didn‚t occur to him to wonder about her presence either. He pulled his donkey lips back to reveal his huge teeth and laughed a braying, wheezing laugh. ‘I don‚t think, madam, you have any reason for that. And, to be honest, reason and love don‚t go together much nowadays. Some good people won‚t match the two, more‚s the pity. Yes, I can say something worthwhile at times.‚

She gazed at him adoringly. ‘You‚re as wise as you‚re beautiful.‚


‘Not at all,‚ he said. ‘If I had enough brains to get out of this wood that would be enough for me!‚

She got up slowly and went up to him. She stroked his ears and kissed him.

‘Out of this wood do not desire to go:
You will remain here whether you will or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate:
The summer season still does tend upon my state,
And I do love you: therefore, come along:
My fairies will attend you all day long:
And they will fetch you jewels from the deep,
And sing, while you on beds of flowers sleep:
And I will take away your mortal features so
That you will like an airy spirit go.‚

She called to her fairies who were waiting, hidden, among the trees and bushes. ‘Peaseblossom, cobweb, Moth, and Mustardseed!‚

Four tiny, glowing, fairies emerged from their hiding places and stood before her. They waited for her instructions.

‘Be kind and courteous to this gentleman:
Go at his side and dance before his eyes:
Feed him with apricots and blackberries,
With purple grapes, green figs and mulberries:
Steal honeycombs from the bumblebees,
Make candles from the wax that‚s on their thighs,
And light them from the fiery glow–worm‚s eyes,
To guide my love to bed, and to arise:
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies
And fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.‚

The fairies bowed and each one greeted him respectfully with ‘Hail!‚

‘I greet your worships heartily,‚ said Bottom. He bowed to one of them. ‘May I know your worship‚s name?‚ he said.

‘Cobweb,‚ said the elf.


‘I‚d like to get to know you better, good Mister Cobweb,‚ said Bottom. ‘If I cut my finger I‚ll use you to heal the wound.‚ He bowed to the second elf. ‘Your name, honest sir?‚

‘Peaseblossom,‚ replied the fairy.

‘Please give my regards to your mother, Mrs Squash, and your father, Mr Peascod,‚ said Bottom. ‘Good Mister Peaseblossom, I‚d like to get to know you better too.‚ He bowed to the third. ‘Your name, please, sir?‚

‘Mustardseed.‚

‘Good Mister Mustardseed. I know very well how patient you are. Those cowardly huge oxen have devoured many of your family. And your family have made my eyes water, alright. I‚d like to be better acquainted with you, good Mister Mustardseed.‚

Titania gazed at him smiling. Then she made a move to go. ‘Come, wait upon him, lead him to my bower. The moon is watching with a watery eye And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, Lamenting violated chastity…‚

Bottom started braying.

‘Tie up my love‚s tongue: bring him silently,‚ said Titania.

Modern Midsummer Night‚s Dream: Act 3, Scene 2

Oberon was wondering whether Titania had woken up and what it was that she first saw when she did. He smiled to himself. She would be in love with whatever it was. His answer came in the form of his servant, Puck.

‘Well now, mad spirit!‚ said Oberon. ‘What sport has there been in this haunted grove?‚

‘My mistress is in love with a monster!‚ said Puck gleefully. ‘While she was sleeping in her hallowed bower a motley crew of yokels – common working men who earn their living in the workshops of Athens – met near her in the clearing to rehearse a play for great Theseus‚ wedding day celebrations. The most ignorant and thick of that ignorant bunch, who was playing Pyramus in their play, left the stage and went into a thicket. I took advantage of that and stuck an ass‚s head on him Eventually he had to answer his cue from Thisbe so out comes this would–be actor. As soon as they see him they fly off like wild geese that have spotted a bird catcher or like red headed jackdaws rising and cawing at a gun‚s shot, separating and sweeping crazily across the sky. And at the stamping of my feet one of them tumbles head–over–heels and cries ‘murder!‚ and prays for help from Athens. Their brains are so shattered with fear that ordinary things begin to harm them. Briars and thorns snatch at their clothes, their sleeves, their hats. I led them on in this confused terror and left the lovely Pyramus there, transformed. It so happened that just at that moment Titania woke up and instantly fell in love with an ass!‚

Oberon laughed. ‘This is even better than I had intended,‚ he said. ‘But have you wet the Athenian‚s eyes with the love–juice as I told you to?‚

‘I did it while he was asleep, so that‚s done too. And the Athenian woman was at his side so that when he woke up he couldn‚t have missed her.‚

‘Quick, hide!‚ said Oberon as two mortals were heard approaching.

They flew up among the leaves of a tree and watched as Hermia and Demetrius, arguing furiously, stopped beneath the tree.

‘This is the Athenian I told you about,‚ whispered Oberon.

Puck was confused. ‘This is the woman,‚ he said, ‘but that‚s not the man!‚

‘Oh why are you scolding a man who loves you so much?‚ Demetrius was saying. ‘Save those bitter words for your worst enemy.‚


‘This is nothing!‚ she snapped. ‘I should be speaking more bitterly because I fear that you may have given me reason to curse you! If you‚ve killed Lysander in his sleep and are already steeped in blood, go all the way and kill me too! The sun isn‚t as faithful to the day as he was to me. Would he have stolen away from his sleeping Hermia? I‚d sooner believe that the whole earth has had a hole bored through it big enough for the moon to go through to disrupt the time of day in the Antipodes. You must have murdered him. And you look like a murderer: so deadly grim!‚

‘That‚s what the murdered look like, and that‚s why I look like that – stabbed in the heart by your extreme cruelty. And yet you, the murderer, look as bright and clear as Venus up there, shining in her orbit.‚

‘What‚s that got to do with Lysander? Where is he? Oh, good Demetrius, won‚t you give him back to me?‚

‘I‚d rather give his carcass to my hounds!‚ he exclaimed. He tried to embrace her and she pushed him so violently that he fell over.

‘Get away, you dog!‚ She kicked him as he lay on the ground. ‘You cur! You‚re pushing me beyond what‚s fitting for maidenly patience! Have you killed him then? From now on, don‚t call yourself human! Tell the truth for once in your life, if only for my sake. Would you have dared to face him if he had been awake? And so you killed him while he was asleep? How brave! Couldn‚t a worm, couldn‚t a snake have done that? A snake did do it! No snake ever stung with such a double tongue as yours, you snake!‚

He got up slowly, warily watching her foot. ‘You‚re wasting your anger on the wrong person. I‚m not guilty of Lysander‚s murder. Nor is he dead, for all I know.‚

‘Then tell me, if you please, that he‚s alive.‚

‘Even if I could, what would you give me?‚

‘The privilege of never seeing me again! And on that note I‚ll leave your hated presence. Don‚t come near me again, whether he‚s dead or not!‚

She turned and ran, disappearing among the trees.

There was no following her in this angry mood, so he would stay there for a while. The weight of his sorrow was getting even heavier, and made even worse by the lack of sleep. He could at least do something about that, by having a nap. He lay down and immediately fell asleep.

Puck looked apprehensively at his king. Oberon floated to the ground and stood gazing thoughtfully at the sleeping Demetrius. He looked up slowly and beckoned silently to his trembling servant. Puck joined him.

‘What have you done?‚ said Oberon. ‘You made a big mistake. You put the love–juice on some genuine lover‚s eyes. Your bungling will definitely have destroyed true love instead of correcting false love.‚

‘Then fate has over–ruled me,‚ said Puck. ‘For every man who keeps faith a million fail, cancelling all the kept promises.‚

‘Go!‚ said Oberon. ‘Go all through the woods, faster than the wind, and make sure you find Helena of Athens! She‚s very love–sick and pale, having lost all her natural colour. Trick her in some way and make sure you bring her here! I‚ll charm his eyes in preparation for her arrival.‚


Puck stood for a moment and Oberon glared at him. ‘I‚m going, I‚m going,‚ said Puck. ‘Look how fast I‚m going: faster than an arrow from a Tartar‚s bow.‚ His laughter faded as he got further away.

Oberon bent over Demetrius and squeezed the juice on his eyelids.

‘Flower of this purple dye,
Strike with Cupid‚s archery,
Strike the pupil of his eye.
When his love he first does spy,
Let her shine as gloriously
As does Venus in the sky.
When you wake, if she is by,
Beg of her the remedy.‚

Puck was back:
‘Captain of our fairy band.
Helena is here at hand,
And the youth that I mistook
Pleading for a loving look.
Shall we their foolish antics see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!‚

Oberon nodded:
‘Stand aside: the noise they make
Will cause Demetrius to wake.‚

Puck laughed:
‘Then both will woo fair Helena.
What fun, what fun, my Governor.
Things that most appeal to me,
Are things that work preposterously.‚

They went back to their hiding place.

Helena was running. Lysander made an effort and got in front of her, blocking her way.

‘Why do you think I‚m mocking you? Scornfulness is never accompanied by tears. I always cry when I declare my love. Vows that are born in tears like this are always genuine. How can my feelings seem scornful to you when my tears prove them to be genuine?‚


‘You‚re becoming more cunning by the minute,‚ she said. ‘When truth to one kills a vow to the other that‚s really genuine! These vows belong to Hermia. Have you ditched her? If you make a vow to one and then to the other your vows are meaningless. If you put both vows on the balances of a scale they‚d weigh the same, both as light as a feather.‚

‘I didn‚t know what I was doing when I swore my love to her.‚

‘Nor do you now, I believe, if you‚re giving her up.‚

‘Demetrius loves her and he doesn‚t love you.‚

They hadn‚t seen the sleeping Demetrius but their arguing woke him now and he opened his eyes. He saw Helena first.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘Oh Helena!‚ he exclaimed. ‘Goddess! Nymph! Such perfection! So divine! How should I describe your eyes? They make crystal seem muddy. How tempting your ripe cherry lips have become! The pure, packed, white snow that caps the Taurus mountains, fanned by the eastern winds, is black as a crow compared with your hand.‚ He grasped her hand and tried to kiss it. ‘Oh, let me kiss this pure white princess, this blissful seal of happiness!‚

She pulled her hand away. ‘Oh cruel! Oh hell! I see that you‚re all determined to make fun of me. If you were decent and had any manners you wouldn‚t hurt me like this. Can‚t you just hate me, as I know you do, without joining together to mock me as well? If you were the men you seem to be you wouldn‚t abuse a gentle lady like this: making vows and swearing your love and exaggerating my qualities when I know that you hate me, really. You‚re rivals in loving Hermia. Now you‚re rivals in mocking Helena. Very nice! Very manly! To make a poor girl cry with your derision! No gentleman would offend a virgin so badly and try her so sorely, just for fun!‚

‘You‚re being cruel, Demetrius,‚ said Lysander. ‘Don‚t be, because you love Hermia. You know that and so do I. Here, with all goodwill, with all my heart, I surrender my share on Hermia‚s love to you. And you must surrender your love for Helena to me. I love her and will to my dying day.‚

‘You‚re both wasting your time!‚ exclaimed Helena.

‘Keep your Hermia,‚ said Demetrius. ‘I don‚t want her. If I ever loved her all that love has gone. My heart was only visiting her and has now returned home to Helena, and it‚s going to stay there.‚

Lysander appealed to Helena. ‘That‚s not true,‚ he said.

‘Don‚t minimise my feelings, because you don‚t understand them,‚ said Demetrius. ‘You may pay dearly for it if you do. But look, your love is here. This is your sweetheart.‚

Hermia burst into the clearing. Her relief as she saw Lysander was evident. She ran to him. ‘The darkness that stops us from seeing makes the hearing more sensitive,‚ she said. ‘I couldn‚t see you but I heard you, and here I am. But why did you leave me so cruelly?‚

‘Why should a man stay when love urges him on?‚ said Lysander.


‘What love could urge Lysander away from me?‚

‘Lysander‚s beloved,‚ he said, ‘that wouldn‚t let him stay. Beautiful Helena, who lights the night more brightly than all those fiery stars and planets. Why are you looking for me? Can‚t you see that my hatred for you made me leave you like that?

‘You don‚t mean that,‚ she said. ‘It can‚t be!‚

‘Aha!‚ exclaimed Helena. ‘She‚s part of this conspiracy! Now I understand that all three of you have joined in this cruel game to get at me. What an insult! Hermia, you‚re a most ungrateful girl! Are you a part of this? Have you conspired with them to torment me with this cruel mockery? Have you forgotten all the confidences we‚ve shared, the sister‚s vows the hours that we‚ve spent together, resenting the swiftly passing time for parting us? Our friendship from schooldays and our early childhood innocence? Hermia! We‚ve sat like two gods doing their creative work. We‚ve worked together closely, weaving a flower on a tapestry together, shared one cushion, sung the same song in the same key as if our hands, our sides, our voices and our minds had been one. That‚s how we grew up together: like a double cherry, appearing separate but really one cherry divided into two parts: two lovely berries growing on one stem, sharing one heart, although with two bodies. We were like a coat of arms on a shield, one on either side but crowned with a single crest. And you want to tear our longstanding love apart! By joining with two men in mocking me! It‚s unfriendly and unfeminine. Any woman would agree, but I‚m the only one you‚re doing it to.‚

‘I‚m amazed by this outburst,‚ said Hermia. ‘I‚m not mocking you. I feel that you‚re mocking me!‚

‘Haven‚t you put Lysander up to following me, praising my eyes and face in mockery? And made your other lover, Demetrius, who kicked me just a few minutes ago, call me a goddess, ‘nymph‚, divine and unique, precious, heavenly? Why is he saying that to a woman he hates? And why is Lysander denying that he loves you, when he loves you so much? And swear love for me, for God‚s sake, if you hadn‚t put him up to it? And I – not nearly as blessed as you – so smothered in love, so lucky, but miserable in loving, but not being loved in return. You should pity me rather than despise me!‚

‘I don‚t know what you‚re talking about!‚ exclaimed Hermia.

‘Oh yes, I believe you! Go on, put on sad looks, pull faces behind my back, wink at each other and keep this hilarious joke going. This will be a classic prank. If you had any pity, compassion or manners you wouldn‚t do this to me! But goodbye. It‚s partly my own fault, although my death or disappearance will soon put it right!‚

Helena turned to go but Lysander grabbed her hand. ‘Don‚t go, dear Helena,‚ he said. ‘Listen to me. My love, my life, dearest Helena!‚

‘Oh, very funny!‚ said Helena.

Hermia took hold of Lysander‚s other hand. ‘Dearest, don‚t mock her like that,‚ she said.

Lysander pulled his hand away and turned his back on her. ‘I love you, Helena,‚ he continued. ‘On my life, I do. I swear by this life I would lose on your behalf, to fight any man who says I don‚t love you!‚


Demetrius took her other hand and fell on his knees too. ‘I insist, I love you more than he could ever!‚ Lysander sprang up. ‘Do you? Then come with me and prove it!‚

‘Come on then!‚ said Demetrius. ‘Quickly!‚

Hermia pulled at Lysander‚s sleeve. ‘Lysander!‚ she pleaded, ‘where‚s this going?‚

Lysander struggled to free himself. ‘Get off, you black…!‚ he shouted,‚ but she hung on.

Demetrius pointed at him. ‘That‚s right,‚ he said, ‘make out as though you can‚t shake her off. You‚re a coward. Bah!‚

Hermia had strengthened her grip on his sleeve and now she tripped him up, and as he fell to the ground she jumped on him and pinned him down, straddling him.

‘Get off me, you cat!‚ he shouted. ‘You burr, you vile thing. Let go, or I‚ll shake you off like a snake!‚ ‘Why have you turned so nasty?‚ she said. She tried to kiss him and he turned his head from side to side, avoiding her lips. ‘Why this change, my darling love?‚

‘Your love?‚ Get off!‚ he yelled. ‘You swarthy Tartar! Get off me you foul–tasting medicine. Get away!‚ She pushed his shoulders firmly against the ground and held them there. ‘Surely you‚re joking,‚ she said.

Helena watched them struggling. She wasn‚t convinced. ‘Yes he is,‚ she said, ‘and so are you.‚ Demetrius was laughing, a loud, forced, hollow laugh.

‘My challenge still stands, Demetrius!‚ exclaimed Lysander, still struggling to get Hermia off him. ‘I wish your guarantor were here!‚ exclaimed Demetrius, still laughing. ‘You don‚t seem very strongly supported.‚ He watched his opponent trying in vain to free himself from this tiny but determined woman. ‘Your word isn‚t bond enough for me!‚

‘What? Do you want me to hurt her, hit her, kill her? As much as I hate her I can‚t hurt her like that.‚ Helena slapped his cheek hard. ‘What? Do you think you could hurt me more than you do by hating me? Hate me, do you?‚ She slapped his other cheek. Why? Aren‚t I Hermia? Aren‚t you Lysander? I haven‚t changed. You loved me this afternoon and yet you left me tonight. So when you left me sleeping…‚ She gasped as the realisation struck her. ‘Oh, God forbid! Must I accept that you meant it?‚

‘Yes, on my life,‚ he shouted. ‘And I never wanted to see you again. So abandon hope: abandon argument, abandon doubt. Understand that nothing could be more true. I‚m not joking. I hate you and I love Helena.‚ Hermia stared down at him. His face was red and contorted. She could see he meant it. She got up slowly, allowing him to sit up.

‘Poor me,‚ she said. Then she turned on Helena, her eyes blazing. ‘You cheat!‚ she exclaimed. ‘You deceiver, you love thief! What? Have you come under cover of darkness and stolen my love‚s heart from him?‚ ‘That‚s rich, coming from you,‚ said Helena. ‘Have you no modesty, no maidenly shame, no blushes? Are you trying to provoke me into going against my nature and answer you roughly? Shame on you, you phoney. You… puppet, you!‚

‘Puppet?‚ said Hermia. ‘Oh, I see it now: I understand your game. She‚s comparing our heights now. She‚s bragged about how tall she is. And she‚s used that to win him over. And have you become so high in his esteem because I‚m so short and dwarfish?‚ She advanced on Helena and stood before her. ‘Go on, tell me, how short am I? I‚m not too short for my nails to reach your eyes!‚

Lysander and Demetrius acted as one: each grabbed an arm, preventing her from touching Helena.

Helena stepped back in alarm. ‘Please gentlemen, although this is some kind of joke, don‚t let her hurt me. I‚ve never been cussed, I‚m not in any way shrewish: I‚m a typically modest girl. Don‚t let her hit me. You probably think I can match her because she‚s shorter than me.‚

Hermia had been struggling against the strong grasp of her captors and she squirmed even more at that. ‘Shorter! Did you hear that? She said it again!‚

There were tears in Helena‚s eyes. ‘Dear friend, Hermia,‚ she said. ‘Don‚t be so bitter with me. I‚ve always loved you, Hermia, always kept your secrets: never done you wrong, except that because of my love for Demetrius, I told him about your plan to steal away to this wood. He followed you and I followed him out of love. But he has told me to leave him, threatened to hit me, and yes, even kill me.‚ She gave him a reproachful look and he was about to object, but she stopped him with a raised hand. ‘And now, if you‚ll let me go quietly, I‚ll take my foolishness back to Athens and leave you alone. Let me go. You see how naive and stupid I am?‚

They had loosened their grip on Hermia and she glared at Helena. ‘Well go then! Who‚s stopping you?‚

‘A foolish heart, that I‚m going to leave behind here.‚

‘What? With Lysander?‚

‘With Demetrius.‚

Hermia looked as though she was going to attack Helena again and Lysander stepped in front of Helena. ‘‚Don‚t be afraid,‚ he said. ‘She won‚t hurt you!‚

Demetrius also came between them. ‘No, sir, she won‚t,‚ he said. ‘Even though you‚re ‘protecting‚ her.‚ He laughed scornfully.

‘Oh, when she‚s angry she‚s sharp–tongued and spiteful,‚ said Helena. ‘She was a vixen at school, and although she‚s tiny, she‚s fierce.‚

‘Tiny!‚ exclaimed Hermia. ‘Again! Nothing but short, and tiny? How can you let her insult me like this? Let me get at her!

Both men moved to stop her. ‘Be off with you, you dwarf!‚ said Lysander. ‘You midget, made of tangle–weed! You bead! You acorn!‚

Demetrius pushed Lysander. ‘You‚re sticking your nose in where you‚re not wanted. She doesn‚t need your help. Leave her alone. Don‚t utter Helena‚s name, and don‚t speak for her. Just show any love for her at all and you‚ll regret it.‚

‘She‚s not holding on to me now, so follow me, if you dare, to decide who has the greatest right to Helena!‚ said Lysander.

He turned and began walking. Demetrius caught up with him. ‘Follow you? No, I‚ll go with you, side by side!‚ They walked swiftly into the wood, their hands on their swords.

Hermia rounded angrily on Helena. ‘You, madam!‚ she exclaimed. ‘All this trouble is because of you!‚ Helena turned to run. ‘No, don‚t go!‚ shouted Hermia.

‘I don‚t trust you,‚ said Helena. ‘And I won‚t stay here in your cursed company any longer. Your hands are more ready for a fight than mine are, but my legs are longer, though, to run away.‚

She plunged into the wood and Hermia stood for a moment. She was stunned and didn‚t know what to think about it all. Then she ran after Helena.

Oberon floated down from the tree branch and beckoned to Puck. The Fairy King looked sternly at him. ‘This is your negligence,‚ he said. ‘Another mistake. Or else you‚re playing roguish tricks on purpose.‚

‘Believe me, king of spirits,‚ said Puck, ‘I made a mistake. Didn‚t you tell me I would know the man by the Athenian clothes he was wearing? So I‚m not entirely to blame, because I did anoint an Athenian‚s eyes. And I‚m pleased with the way it turned out because it was great fun.‚

‘You saw that these lovers were looking for a place to fight,‚ said Oberon, ‘so go, Robin, and cloud the sky with a low–lying fog, as black as Acheron, the river of Hell, and lead these angry rivals astray so that they won‚t find each other. Imitate Lysander‚s voice and provoke Demetrius with spiteful comments, then, at another time, rave like Demetrius. And in that way, make sure that you keep them apart till a heavy sleep, on leaden legs and bat–like wings, creeps over their eyes. Then crush this herb into Lysander‚s eyes: its juice has the special power to remove all errors and make his eyes see as they did before. When they wake up all this nonsense will seem like a meaningless dream. And they‚ll all find their way back to Athens with a close friendship that will last for the rest of their lives. And while I have you working on this task I‚ll go to my queen and beg the Indian boy from her. And then I‚ll release her from the monster and everything will be fine.‚

‘My fairy lord, this must be done quickly. The night is almost over. The morning star is heralding the dawn and wandering ghosts are returning to churchyards. The spirits of the damned, who are buried at crossroads, or who lie in the rivers in which they drowned, have already gone back to their wormy graves, afraid that their shame will be exposed in daylight. They deliberately avoid the light, so they must consort with the black night for eternity.‚

‘But we are spirits of a different kind,‚ said Oberon. ‘I‚ve often flirted with the sun and can walk in the forest groves like any forester, even after dawn. But in any case, hurry: don‚t waste time. We could get this business done before the day begins.‚

Puck watched Oberon disappear into the wood then looked around. When he found them he would lead them up and down and all over the place. The moon had disappeared behind a cloud and it was pitch black. Ah, here was one of them, shouting. It was Lysander. Puck darted behind a tree.

‘Where are you? Arrogant Demetrius, say something now!‚

Puck peeped round the tree trunk. Imitating Demetrius‚ voice he shouted back at Lysander: ‘I‚m here, villain Ready and drawn. Where are you?‚

‘I‚m coming to get you,‚ said Lysander.

‘Follow me, then to flatter ground,‚ said Demetrius‚ voice.

Lysander followed the direction of the voice and Puck doubled back and listened to him crashing through the undergrowth. And here was Demetrius, straining to hear Lysander‚s voice.

‘Lysander!‚ he called. ‘Say something. You runaway: you coward! Have you run away? Speak!‚ He began poking about in the bushes with his sword. ‘Are you in one of these bushes? Where are you hiding?‚

Puck imitated Lysander‚s voice: ‘You coward,‚ he shouted. ‘You‚re only bragging to the stars, telling the bushes that you want a fight, but won‚t come. Come on, you baby. Come on, little boy: I‚ll thrash you with a cane – it would be an insult to my sword to draw it on you!‚

‘You will, will you?‚ said Demetrius. ‘You‚re there, are you?‚

‘Follow my voice,‚ shouted Puck. ‘We won‚t test our manhood here.‚

Needless to say, they didn‚t encounter each other, and Puck exhausted them with his tricks and illusions. Eventually Lysander could take no more and he stopped, gasping for breath.

‘He goes ahead of me and keeps daring me on,‚ he said, so tired that he talked to himself. ‘When I go towards his voice he‚s gone again. The villain is far more light–footed than I am. I followed him as fast as I could but he ran even faster, and now I find myself on a piece of bumpy ground. I‚m going to rest here.‚

He closed his eyes. He would wait till daylight and as soon as the dawn arose he would find Demetrius and take his revenge. Before long he was snoring.

It took no more than a minute for Puck to find Demetrius, who was taking a few steps then stopping to listen, a few more steps, stopping, listening. And then he heard Lysander‚s voice: ‘Oh ho, coward! What‚s keeping you?‚

‘Wait for me if you dare!‚ shouted Demetrius. ‘I‚m fully aware that you‚re running ahead of me and moving all over the place, and daren‚t stop and face me. Where are you now?‚

‘Come on,‚ called Puck. ‘I‚m here!‚

‘Fine, then,‚ said Demetrius. ‘You choose to mock me instead. You‚ll pay for this as soon as I see your face by daylight. Suit yourself then: I‚m so tired that I‚m forced to stop and stretch out on this cold ground. But be sure that I‚ll get you when it‚s light.‚ He lay down and fell into a deep sleep.

By co–incidence, Helena, also lost and tired, wandered on to the piece of ground where the two young men lay asleep. She didn‚t see them. What a weary night it had been, what a long and tedious night. She wished it could be shorter, that comfort would come from the east so that she could go back to Athens by daylight, far away from her erstwhile friends who disliked her company so much now. She decided to lie down and try to sleep. Sleep sometimes made you forget your sorrows and removed you from your own company for a while. She lay down and fell asleep immediately.

Puck hadn‚t finished yet. There were still only three. One more, and it would make up two pairs of lovers. Ah, but here she was, looking sad and angry. Cupid was a knavish child, to drive poor women mad like this.

Hermia staggered into the clearing and sank to the ground. She had never been so tired, and never been so unhappy. She was wet with the dew, torn with briars: she couldn‚t crawl an inch further, much as she would like to, but her legs wouldn‚t let her. She would rest there till daylight. Her last thought as she slipped into sleep was a plea to heaven to protect Lysander if they really intended to fight.

All four lay sleeping on the ground. Puck knew that it was Lysander who had to have the spell taken off him. Demetrius would still be in love with Helena when he woke up so there was nothing that had to be done in his case. He went and knelt beside Lysander.

‘On the ground
Sleep sound
I‚ll apply
To your eye
Gentle lover, remedy.‚
He squeezed the juice on Lysander‚s eyes.
‘When you awake
You will take
True delight
In the sight
Of your former lady‚s eye.‚

The saying, ‘every man is entitled to his own‚ would be proved when he woke up. Jack would have his Jill and nothing would go ill. The man will have his mare again and all will be well.

Modern Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act 4, Scene 1

Oberon watched his queen enjoying her new–found love – enjoying him almost as much as the monster was enjoying his new love. She was leading him by the hand towards a sweet–smelling flower bed, and he followed her with his monstrous head held high in an attitude of great arrogance and a sense of his worth having been recognised at last.

‘Come,’ she was saying, ‘sit down on this flowery bed, while I stroke your beautiful cheeks and put musk–roses in your sleek, smooth head, and kiss your lovely big ears, my gorgeous joy.’

Bottom frowned, drawing his lips back to present a grotesque expression. ‘Where’s Peaseblossom?’ he said.

‘Ready,’ said the tiny elf, who was right behind him. Bottom sat down among the flowers and bowed his head towards the elf. ‘Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where’s Monsieur Cobweb?’

Ready,’ said Cobweb, stepping forward smartly.

‘Monsieur Cobweb, good sir, take hold of your weapons and kill a red–legged bumble–bee on top of a thistle for me. And, good monsieur, bring me the honey–bag. Be careful in the action, monsieur, and, good sir, watch out that you don’t damage the honey–bag. I wouldn’t like you to be flooded by a honey–bag, signior.’ His huge head swayed slowly. ‘Where’s Monsieur Mustardseed?’

‘Ready!’ Mustardseed snapped to attention.

Bottom thrust his hand towards the fairy. ‘Give me your mit, Monsieur Mustardseed. No, no….’ Bottom laughed his raucous, braying laugh as his delighted mistress watched her servant bowing to her lover. ‘No need to curtsey, good monsieur.’

‘What do you want me to do?’ said Mustardseed.

‘Nothing, dear sir,’ said Bottom, ‘except to help Captain Cobweb to scratch my face. I need to go to the barber’s, good monsieur, because I think my face is very hairy. And I’m such a sensitive ass that, if my hair tickles me, I can’t help scratching.’

Titania stroked his face tenderly. ‘Would you like to listen to some music, my sweet love?’ she said.


‘I’ve got quite a good ear for music,’ said Bottom. ‘Lets have the triangles and the clappers!’

‘Or tell me, sweet love, what you’d like to eat.’

‘To tell you the truth, a large helping of animal fodder.’ The monster smacked its lips, dribbling profusely. ‘I could munch some good dry oats. I think I’ve got a huge craving for a bundle of hay. Good, sweet hay! There’s nothing like it!’

‘I have a fairy scout who’ll find a squirrel’s hoard and bring you some of its freshest nuts.’

‘I’d rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But I’d appreciate it if none of your people disturbed me. I’ve become very sleepy.’

‘Sleep then, and I’ll hold you in my arms,’ she said.

He settled down beside her and she put her arms around him. ‘Off you go, fairies,’ she said. ‘Go your various ways.’ She held the loudly snoring Bottom close, pulled him to her and entwined her limbs around his. It was like the way the woodbine twists around the honeysuckle and the ivy round the barky branches of the elm. Oh, how she loved him! How in love she was!

She fell asleep.

Oberon rubbed his hands gleefully and looked up as his servant arrived.

‘Welcome, good Robin,’ he said. ‘Do you see this sweet sight? I’m beginning to pity her in her infatuation, because, a short while ago, I found her behind this copse, looking for garlands for this loathsome creature. I reprimanded her and we quarrelled, because she had placed a crown of fresh, sweet–smelling flowers round his hairy temples. The dewdrops that once formed like eastern pearls on the buds, now swelled like tears inside the petals, as though crying with shame. When I got tired of taunting her, during which she had asked me politely to stop, I asked her for the changeling child. She immediately agreed and sent a fairy to take him to my fairyland headquarters. Now that I have the boy I’ll remove the spell that distorted her vision so badly. And, gentle Puck, take this ass’s head off this Athenian peasant so that when he wakes up beside the others they can all go back to Athens thinking no more about the strange events of this night than that they were only the fantasies of a dream. But I’ll release the fairy queen first.’

He touched Titania’s eyelids with the flower.
‘Be as you have always been:
See as you have always seen.
Dian’s bud over Cupid’s flower
Has such force and magic power.
Now, Titania, awake, my sweet queen.’

Titania stirred and opened her eyes. She smiled and took her husband’s hand. He helped her up and she rubbed her eyes. ‘My Oberon! What a dream I had. I dreamt I was in love with an ass!’


Oberon pointed to Bottom, still snoring, wheezing, his donkey’s ears twitching. ‘There lies your love.’ Titania shuddered and crept into Oberon’s arms. ‘How did this happen? Oh how loathsome he looks now!’

‘Shhhhh! Quiet now. Robin, take off the ass’s head. Titania, call for some music. Robin, put these five into a deep sleep, deeper than normal.’

Titania summoned her fairy musicians, who began playing softly on their recorders. Bottom’s snores stopped as he fell deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. Puck waved his hand over the sleeping form and the ass’s head was transformed into the shape and features of Bottom’s familiar head. ‘Now when you wake up, see with your own foolish eyes!’ he said.

‘Louder!’ Oberon told the musicians. ‘Come, my queen, hold hands, and let’s rock the ground that these sleepers are lying on.’ They began dancing. Oberon was smiling happily. ‘Now we’re friends again. And tomorrow at midnight we’ll dance formally at Duke Theseus’ house, and bless it with enduring prosperity. This pair of lovers will be married there, with Theseus, amidst great merrymaking.’

Puck looked at him suddenly. ‘Fairy king, take note and hark: I can hear the morning lark.’

‘Then my queen, let’s disappear in silence,’ said Oberon. ‘Let’s escape the day. We can fly round the world more swiftly than the moon.’

‘Come my lord, and as we fly, tell me how I came to be found sleeping with these mortals on the ground tonight.’

The five mortals slept on as the sun began to peep through the eastern clouds. They slept through the piercing trumpets of Theseus’ hunting party, which came to a stop near them. None of the duke’s party saw them at first. Hippolyta and Hermia’s father, Egeus, were among them.

Theseus’ horse was rearing to go but he kept it reined in. He turned to his followers. ‘One of you go and find the park–keeper. We’ve finished hunting for the time being, and since it’s still early, my love will hear the barking of my hounds. Let them loose in the western valley. Let them go!’ He instructed another attendant: ‘Hurry, I say. Find the park–keeper.’

The attendant hurried off and Theseus smiled at his bride–to–be. ‘Lovely queen, we’ll go to the top of the mountain and listen to the sound of the baying as it re–echoes down below.’

‘I was once in a wood in Crete with Hercules and Cadmus, where they were bear–hunting with Spartan hounds,’ she said. ‘I’ve never heard such wonderful barking: not only the groves but the skies, the fountains and everywhere around all seemed to echo in harmony. I hadn’t ever heard such musical discord, so full of thunder, yet so sweet.’

‘My hounds are related to the Spartan breed, jowelled and coloured the same, with ears that trail the ground, sweeping the morning dew. They’re bow–legged and dew–lapped like the bulls of Thessaly: slow runners but with barks like church bells, each harmonising with the others. No more musical a cry ever supported the hunters’ calls, or was cheered on by the hunters’ horns in Crete, Sparta or Thessaly. Judge for yourself when you hear them.’

Theseus turned his horse. It took only a few steps before Theseus spied the two young women sleeping on the ground. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Who are these young ladies?’


Egeus dismounted, took a close look at them and turned with a puzzled expression. ‘My lord, this is my daughter asleep here.’ He pointed to where the young men lay, a little apart. ‘And this is Lysander. This Demetrius, and this Helena, old Nedar’s Helena. I can’t understand why they’re all here together.’

‘No doubt they got up early to celebrate May Day,’ said Theseus, ‘and hearing that we were coming here, wanted to join us. But tell me, Egeus – isn’t this the day that Hermia has to tell us her decision?’

‘It is, my lord.’

Theseus signalled to his followers. ‘Wake them with your horns.’

The noise was so loud and close that the four lovers started up as one. They were astonished to find all those people and the duke leaning down from his horse and smiling.

‘Good morning, friends,’ he said. ‘St Valentine’s day has passed. Are these love birds only just beginning to couple?’

The four sprang up then went down on their knees.

‘Pardon us, my lord,’ said Lysander.

‘Please get up,’ said Theseus. He looked from Demetrius to Lysander. ‘I know you two are rivals. How did this peaceful harmony between you come about, that your mutual hatred doesn’t make you distrust each other? That you can sleep side by side without fear?’

‘My lord, I will reply with bewilderment, half asleep and half awake. Right now, I can’t really tell you how I got here. I think… and I’d like to speak with honesty… Um, oh yes, now I remember: this is what happened: I came here with Hermia. We intended to leave Athens for somewhere where we might, out of reach of the Athenian law…’

‘That’s enough!’ interrupted Egeus. ‘It’s enough, my lord: you’ve heard enough! I beg the law. The law! On his head! They would have run away. They would, Demetrius! They would have defeated both of us: cheated you of your wife, and me of my consent – of my permission that she should be your wife.’

Egeus’ face was red. Demetrius avoided looking at him. His face was troubled and he darted glances at Helena. ‘My lord,’ he said at last, ‘the beautiful Helena told me about their secret plan, and their reasons for coming to this wood. I followed them here in my fury and the beautiful Helena followed me out of her love for me. But my good lord, I don’t know by what power – but there was some power – my love for Hermia melted like the snow. Now it seems like the memory of a futile toy that I was obsessed with in my childhood. Helena is everything – my whole life, my heartbeat, the object and the pleasure of my eyes. My lord, I was engaged to her before I saw Hermia. In the way that one goes off one’s favourite food when one’s sick, I went off Helena, but now I’m restored to health. Now I’m loving, wishing and longing for my favourite food and will be faithful to it forever.’


Theseus sought Egeus eyes. Egeus shrugged impatiently and turned away, saying nothing. Theseus smiled. ‘Dear lovers,’ he said, ‘this is a fortunate meeting. We’ll hear more of this story later. Egeus, I’ll retract my judgment These couples will be married alongside us in the temple. And because the day is getting on we’ll set today’s hunt aside. Back to Athens, then, all three couples. We’ll hold a great feast. Come Hippolyta.’ The hunt rode off, leaving the two couples.

‘It’s all so strange,’ said Demetrius. ‘Vague and unclear, like mountains that are so far away that they could be mistaken for clouds.’

‘I think I’m seeing double,’ said Hermia.

‘Me too,’ said Helena. ‘Demetrius is like a jewel I’ve found. Mine and yet not mine.’

‘Are you sure we’re awake?’ said Demetrius. ‘It seems to me that we’re still asleep – dreaming. Didn’t you think that the duke was just here, and that he told us to follow him?’

‘And Hippolyta,’ said Helena.

‘And he told us to follow him to the temple,’ said Lysander.

‘Well then, we are awake!’ exclaimed Demetrius. ‘Let’s follow him. And let’s recount our dreams on the way.’

Bottom opened his eyes. ‘When my cue comes, call me and I’ll answer,’ he murmured. ‘My next one is “most fair Pyramus”. He got up unsteadily, yawning. He stretched. He looked to left and right, and all around. ‘Hey! Ho! Peter Quince!’ he called. ‘Flute the bellows–mender! Snout the tinker! Starveling! Bless me!’

They had all sneaked off and left him asleep. He’d had a dream and it was impossible to describe it: any man trying to would make an ass of himself. He had thought he was… He couldn’t say the word. He thought he was, and he thought he had… but a man would be a fool to try and put it into words. Man’s eye had never heard, man’s ear had never seen, man’s hand had never tasted, his tongue never conceived, or his heart spoken what his dream had been. He would get Peter Quince to write a ballad about that dream. It would be called ‘Bottom’s Dream’ because it had no bottom. He would sing it at the end of the play in front of the duke. Perhaps, to make it more gracious, he would sing it when Thisbe died.

Modern Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act 4, Scene 2

Quince admitted three of his actors to his workshop. ‘Have you been to Bottom’s house?’ he said. ‘Has he come home yet?’

‘No–one’s heard from him. He’s been snatched without a doubt,’ said Starveling.

‘If he doesn’t turn up the play will be ruined,’ said Flute. ‘We won’t be able to do it, will we?’

‘It would be impossible,’ said Quince. ‘There’s not a man in Athens capable of playing Pyramus except him.’

Flute shook his head gravely. ‘No, he’s simply got more talent than any journeyman in Athens.’

‘Yes, and with the best presence too,’ said Quince. ‘And a voice that makes him a paramour.’

Flute’s hand went up and Quince nodded to him. ‘You mean ‘paragon’. Flute giggled. ‘A ‘paramour’ is, God bless us, something naughty!’

Quince was about to reply when Snug arrived. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘the duke is coming from the temple and two or three more lords and ladies have been also been married there. If we’d been able to put on our entertainment we would have made our fortunes.’

‘Oh sweet bully Bottom!’ exclaimed Flute. ‘By his disappearance he’s lost a pension of sixpence a day for the rest of his life! He couldn’t have missed getting sixpence a day! I’ll be hanged if the duke wouldn’t have given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus. He would have deserved nothing less than sixpence a day for Pyramus.’

They all turned to the door in amazement as they heard Bottom’s voice. ‘Where are you, lads?’ he bellowed. ‘Where are you my brave lads?’ He appeared in the doorway.

‘Bottom!’ Quince ran to him and embraced him. ‘Oh, this is a great day. What a happy moment!’

‘Lads, I’ve got some amazing things to tell you,’ said Bottom, when they had stopped jumping up and down, ‘but don’t ask me what they are because if I tell you then I’m no true Athenian. I’ll tell you everything exactly as it happened.’

‘Let’s hear it, dear Bottom,’ said Quince.


‘My lips are sealed,’ said Bottom. ‘All I’ll say is that the duke has dined. Get your costumes ready, strong strings on your beards, new laces in your shoes and meet straight away at the palace. Everyone must go over his part because the long and the short of it is that our play has been chosen. In any event, Thisbe must have clean clothes, and he who is playing the lion mustn’t cut his nails because they must hang out like lion claws. And, dear actors, don’t eat any onions. Or garlic. Because we’ve got to speak with a sweet breath, then I’m sure that the audience will say it’s a sweet comedy. No more words now. Let’s go!’

Modern Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act 5, Scene 1

The weddings were over and the newly married couples had returned to the palace for the celebrations. Theseus and Hippolyta were in the great hall with their party organiser, Philostrate, to talk over the final arrangements and greet their guests.

‘These are strange things these lovers have told us, my Theseus,’ said Hippolyta.

‘Too strange to be true,’ said Theseus. ‘I don’t believe those ancient legends, nor those stories about fairies. Lovers and madmen have such creative minds, such fertile imaginations, that they think up much more fantasy than we more rational people do. The lunatic, the lover and the poet are all very imaginative. The one sees more devils than hell can hold. That’s the madman. The lover, just as frantic, sees Helen of Troy’s beauty in the face of a gypsy. The poet’s eye, rolling with inspiration, ranges from heaven to earth and back again, his imagination creating new ideas and his pen turning them into words, pinning abstract things down in concrete terms. A powerful imagination can play such tricks that, if it thinks about something wonderful, it assumes that there must be a supernatural explanation. For example, in the night, imagining there’s something to fear, it’s easy to mistake a bush for a bear.’

Hippolyta wasn’t so sure that it was pure fantasy. ‘But their stories were the same and they were all under this spell together. That suggests that there’s more to it than mere fabrication. It adds up to something quite convincing, however strange and unnatural it may be.’

‘And here come the lovers,’ said Theseus as the four arrived. ‘All full of joy and high spirits. Happiness, dear friends: joy and many days of everlasting love be with you!’

Lysander bowed. ‘May even more of it grace your royal walks, your table and your bed.’

The newly–weds joined their friends from Athens and talked excitedly to them as the hall filled up with guests. Supper was served and the atmosphere was splendid. Eventually Theseus called for silence.

‘Well now,’ he said. ‘What entertainment – masques or dances – are we going to have to fill the three hours between the end of our supper and bed–time? Where is our party manager? What amusement has been arranged? Isn’t there a play to ease the agony of an inactive moment? Where’s Philostrate?’


‘Here, mighty Theseus.’

‘What entertainment have you got for this evening? What masque? What music? How will we pass these idle hours without some pleasure?’

‘Here’s a list of the entertainment that’s ready,’ said Philostrate. ‘Choose which your highness would like to see first.’

Theseus scanned the list. He read the first item out loud. ‘The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung by an Athenian eunuch, to the harp.’ He laughed. ‘We won’t have that! I’ve told my love all about those victories of my cousin Hercules.’ He read the next item. ‘The frenzy of the drunk women, tearing the Thracian singer apart in their rage.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s an old one: they performed it last time I returned from conquering Thebes. The nine Muses mourning for the death of Scholarship, which died in poverty. That’s a sharp, critical satire, not appropriate for a wedding celebration. A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus and his love, Thisbe: very tragical comedy. Comical and tragical? Tedius and brief? That’s like hot ice and warm snow. How will we get to the bottom of this nonsense?

‘There’s a play, my lord, that’s ten words long,’ said Philostrate. ‘It’s as short as any play I’ve seen, but it’s too long by ten words, which makes it tedious, for in the whole play there is not one apt word or one suitable actor. This one is certainly tragical because Pyramus kills himself in it. I have to admit that when I watched the rehearsal it brought tears to my eyes, but they were tears of laughter: I’ve never shed more tears of laughter than those!’

‘Who are they who are acting it?’

‘Horny–handed men, workers from Athens here who never did anything intellectual till now but who have forced themselves to the limit with this play, to celebrate your wedding.’

‘And we’ll hear it!’

Philostrate laughed and shook his head. ‘No my noble lord, it’s not for you. I’ve heard it all and it’s useless – completely without merit, unless you can find some pleasure in their good intentions and their extremely hard work, memorising their parts with great suffering, just to serve you.’

Theseus was determined. ‘I will hear that play. Nothing’s worthless that’s offered in that spirit. Show them in. Take your places ladies.’

The guests began taking their seats. Theseus invited the four lovers to sit on the cushions beside him and Hippolyta. As Hipployta took her seat she whispered to her husband: ‘I don’t like to see simple folk overtaxed, and suffer pain, to show duty.’

‘No, my sweetheart, you won’t see any of that.’

‘But he says they can’t do a play like this.’


‘All the kinder of us, then, to thank them for so little,’ he said. ‘We’ll get pleasure from tolerating their inadequacies. When those who offer something out of duty fail it’s important to value their intentions as though they had succeeded. I’ve been to places where high officials have intended to greet me with formal speeches. They’ve shivered and gone pale, paused in the middle of sentences, swallowed their rehearsed words out of nervousness and finally stopped altogether and not welcomed me at all. Trust me, my love, in that silence I nevertheless recognised a welcome, and I valued the simple respect shown by that nervous performance more than the hollow words of slick and arrogant eloquence. In my opinion, lovers and tongue–tied simple men speak most when they speak least.’

There was a hush in the general conversation as Philostrate entered. He smiled. ‘If your grace is ready, the Prologue is about to begin.’

‘Let him come in,’ said Theseus.

Philostrate signalled to the trumpeters and Quince entered to the accompaniment of a royal fanfare. All eyes were on him as he stood in front of the audience. He was dressed in his best suit and he held a scroll. He adjusted his spectacles and unrolled the script. He cleared his throat and spoke very fast:

‘If we offend it’s just what we intend.
So you should know we come not to offend,
But show our simple skill, that’s what is meant,
That is the true beginning of our end.
Consider then, we come here all in spite
We do not come here thinking to content you
Our true intent is. All for your delight,
We are not here. That you should here repent you,
The actors are at hand: and by their show,
You shall know all, that you are like to know.’

Hipplolyta looked at Theseus and frowned. He chuckled. ‘This fellow doesn’t bother with punctuation,’ he whispered.

‘He’s ridden his prologue like a wild colt,’ said Lysander. ‘He hasn’t learnt how to stop it. It’s a good moral, my lord – it’s not enough to speak, one must also speak accurately.’

‘Indeed,’ said Hippolyta, ‘he’s played on his prologue like a child on a recorder: he’s made a sound but it’s all confused.’

Theseus laughed. ‘His speech was like a tangled chain: nothing wrong with each element, but all mixed up.’ A trumpet sounded. Theseus rubbed his hands. ‘Who’s next?’


The company came in and stood, waiting for Quince to finish. Bottom was dressed in the flashy style of fashionable youth: Flute was self–conscious in a long skirt that dropped almost to his boots: Snout held a slab of plaster to represent Wall: Starveling carried a lamp in one hand and a bush in the other, and a very old, docile dog on the end of a leash that was tied to his waist. Snug was draped in the tanned skin of some animal. They stood in a line beside Quince and he introduced them. ‘Gentles, perhaps you’re wondering about this show,

But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
This man is Pyramus, if you must know:’
Bottom bowed deeply then straightened up and winked exaggeratedly at the audience.
‘This beautiful lady’s Thisbe, that’s certain.’
Flute curtseyed, almost tripped over his skirt, and miraculously righted himself.
‘This man with lime and rough cast does present
Wall – that vile wall, which did keep this pair asunder.’
Snout held the slab of plaster up. He stuck his fingers through a hole in it and wiggled them about.
‘And through wall’s chink, poor souls, they are content
To whisper: at which, let no man wonder.’
Pyramus and Thisbe leant forward and stuck their lips on either side of the plaster slab.
This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn
Presents Moonshine: for if you’d like to know,
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn
To meet at Ninus’ tomb, there, there to woo.
This grisly beast, and Lion is his name…’
Snug pawed the air and growled softly.
‘The trusty Thisbe, coming first by night,
Did scare away, or rather did affright:’

Snug made a gesture towards Thisbe and she lifted her skirt and ran a few steps, then stopped and dropped her scarf.
‘And as she fled, her mantle she let fall,
Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.’

Snug obliged with a mouth–smacking assault on the scarf, which he then dropped and went back to his place.
‘And then comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,
And finds his trusty Thisby’s mantle slain:’

Bottom picked up the scarf and mimed an anguished howl
‘On which with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast,’

Bottom drew his dagger and ‘stabbed’ himself repeatedly, then replaced the dagger and fell, with several creative flourishes.
‘And Thisbe, tarrying in mulberry shade…’

Flute drew Pyramus’ dagger and stabbed himself too, falling on top of Bottom.
‘His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall and Lovers twain,
Explain it all, while here they do remain.’

Theseus had been staring at Snug. ‘I wonder if the lion is going to speak,’ he said.

‘Why not, my lord?’ said Demetrius. ‘One lion should be able to if many asses can.’

Snout stepped forward and cleared his throat. Then slowly and carefully, halting in some places, he gave the explanation of his role:

‘In this same entertainment it does befall
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall:
And such a wall, as I would have you think,
That had in it a crannied hole or chink,
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe,
Did whisper often, very secretly.
This loam, this rough–cast, and this stone do show
That I am that same wall: the truth is so.
And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.’


He raised the slab to his face and peeped at the audience through the hole he had dug in it.

‘Could one hope for a better speech from actual lime and horse hair?’ said Theseus.

‘It’s the most clever partition I’ve ever seen acting,’ said Demetrius.

Bottom was sidling towards Snout in the most suspicious way, looking surreptitiously to left and right.
‘Quiet!’ said Theseus. ‘Pyramus is approaching the wall.’

Bottom stopped. He faced the audience squarely. He raised his arm and covered his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘O grim–looked night,’ he began. He took a deep breath. ‘Oh night with hue so black! Oh night that’s always there when day is not! Oh night, oh night: alack!’ He fell to his knees and appealed to the audience: ‘Alack, alack! I fear my Thisbe’s promise is forgot!’ He turned back to the wall. ‘And thou Oh wall! Oh sweet… Oh lovely… wall, that stands between her father’s house and mine. Show me your chink, to blink through with my eye.’

Snout held his hand up smartly and made a gap with his fingers.

‘Thanks, courteous wall,’ said Bottom. ‘Jove protect you well for this!’ He grasped Snout’s hand and brought it up to his eye and strained to look through his fingers. ‘But what see I? No Thisbe do I see.’ He dropped the hand and glared aggressively at Snout. ‘Oh wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss. Cursed be your stones for thus deceiving me!’

Theseus couldn’t contain himself any longer and he laughed out loud. ‘I think, as the wall is sentient, it should retaliate with some curses of its own!’

Bottom’s body relaxed out of its declamatory pose and he took a step towards the Duke to explain that they were only acting. ‘No, really, sir,’ he said. ‘He shouldn’t. “Deceiving me” is Thisbe’s cue. She’ll enter now, and I’m going to see her through the wall. You’ll see, it will be just as I’ve told you. Here she comes.’

Flute walked awkwardly to the wall. He stopped and addressed Wall. ‘Oh Wall, you’ve often heard my moans: for parting Pyramus and me. My cherry lips have often kissed your stones: your stones, with lime and hair mixed up in you.’

Bottom had become rigid, like a hunting dog, at the sound of Thisbe’s voice. When her speech had finished he cupped a hand round his ear. ‘I see a voice! I’ll go now to the chink, to see if I can hear my Thisbe’s face.
Thisbe!’ he called.

‘My love,’ said Flute without much enthusiasm. ‘You are my love, aren’t you?’

‘Think what you like,’ said Bottom, your true love I embrace! And like Limander I am faithful still.’

‘And I, like Helen, till the fates me kill,’ said Flute.

‘Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.’


‘As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.’

Bottom threw his head back and shut his eyes. ‘Oh kiss me through the hole in this vile wall!’ He grabbed Snout’s hand and pushed his lips up against Snout’s fingers. Flute gave Snout’s fingers a peck then stood back. ‘I kiss the wall’s hole, and not your lips at all.’

‘Will you meet me at Ninny’s tomb straight away?’

‘Come life or death, I’ll go without delay.’

They hurried off in different directions. Snout bowed. ‘So now I’m done, my part performed so: and having done, the Wall away does go.’

Theseus was enjoying the play. ‘That means the moon will have to separate the neighbours now,’ he said. ‘This is the silliest stuff I’ve ever heard,’ said Hippolyta.

‘Even the best actors are only pretending,’ said Theseus, ‘and the worst can’t be any worse – with a little imagination.’

‘It would have to be your imagination, then, not theirs!’ she retorted.

‘If we imagine that they’re no worse than they think they are then they’ll be excellent men!’ said Theseus. ‘And here come two noble beasts: a man and a lion.’

Snug and Starveling stepped forward. Snug looked around the audience and smiled:
‘You, ladies, you whose gentle hearts do fear
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
May now, perhaps, both quake and tremble here
When Lion rough in wildest rage does roar.
So if you know that I am not in real life a lion
But Snug the joiner, you’ll be fine
If I should enter with a fright’ning din,
It would be monstrous, I could never win.’

‘A very sensitive beast with a gentle heart,’ said Theseus.

‘A very beast of an actor, my lord,’ laughed Demetrius.

‘This lion has the heart of a fox,’ said Lysander.

‘True, and as cautious as a goose,’ said Theseus.

‘Not so, my lord,’ said Demetrius, ‘because I’m sure that his caution couldn’t overcome his courage. A goose can’t overcome a fox. So much for that. Leave it for him to decide which he is and let’s hear the Moon.’

Starveling held the lamp up. ‘This lantern represents the horned moon.’

Demetrius laughed. ‘He should have worn the horns on his head!’

Starveling repeated his line. ‘This lantern represents the horned moon, and I seem to be the Man in the Moon.’

‘This is the biggest anomaly of all,’ said Theseus. ‘The man should be put inside the lantern. How else could he be the Man in the Moon?’

‘He dare not get inside it because of the candle,’ said Demetrius. ‘It’s already smoking.’

‘I’m tired of this moon,’ said Hippolyta. ‘I wish he would change!’

‘It seems that, judging by the dim light of his intelligence he’s already on the wane,’ said Theseus. ‘But to be fair we must see this one through.’

Starveling stood looking at them. Lysander smiled at him. ‘Carry on, Moon,’ he said.

‘The only lines I have are to tell you that this lantern is the Moon. I’m the Man in the Moon. This thorn–bush is my thorn–bush. This dog is my dog.’

‘All of these should be inside the lantern, because all those are in the moon,’ said Demetrius. ‘But quiet – here comes Thisbe!’

Flute looked around. ‘This is old Ninny’s Tomb,’ he said. ‘Where is my love?’

Snug jumped out at her, looking at the audience. He placed his finger across his lips and roared in a loud whisper. Flute reacted dramatically: he threw his hands up and fled, his boots clomping noisily on the floor. He forgot to drop the scarf. He stopped, came back uncertainly, threw it on the floor and resumed his flight.
The duke and his friends clapped loudly.

‘Well roared, Lion,’ hooted Demetrius.

‘Well run, Thisbe, said Theseus.’

‘Well shone, Moon,’ said Hippolyta. ‘Quite honestly, the moon shines very gracefully.’

Snug attacked the scarf vigorously, making up for his weak roaring.

‘Excellent mouse hunting,’ said Theseus.

The Lion had to pause on his way out to make way for Pyramus, who came forward with great intensity.

‘And then came Pyramus,’ said Demetrius.

‘And so the Lion vanished,’ said Lysander.

Bottom assumed his declamatory posture and began, projecting his voice wonderfully:
‘Sweet Moon, I thank you for your sunny beams.
I thank you, Moon, for shining now so bright,
For by your gracious, golden, glittering gleams
I hope of faithful Thisbe to catch sight.’

He glanced down and started as he saw the scarf. ‘But wait!’ He picked it up and waved it about elaborately. ‘Oh spite!’ he exclaimed.

‘Take note, poor knight,
What dreadful sorrow’s here!
Eyes, do you see?
How can it be?
Oh dainty duck! Oh dear!
Your mantle good.’

He examined the scarf with exaggerated intensity.
‘What! Stained with blood?
Approach, you furies fell!
Oh Fates, come come!
Cut thread and thrum:
Quail, crush, conclude and quell.’

Theseus nodded gravely. ‘Oh yes, this anguish, and the death of a dear friend, would certainly make a man look wretched.’

Hippolyta giggled at her husband’s dry humour. ‘I can’t help feeling sorry for the man,’ she said.

Ignoring them, Bottom continued, warming to his grief:
‘Oh why, oh Nature, did you lions frame,
Since lion vile has here devoured my dear?
Who is…’ he beat his breast… ‘no, no, who was the fairest dame
That lived, that loved, that liked, that looked with cheer.
Come tears, confound!
Out sword and wound
The heart of Pyramus.’

He drew his dagger.
‘Yes, that left side
Where hearts abide
Thus die I.’

He stabbed himself. And again: and again… ‘Thus, thus, thus!’ He swayed, staggered, seemed to fall, righted himself and then fell. He kicked his legs in the air, groaned, writhed a bit more and fell back.
‘Now I am dead,
Now I am fled:
My soul is in the sky.
Tongue, lose your light,
Moon, take your flight!’

Starveling tiptoed away.

Bottom sat up and started dying all over again. ‘Now die, die, die, die, die,’ thrashing about, pulling hideous faces. Then he replaced his dagger, gave a final kick and lay still.

Demetrius pretended to wipe his eyes. ‘He doesn’t need a die to throw: he’s got the ace – death itself.’

‘And won nothing, being dead,’ said Lysander.

Theseus nodded sadly. ‘With the help of a surgeon he could still recover and become a donkey.’

‘Why has Moonshine gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?’ said Hippolyta.

‘She’ll find him by starlight,’ said Theseus. ‘Here she comes, and her passionate response will end the play.’

‘I don’t think she should make a long speech for a Pyramus like this. I hope she’ll be brief!’

Flute was pacing up and down, his hand shading his forehead, searching.

‘It’s a nice distinction as to whether Pyramus or Thisbe is the better actor,’ said Demetrius. ‘He as a man, God preserve us, or she as a woman, God bless us!’

Flute started dramatically.

‘She’s noticed him already, with those sweet eyes,’ said Lysander.

‘And she laments, thus,’ said Demetrius as Flute began his speech:

‘Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my love?
Oh, Pyramus, arise!
Speak, speak! Quite dumb?
Dead, dead? A tomb
Must cover your sweet eyes.’

He knelt beside the inert Bottom.

‘These lily lips, This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks, Are gone, are gone!
Lovers, make moan;
His eyes were green as leeks. Oh Sisters Three,
Come, come to me,
With hands as pale as milk; Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk. Tongue, not a word:
Come, trusty sword!’ He took hold of Bottom’s dagger.

‘Come, blade, my breast imbrue!’ He stabbed himself.

‘And farewell, friends;
Thus this be ends’ He fell across Bottom’s body

‘Adieu, adieu, adieu!’

The audience sat in stunned silence for a moment then Theseus sighed. ‘Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.’

‘Yes, with the help of Wall,’ said Demetrius.

‘No, I assure you,’ said Bottom, standing up. ‘The wall that separated their families has been taken down. Would you like to see the epilogue, or hear a rustic dance by two of our company?’

‘Please, no epilogue!’ exclaimed Theseus. ‘You don’t need to apologise for your play. Don’t apologise: when the actors are all dead no– one can be blamed. Indeed, if the writer had played Pyramus and hanged himself with Thisbe’s garter, it would have been a very satisfying tragedy. But seriously, it was, and performed with great distinction. Come on then, your Bergomask dance. Leave the epilogue out.’ He signalled to the court musicians, who struck up a traditional tune.

The acting company performed their dance then bowed, and made their way out of the hall, the sound of the applause ringing in their ears.

‘The midnight bell has tolled twelve,’ said Theseus. ‘Lovers, to bed; it’s almost fairy time. I’m afraid we’ll oversleep tomorrow as a result of this late night. This utterly ghastly play has made the time pass swiftly. Sweet friends, to bed. We’ll celebrate for a fortnight, with nightly parties and new entertainments.’

Puck, watching the successful conclusion of the day’s and evening’s events, waited until everyone had left then went and stood in the middle of the hall. He had a broom and looked, to all intents and purposes, like the cleaner who had to restore the room to its normal state after a function.

‘Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf howls to the moon,
Whilst the tired ploughman snores,
From the weary tasks they’ve done.
Now the burnt–down logs do glow,
Whilst the screech–owl, screeching loud,
Reminds the wretch who lies in woe
Of a gloomy burial shroud.
Now it is the time of night
When the graves, all gaping wide,
Each sends out its ghostly sprite In the church–way paths to glide. And we fairies, that do run
Like witches in Hecate’s team
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream, Now are joyful; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed house.
I’ve been sent with broom ahead
To sweep the floor when they’re in bed.’

Oberon arrived with Titania and their fairy followers. He gave instructions to the fairies:

‘Through the house give glimmering light
Around the dead and drowsy fire;
Every elf and fairy sprite
Hop as light as bird from briar;
In this ditty follow me,
Sing and dance it trippingly.’

Titania gave her instructions too:

‘First repeat your song by rote,
To each word a warbling note.
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
We will sing and bless this place.’

It was time for the fairy king and queen to bless the house and ensure the fertility of the three couples. Oberon led the fairies into every corner of the house to bless it:

‘Now until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the Duke’s bride–bed go we,
Where the two shall blessed be;
And the children they create
Always shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Always true and loving be,
And mistakes by nature’s hand
Will not in their children stand.
Not a mole, hare–lip, nor scar,
Nor nasty birthmark such as there are
Feared in each nativity
Shall upon their children be.
With this pure and crystal dew,
Every fairy this must do:
Each and every chamber bless,
Through this palace, with sweat peace;
And the owner of it blest
Always will in safety rest.
Trip away without delay,
Meet me all by break of day.’

Puck is left alone to bring the story to an end and he speaks directly to you, the reader.

‘If we actors have offended,
Think only this and all is mended:
That you’ve merely slumbered here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and pointless theme
Had no more meaning than a dream.
Gentle folk don’t reprehend,
If you forgive us we will mend.
And as I am an honest Puck,
Should we have the stroke of luck
Now to escape your serpent’s tongue
We’ll make amends before very long,
Else the Puck a liar call.
So, goodnight unto you all,
Clap your hands if we are friends,
And Robin will soon make amends.’