All language subtitles for A.Midsummer.Nights.Dream.2016.1080p.BluRay.H264.AAC

Theseus! Theseus! Theseus!

Now, fair Hippolyta...

Our nuptial hour draws on apace,

four happy days bring in another moon,

but, O, methinks, how slow
this old moon wanes.

"Four days will quickly
steep themselves in night.

"Four nights will quickly
dream away the time.

"And then the moon,
like to a silver bow new-bent in heaven,

"shall behold the night
of our solemnities."

Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword,
and won thy love, doing thee injuries.

But I will wed thee in another key,

with pomp, with triumph
and with revelling.

Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke.

Thanks, good Egeus.
What's the news with thee?

Full of vexation, come I,

with complaint against my child,
my daughter Hermia.

Stand forth, Demetrius.

My noble lord,
this man hath my consent to marry her.

Stand forth, Lysander.

And my gracious duke,

this man hath bewitched
the bosom of my child.

He hath by moonlight at her window sung,

with feigning voice
verses of feigning love.

♪ Tomorrow is St Valentine's Day

♪ All in the morning betime

♪ And I a maid at your window

♪ To be your valentine ♪

With cunning hast thou
filched my daughter's heart,

turned her obedience,
which is due to me,

to stubborn harshness.

So, my gracious duke,

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,

as she is mine, I may dispose of her,

which shall be either to this gentleman

or to her death.

What say you, Hermia?

Be advised, fair maid,
to you your father should be as a God.

Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

So is Lysander.

I do entreat your grace to pardon me.

I know not by what power I am made bold,

but I beseech your grace that I may know

the worst that may befall me
in this case,

if I refuse to wed Demetrius.

To die the death.

Relent, sweet Hermia,

and, Lysander, yield thy crazed title
to my certain right.

You have her father's love, Demetrius,
let me have Hermia's.

Do you marry him?

For you, fair Hermia,

look you arm yourself to fit
your fancies to your father's will,

or else, the law of Athens
yields you up...

to death.

I may,
for aught that I could ever read,

the course of true love
never did run smooth.

Hear me, Hermia.

I have a widow aunt, a dowager
of great revenue, and she hath no child.

From Athens is her house
remote seven leagues,

and she respects me as her only son.

There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee,

and to that place, the sharp
Athenian law cannot pursue us.

If thou lovest me,

then steal forth thy father's house
later tonight,

and in the wood,
two leagues without the town,

there will I stay for thee.

My good Lysander, come midnight,
truly will I meet with thee.

Keep promise, love.

Oh, look, here comes Helena.

Godspeed, fair Helena.

Whither away?

Call you me "fair"?

Fair again unsay.

Demetrius loves your fair.
O happy fair!

Sickness is catching.

O, were favour so, yours would I catch,
fair Hermia, ere I go.

My ear should catch your voice,
my eye your eye,

my tongue should catch
your tongue's sweet melody.

O, teach me how you look,

and with what art you sway
the motion of Demetrius' heart.

I frown upon him,
yet, he loves me still.

O, that your frowns would
teach my smiles such skill.

The more I hate, the more he follows me.

The more I love, the more he hateth me.

His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

None, but your beauty,
would that fault were mine.

Take comfort,
he no more shall see my face,

Lysander and myself will fly this place.

Helen, to you, our minds we will reveal.

Through Athens' gates
have we devised to steal.

And thence from Athens
turn away our eyes,

to seek new friends
and stranger companies.

Farewell, sweet playfellow.

Pray thou for us,

and good luck grant thee thy Demetrius.

Keep word, Lysander,

we must starve our sight from
lovers' food till later deep midnight.

I will, my Hermia.

Helena, adieu.

As you on him, Demetrius dote on you.

"As you on him, Demetrius dote on you."

Through Athens,
I am thought as fair as she.

But what of that?

Demetrius thinks not so.

Oh...

Love looks not with the eyes,
but with the mind,

and therefore,
is winged Cupid painted blind.

For ere Demetrius
look'd on Hermia's eyne,

and he hail'd down oaths
that he was only mine.

I will go tell him
of fair Hermia's flight.

And into the wood,
will he this very night pursue her.

And for this intelligence
if I have thanks,

it is a dear expense.

But herein mean I to enrich my pain,

to have his sight thither
and back again.

Bottom!

- Good evening.
- Good evening, Bottom.

Good evening, William.

Bottom.

Good even and twenty, good Master Page.

How are you, Bottom?

Mistress, what cheer.

Oh.

And fix most firm thy resolution.

Help from Athens calls.

Trust me now.

Out of this silence
yet I picked a welcome.

All right, all right.

Well done.

Is all our company here?

You were best to call them generally,
man by man, according to the scrip.

Here is the scroll of every man's name,

which is thought fit,
through all Athens,

to play in our interlude
before the duke and duchess,

on his wedding day at night.

Ooh.

Our play is the most lamentable comedy,

and most cruel death
of Pyramus and Thisbe.

- Now, answer as I call you.
- I don't know that one.

Nick Bottom, the weaver.

Ready.

You, Nick Bottom,
are set down for Pyramus.

Ah! What is Pyramus,
a lover, or a tyrant?

A lover, that kills himself,
most gallant for love.

Oh, that will ask some tears
in the true performing of it.

If I do it,
let the audience look to their eyes.

Yeah, I shall move storms.
I will condole in some measure.

Oh. To the rest.

Francis Flute...

Yet my chief humour is for a tyrant.

Oh, I could play Ercles rarely,

or a part to tear a cat in,
to make all split.

The raging rocks and shivering shocks
shall break the locks of prison gates,

and Phibbus' car shall shine from far
and make and mar the foolish fates.

Yeah, this was lofty.

Now, name the rest of the players.

Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

Here, Mistress Quince.

Flute, you must take Thisbe on you.

What is Thisbe, a wandering knight?

It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

To thine own self be true.

Oh, you're a good man.

Oh, oh, oh, and I may hide my face,
let me play Thisbe too.

I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.

Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear.

- My Thisbe dear.
- I'm a lady, dear.

No, you must play Pyramus,

and, Flute, you Thisbe.

Eh, well, proceed.

Robin Starveling, the tailor.

Tom Snout, the tinker.

Here, Mistress Quince.

Robin Starveling,
you must play Thisbe's mother.

Oh.

Tom Snout, Pyramus' father,

myself, Pyramus' mother, and...

Er...

Snug, you join us.

You, the lion's part.

And here, I hope, is a play fitted.

Have you the lion's part written?

Pray you, if it be, give it me,
for I am slow of study.

Oh, you may do it extempore,
for it is nothing but roaring.

Oh, let me play the lion, too.

I will roar, that I will do
any man's heart good to hear me,

I will roar,
that I will make the duke say,

"Let him roar again,
let him roar again."

And you should do it too terribly,

you would fright the duchess
and the ladies,

that they would shriek.

And that were enough to slay us all.

- That would slay us.
- Yeah, every mother's son.

No, no!

I will aggravate my voice

so that I will roar you
as gently as any sucking dove.

Yeah, yeah.

I will roar you
and 'twere any nightingale.

Listen to this. Listen to this.

Roar.

See? Told you.

You must play no part but Pyramus.

Yeah, well, I will undertake it.

Ooh. What beard
were I best to play it in?

Oh, why, what you will.

I will discharge it
in either your straw-coloured beard,

your orange-tawny beard,
your purple-in-grain beard,

or your French-crown-colour beard,
your perfect yellow.

Some of your French crowns
have no hair at all,

and then you will play it barefaced.

- No.
- "Barefaced?"

Masters, here are your parts.

Now, I entreat you, request you,

desire you to con them.

And meet me in the palace wood,
a mile without the town, by moonlight.

There, will we rehearse.
For if we meet in the city,

we will be dogged with company,
and our devices known.

I pray you, fail me not.

At the duke's oak we meet.

We will. And there we may rehearse
most obscenely and courageously.

Take pains,

be perfect.

- A dieu.
- A dieu.

Oh!

A dieu.

- A dieu.
- A dieu.

A dieu.

A dieu.

Shut the door.

Never harm, nor spell nor charm,
come our lovely lady nigh.

Never harm, nor spell nor charm,
come our lovely lady nigh.

Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.

My jealous Oberon.

Fairies, skip hence.

I have forsworn his bed and company.

Tarry, rash wanton.

Am not I thy lord?

Oh, then I must be thy lady.

But I know, when thou hast
stolen away from fairy land,

and in the shape of Corin sat all day,

playing on pipes of corn
and versing love to amorous Phillida.

How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,

glance at my credit with fair Phillida,

knowing I know thy love to Hippolyta?

These are the forgeries of jealousy.

The bouncing Amazon,

your buskin'd mistress
and your warrior love

to Theseus must be wedded.

And now with thy brawls,
thou hast disturb'd our sport.

Therefore the winds,
piping to us in vain,

as in revenge, have suck'd up
from the sea contagious fogs,

which falling on the land
hath every pelting river made so proud

that they have overborne
their continents.

Therefore the moon,
the governess of floods,

pale in her anger, washes all the air,
that rheumatic diseases do abound.

And thorough this distemperature,
we see the seasons alter,

the spring, the summer,
the childing autumn, angry winter,

change their wonted liveries,
and the mazed world,

by their increase,
now knows not which is which.

And this same progeny of evils

comes from our debate,
from our dissension.

We are their parents and original.

The king doth keep
his revels here tonight.

Take heed and you might
join him in this sight.

Either I mistake your shape
and making quite,

or else you are that shrewd and knavish
sprite call'd Robin Goodfellow.

Are not you he?

Thou speak'st aright.

I am that merry wanderer of the night.

I jest to Oberon and make him smile.

Your Oberon is passing fell and wrath.

Do you amend it, then? It lies in you.

Why should Titania cross her Oberon?

How long within this wood
intend you stay?

Perchance till after
Theseus' wedding day.

Give me your hand,
and I will go with thee.

Not for all thy fairy kingdom.

Fairies, away!

We shall chide downright,
if I longer stay.

Well, go thy way,

thou shalt not from this grove
till I torment thee for this injury.

My gentle Puck, come hither.

Thou rememberest
since once I sat upon a promontory,

and heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back

uttering such dulcet
and harmonious breath

that the rude sea
grew civil at her song.

I remember.

That very time I saw,
but thou couldst not,

flying between the cold moon
and the earth, Cupid all arm'd.

A certain aim he took,

and mark'd I where
the bolt of Cupid fell.

It fell upon a little western flower,

before milk-white,
now purple with love's wound.

The juice of it
on sleeping eyelids laid,

will make or man or woman

madly dote upon the next
live creature that it sees.

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,
and drop the liquor of it in her eyes.

The next thing then
she waking looks upon,

be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
on meddling monkey, or on busy ape,

she shall pursue it
with the soul of love.

Fetch me this herb,

and be thou here again
ere the leviathan can swim a league.

I'll put a girdle round about the earth.

In forty minutes.

Who comes here?

I love thee not,
therefore pursue me not.

Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?

The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.

Hence, get thee gone,
and follow me no more.

You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant,

yet you draw not iron,
for my heart is true as steel.

Leave you your power to draw,
and I shall have no power to follow you.

Do I entice you?

Do I speak you fair?

Or, rather, do I not
in plainest truth tell you,

I do not, nor I cannot love you?

Oh, even for that
do I love you the more.

But I am sick when I do look on thee.

And I am sick when I look not on you.

I will not stay thy questions.
Let me go.

Or, if thou follow me, do not believe,

but I shall do thee mischief
in the wood.

Ay, in the temple, in the town,
the field, you do me mischief.

Fie, Demetrius.

I'll follow thee
and make a heaven of hell.

Ooh.

Oh, sorry.

The dove pursues the griffin,

the mild hind makes speed...

Fare thee well, nymph.

I pray thee, give it me.

I know a bank
where the wild thyme blows,

where oxlips
and the nodding violet grows,

quite over-canopied
with luscious woodbine,

with sweet musk roses
and with eglantine,

there sleeps Titania
sometime of the night,

lull'd in these flowers
with dances and delight.

And there, the snake
throws her enamell'd skin,

weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.

What thou seest when thou dost wake,

do it for thy true love take.

Take thou some of it,
and seek thou through this grove,

a sweet Athenian lady is in love
with a disdainful youth.

Anoint his eyes,

but do it when the next thing he espies
may be the lady.

Thou shalt know the man
by the Athenian garments he hath on.

Effect it with some care,

that he may prove more fond on her
than she upon her love.

And look thou meet me ere
the first cock crow.

Fear not, my lord,
your servant shall do so.

When thou wakest, it is thy dear.

Wake when some vile thing is near.

Fair love, I faint
with wandering in the wood,

and to speak truth,
I have forgot our way.

Oh.

Be it so, Lysander.

Find you out a bed,

for I upon this bank will rest my head.

One turf shall serve
as pillow for us both,

one heart, one bed, two bosoms
and one troth.

Two bosoms interchained with an oath.

So then, two bosoms and a single troth.

Lysander riddles very prettily.

Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.

Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I,

and then end life when I end loyalty.

Night and silence, who is here?

Weeds of Athens he doth wear.

Here is my bed.

Sleep give thee all his rest.

With half that wish,
the wisher's eyes be press'd.

Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
all the power this charm doth owe.

Mmm.

Stay, though thou kill me,
sweet Demetrius.

I charge thee, hence,
and do not haunt me thus.

O, wilt thou darkling leave me?

Do not so.

Stay, on thy peril.

I alone will go.

I am out of breath in this fond chase.

The more my prayer,
the lesser is my grace.

Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies,

for she hath blessed
and attractive eyes.

How came her eyes so bright?

Not with salt tears,

if so, mine are oftener wash'd
than hers.

No, no,
I am as ugly as a bear,

for beasts that meet me
run away for fear.

But who is here?

It's Lysander,

on the ground.

Dead or asleep?

I see no blood, no wound.

Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.

And run through fire, I will,
for thy sweet sake.

Transparent Helena!

Nature shows art, that through thy bosom
makes me see thy heart.

Where is Demetrius?

O, how fit a word is that vile name
to perish on my sword.

Do not say so, Lysander, say not so.

What though he love your Hermia?

Lord, what though?

Yet Hermia still loves you,
then be content.

Content with Hermia? No.

I do repent the tedious minutes
I with her have spent.

Not Hermia, but Helena I love.

Who will not change a raven for a dove?

Wherefore was I
to this keen mockery born?

When at your hands
did I deserve this scorn?

Is't not enough...
Is't not enough, young man,

that I did never, no, nor never can,

deserve a sweet look
from Demetrius' eye,

but you must flout my insufficiency?

But fare you well.

Perforce I must confess, I thought
you lord of more true gentleness.

Things growing are not ripe
until their season,

so I, being young,
till now ripe not to reason.

That a lady,
of one man refused,

should of another therefore be abused.

And touching now
the point of human skill,

reason becomes the marshal to my will...

Help me, Lysander, help me!

Ay me, for pity.

What a dream was here.

Lysander, look...

Lysander!

What, removed?

Lysander!

Lord!

Lysander?

Lysander!

Lysander!

Lysander!

It is a marvellous,
convenient place for our rehearsal.

Mmm.

What hempen homespuns
have we swaggering here,

so near to the cradle
of the fairy queen?

Er, Mistress Quince,
there are things in this comedy

of Pyramus and Thisbe
that will never please.

First, Pyramus must draw a sword
to kill himself,

which you ladies cannot abide.

How answer you that?

By'r lakin, a parlous fear.

I believe we must leave the killing out,
when all is done.

Not a whit.
I have a device to make all well.

Write me a prologue,

and let the prologue seem to say,

we will do no harm with our swords,
and that Pyramus is not killed indeed.

And, for the more better assurance,

tell them that I, Pyramus,
am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver.

This will put them out of fear.

Will not you ladies
be afeard of the lion?

I fear it, I promise you.

Masters, you ought to
consider with yourselves,

to bring in, God shield us,
a lion among ladies,

is a most dreadful thing,

for there is not a more fearful
wild-fowl than your lion living,

and we ought to look to 't.

Therefore, another prologue
must tell that he is not a lion.

Nay, you must name his name,

and half his face must be seen
through the lion's neck.

And he himself must speak through,
saying thus, or to the same defect,

"Ladies,"
or "Fair-ladies, I would wish you,"

or "I would request you..."

No, no. "I would entreat you."

Yes, entreat. Entreat, entreat.

"I would entreat you,
not to fear, not to tremble

"my life for yours.

"If you think I come hither as a lion,
it were pity of my life.

"No, I am no such thing.

"I am a man as other men are,"

and there indeed let him name his name,

and tell them plainly
he is Snug the joiner.

If that may be, then all is well.

Come, sit down, every mother's son,
and rehearse your parts.

Pyramus, you begin.

Now, when you have spoken your speech,
enter into that brake.

And so, everyone, according to his cue.

Speak, Pyramus.

Thisbe, stand forth.

- Oh, yeah, yeah.
- Indeed.

No, just a little bit... A little bit.

Oh, no, no.

A little bit... There.

Thisbe, the flowers of odious savours...

"Odours, odours."

- Odours?
- Odours.

Odours, odours, odours.

Oh, odours.

Odours.

Odours.

Oh, yeah. Odours. Odours.

Who knew?

The flowers of "odious" savours sweet,

so hath thy breath,
my dearest Thisbe dear.

But hark, a voice.

Stay thou but here awhile,
and by and by I will to thee appear.

And then I go... Right.

Ah, a stranger Pyramus
than e'er played here.

- Must I speak now?
- Ay, marry, must you,

for you must understand he goes
but to see a noise that he heard,

and is to come again.

"Of colour,
like the red rose on triumphant brier,

"most brisky Juvenal
and eke most lovely Jew,

"as true as truest horse
that yet would never tire,

"I'll meet thee, Pyramus,
at Ninny's tomb."

- "Ninus' tomb," man.
- Ninus' tomb.

Why, you must not speak that yet,

that you answer to Pyramus.

Sweet Moon, I thank thee
for thy sunny beams,

I thank thee, Moon,
for shining now so bright.

For, by thy gracious, golden,
glittering... Gleams,

I trust to take of truest Thisbe sight.

But stay, O spite.

But mark, poor knight,
what dreadful dole is here.

Eyes, do you see? How can it be?

O dainty duck. Oh, dear.

Pyramus, enter.

Your cue is past,

it is, "never tire".

As true as truest horse,
that yet would never tire.

He said, "never tire".

"As true as truest horse,
that yet would never tire."

If I were fair, fair Thisbe,
I were only thine.

Oh, monstrous!

O strange.

We are haunted.

Bless thee, Bottom. Thou art translated.

O Bottom, thou art changed.

What do I see on thee?

What do you see?

You see an asshead of your own, do you?

Why do you run away?

Oh. Oh.

This is a knavery of you
to make me afeard.

I see your knavery,

this is to make an ass of me,
to fright me, if you could.

Yeah, well...

I will walk up and down here,
and I will sing,

that they shall hear I am not afraid.

♪ The ousel cock so black of hue

♪ With orange-tawny bill

♪ The throstle with his note so true

♪ The wren with little quill

♪ The finch, the sparrow and the lark

♪ The plain-song cuckoo grey

♪ Whose note full many a man doth mark

♪ And dares not answer nay ♪

Ooh.

Oh, what angel wakes me
from my flowery bed?

Good evening.

I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.

Oh.

Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note,

so is my eye enthralled to thy shape,

and thy fair virtue's force
perforce doth move me

on the first view to say,
to swear, I love thee.

Oh.

Methinks, mistress,
you should have little reason for that.

And yet, to say the truth,

reason and love keep little
company together nowadays.

Thou art as wise

- as thou art beautiful.
- Oh!

Not so, neither.

But if I had wit enough
to get out of this wood,

I have enough to serve mine own turn.

- Out of this wood do not desire to go.
- Oh.

Thou shalt remain here,
whether thou wilt or no.

I am a spirit of no common rate,

the summer
still doth tend upon my state.

Oh! And I do love thee.

Oh, therefore, go with me.

I'll give thee fairies
to attend on thee.

- Oh!
- Pease blossom!

Cobweb!

Moth!

Mustard seed!

- Ready.
- And I.

- And I.
- And I.

Where shall we go?

- Be kind and courteous...
- Oh.

To this gentleman.

Oh, yes, your name, I beseech you, sir.

Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes.

Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,

with purple grapes,
green figs, and mulberries.

The honey bags steal
from the humble bees.

And for night-tapers
crop their waxen thighs,

and light them at the
fiery glow-worm's eyes.

To have my love to bed and to arise.

Oh!

Nod to him, elves,
and do him courtesies.

Hail, mortal.

- I beseech your worship's name.
- Cobweb.

Oh, I shall desire you of more
acquaintance, good Master Cobweb.

If I cut my finger,
I shall make bold with you.

Your name, honest gentleman?

- Pease blossom.
- Oh.

I pray you, commend me
to Mistress Squash, your mother,

and to Master Peascod, your father.

- I beseech your name, sir?
- Mustard seed.

Oh! Good Master Mustard seed,
I know your patience well.

That same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef

hath devoured
many a gentleman of your house,

I promise you.

Tie up my love's tongue,
bring him silently.

Ooh! Oh!

No, no. Oh!

My mistress with a monster is in love.

Come, come, come.

Near to her close and consecrated bower,

while she was in her dull
and sleeping hour,

a crew of patches, rude mechanicals,

that work for bread
upon Athenian stalls,

were met together to rehearse a play,

intended for great Theseus' nuptial day.

The shallowest thick-skin
of that barren sort,

who Pyramus presented in their sport,

forsook his scene
and enter'd in a brake,

when I did him at this advantage take.

An ass's nole I fixed on his head.

Anon his Thisbe must be answered,
and forth my mimic comes.

When they him spy...

So, at his sight, away his fellows fly.

When in that moment, so it came to pass,

Titania waked
and straightway loved an ass.

This falls out better
than I could devise.

If thou hast slain Lysander
in his sleep,

being o'er shoes in blood,
plunge in the deep,

it cannot be but thou hast murder'd him.

So should a murderer look,
so dead, so grim.

So should the murder'd look,
and so should I,

pierced through the heart
with your stern cruelty.

Yet you, the murderer,
look as bright, as clear,

as yonder Venus
in her glimmering sphere.

What's this to my Lysander?

Where is he?

Ah, good Demetrius,
wilt thou give him me?

You spend your passion
on a misprized mood.

I am not guilty of Lysander's blood,
nor is he dead,

for aught that I can tell.

I pray thee,
tell me then that he is well.

And if I could,
what should I get therefore?

A privilege never to see me more.

Now, I will follow you
in this fierce vein,

and, therefore,
at your side I will remain.

But sorrow's
heaviness doth heavier grow.

Stay close.

This is the same Athenian.

Um, that was the woman,

but not this the man?

What hast thou done?

Thou hast mistaken quite,

and laid the love-juice
on some true-love's sight.

About the wood go swifter than the wind,

and Helena of Athens look thou find.

By some illusion,
see thou bring her here,

I'll charm his eyes
against she do appear.

I go, I go. Look how I go,

swifter than arrow
from the Tartar's bow.

Flower of this purple dye,
hit with Cupid's archery,

sink in apple of his eye.

Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand,

and the youth, mistook by me,
pleading for a lover's fee.

Shall we their fond pageant see?

Lord, what fools these
mortals be.

Scorn and derision
never come in tears.

When truth kills truth,
O devilish-holy fray!

Weigh oath with oath,
and you will nothing weigh.

Why should you think
that I should woo in scorn?

Look, when I vow, I weep,

my vows new born.

You do advance
your cunning more and more.

These vows are Hermia's,
will you give her o'er?

I had no judgement when to her I swore.

Nor none, in my mind,
now you give me more.

Demetrius loves her,
and he loves not you.

Lysander...

Godlike, nymph,

perfect, divine.

"Nymph?"

To what, my love,
shall I compare thine eyne?

You are unkind, Demetrius, be not so,

for you love Hermia,
this you know I know.

Crystal is muddy.

O, how ripe in show thy lips,
those kissing cherries, tempting grow.

That pure congealed white,
high Taurus snow,

fann'd with the eastern wind,
turns to a crow

when thou hold'st up thy hand.

O, let me kiss.

"Kiss?"

This prince is of pure white,

- now seal my bliss.
- Oh, oh!

O spite. O hell.

I see you are all bent
to set against me for your merriment.

If you were men,

as men you are in show,
you would not use a gentle lady so.

O, Lysander,

Lysander, lose thy Hermia.
I will none.

If e'er I loved her,
all that love is gone.

My heart to her
but as guest-wise sojourn'd,

and now to Lysander

- is it home return'd.
- Ow.

Oh.

Wee!

O, Helen!

Goddess, nymph, perfect, divine.

To what, my love,
shall I compare thine eyne?

You both are rivals, and love Hermia,
and now both rivals, to mock Helena.

Thou art, not by mine eye,
Lysander found.

Mine ear, I thank it,
brought me to thy sound.

But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?

Why should he stay,
whom love doth press to go?

What love could press Lysander
from my side?

Lysander's love,
that would not let him bide,

fair Helena, who more engilds the night

than all you fiery oes
and eyes of light.

You speak not as you think,
it cannot be.

Lo, she is one of this confederacy.

Now, I perceive,
they have conjoin'd all three

to fashion this false sport,
in spite of me.

Injurious Hermia.

Most ungrateful maid.

Have you conspired,
have you with these contrived

to bait me with this foul derision?

And will you rent
our ancient love asunder,

to join with men
in scorning your poor friend?

It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly.

I understand not what you mean by this.

Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks,
make mouths upon me when I turn my back.

But fare ye well.

'Tis partly my own fault,

which death or absence
soon shall remedy.

Stay, gentle Helena, hear my excuse.

My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!

- O excellent!
- Ow!

I say I love thee more than he can do.

If thou say so,
withdraw, and prove it, too.

Quick, come!

Lysander, whereto tends all this?

Hang off, thou cat, thou burr!

Vile thing, let loose, or I will
shake thee from me like a serpent.

Why are you grown so rude?
What change is this?

- Sweet love...
- Thy love!

Out, tawny Tartar, out!

Out, loathed medicine!

O, hated potion, hence!

Do you not jest? Am not I Hermia?

Are not you Lysander?

Be certain, nothing truer,

'tis no jest that I do hate thee
and love Helena.

O, me!

You juggler!

You canker-blossom! You thief of love!

Fine, in faith!

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
no touch of bashfulness?

What, will you tear impatient answers
from my gentle tongue?

Fie, fie!

You counterfeit, you puppet, you!

"Puppet"?

Why so?

Ay, that way goes the game.

Now I perceive that she hath made
compare with our statures,

she hath urged her height.

So are you grown this high in his esteem

because I am so dwarfish and so low?

No, I pray you, though you mock me,
gentlemen, let her not hurt me.

I was never curst.

I have no gift at all in shrewishness.

I am a right maid for my cowardice.

How low am I, thou painted maypole?

Speak. How low am I?

I am not yet so low but that my nails
can reach unto thine eyes.

Wee!

O, when she's angry,
she is keen and shrewd.

She was a vixen when she went to school.

And though she be but little,
she is fierce.

"Little" again!
Nothing but "low" and "little"!

Get you gone, you dwarf!

You bead, you acorn.

Should I hurt her,
strike her, kill her dead?

No! Demetrius! No!

Good Hermia!

Do not be so bitter with her!

I evermore did love you, Hermia,

did ever keep your counsels,
never wrong'd you.

Save that...

in love unto Demetrius,

I told him of your stealth
unto this wood.

He follow'd you,
for love, I follow'd him.

But he hath chid me hence
and threaten'd me

to strike me, spurn me,
nay, to kill me, too.

To Athens will I bear my folly back,
and follow you no further.

You see how simple and how fond I am.

Why, get you gone.
Who is't that hinders you?

A foolish heart,
that I leave here behind.

What, with Lysander?

With Demetrius!

Be not afraid.
He shall not claim me, Helena.

No, sir, you shall not,
though you take her part.

You are too officious in her behalf
that scorns your services.

Let her alone.

Speak not of Helena, take not her part,

for, if thou dost intend never so little
show of love to her, thou shalt Aby it.

Well, now she holds me not.
Follow, if thou darest,

to try whose right, of thine or mine

is most in Helena.

"Follow"?

Nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole.

You, mistress,
all this coil is 'long of you.

Your hands than mine
are quicker for a fray,

my legs are longer, though, to run away.

I am amazed,
and know not what to say.

O, those things do best please me

that befall preposterously.

But so far, am I glad it so did sort,
as this their jangling I esteem a sport.

Thou see'st these lovers
seek a place to fight.

Hie therefore, Robin,
overcast the night,

till o'er their brows
death-counterfeiting sleep,

with leaden legs
and batty wings doth creep.

Then crush this herb
into Lysander's eye,

whose liquor hath
this virtuous property

to take from thence
all error with his might,

and make his eyeballs roll
with wonted sight.

When they next wake,

all this derision shall seem
a dream and fruitless vision.

Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,

I'll to my queen
and find her sleeping boy,

and then I will her charmed eye
release from monster's view.

And all things shall be peace.

Thou runaway!

Thou coward, art thou fled? Speak!

In some bush?

Where dost thou hide thy head?

Faintness constraineth me.

Constraineth me.

Fallen am I in dark uneven way.

O weary night,
O long and tedious night...

- Sleep, that sometimes shuts up...
- Shuts up.

Never so weary, never so in woe...

Cupid is a knavish lad,

thus to make poor females mad.

I have one, come three more,

two of both kinds make up four.

When thou wakest,

thou takest true delight
in the sight of thy former lady's eye.

Jack shall have Jill,

nought shall go ill.

The man shall have his mare again,
and all shall be well.

I will purge
thy mortal grossness so.

Come, sit thee down
upon this flowery bed,

- while I thy amiable cheeks do coy.
- Ooh.

And stick musk roses
in thy sleek, smooth head,

and kiss thy fair, large ears.

My gentle joy.

Ugh.

Where's Pease blossom?

Ready.

Scratch my head, Pease blossom.

Ooh.

Where's Monsieur Cobweb?

Ready.

Good Monsieur,
bring me honey-bags in here.

Where's Monsieur Mustard seed?

What's your will?

Oh, nothing, good Monsieur,
but to help Pease blossom to scratch.

I must to the barber's, Monsieur,

for methinks I am marvellous hairy
about the face.

- Now say, sweet love...
- Mmm?

What thou desirest to eat.

Hmm. Truly, a peck of provender.

I could munch your good dry oats.

Methinks I have a great desire
to a bottle of hay.

Good hay, sweet hay,
hath no fellow.

I have a venturous fairy
that shall seek the squirrel's hoard,

and fetch thee new nuts.

No, I'd rather have
a handful or two of dried peas.

Ooh. Ooh.

But, I pray you,
let none of your people stir me.

I have an exposition of sleep
come upon me.

Sleep thou,

and I will wind thee in my arms.

Fairies, be gone,

and be all ways away.

So doth the woodbine,
the sweet honeysuckle gently entwist,

the female ivy so enrings
the barky fingers of the elm.

O, how I love thee.

How I dote on thee.

Oh.

Her dotage now
I do begin to pity.

Be as thou wast wont to be,

see as thou wast wont to see.

Now, my Titania,

wake you, my sweet queen.

Oh.

Oh.

Ugh!

My Oberon.

What visions have I seen.

Oh! Me thought I was enamour'd
of an ass.

There lies your love.

How came these things to pass?

O, how my eyes do loathe
your visage now!

But thou and I are new in amity,

and will tomorrow midnight
solemnly dance

in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly,

and bring to that lord his true destiny.

Fairy king, attend and mark,

I do hear the morning lark.

Then, my queen, in silence sad,
trip we after the night's shade.

We the globe can compass soon,
swifter than the wandering moon.

But we are spirits of another sort,

and I with the morning's love
have oft made sport.

And, like a forester,
the groves may tread

even till the eastern gate,
all fiery-red,

opening on Neptune
with fair blessed beams,

turns into yellow gold
his salt green streams.

But, soft.

What nymphs are these?

Pardon, my lord.

No doubt you rose up early
to observe the rite of May,

and hearing our intent,
came here in grace of our solemnity.

But speak, Egeus,

is not this the day that Hermia
should give answer of her choice?

It is, My Lord.

I pray you all, stand up.

I know you two are rival enemies,

how comes this gentle concord
in the world?

My Lord, I shall reply amazedly,

half sleep, half waking,

- but as yet, I swear...
- Enough, enough!

My lord, you have enough.

I beg the law, the law, upon his head.

They would have stolen away...

- But...
- They would, Demetrius,

thereby to have defeated you and me.

My good lord,
I wot not by what power,

but by some power it is,
my love to Hermia melted as the snow.

Seems to me now as the remembrance
of an idle gaud,

which in my childhood I did dote upon.

And all the faith,
the virtue of my heart,

the object and the pleasure
of mine eyes is only Helena.

Egeus, I will overbear your will.

For in the temple, by and by with us,
these couples shall eternally be knit.

And, for the morning,
now is something worn,

our purposed hunting shall be set aside.

Away with us to Athens.

Three and three,
we'll hold a feast in great solemnity.

Uncouple in the western valley,
let them go.

These things seem
small and undistinguishable,

like far-off mountains
turned into clouds.

It seems to me that yet we sleep,
we dream...

Heigh-ho.

Mistress Quince.

Flute?

God's my life, stolen hence,
and left me asleep.

I have had a most rare vision.

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

Me thought I was...
Oh, there is no man can tell what.

No, me thought I was...

Me thought I had...

Oh! Man is but a patched fool, if he
will offer to say what my dream was.

We... And I... And she...

Oh!

I will get Mistress Quince
to write a ballad of this dream.

Yes, yes, it shall be called
Bottom's Dream,

for it hath no bottom.

And I will sing it in the latter end
of the play, before the duke.

The play! The duke!

Theseus! Theseus! Theseus!

Where are these lads?

Bottom!

Oh! Where are these hearts?

O most courageous day!

We are transported.

O most happy hour!

The rude mechanicals!

Ow! Oh.

Get your apparel, good strings,
new ribbons.

The duke hath dined.
The duke hath dined.

Here come the lovers, full of joy...

and mirth.

Methinks I see these things
with parted eye,

when everything seems double.

So methinks now I have found Demetrius,

like a jewel,
mine own, but not mine own.

Are you sure that we are...

Mmm. Mmm.

'Tis strange, O Theseus,
that these lovers speak of.

More strange than true.

I never may believe these
antique fables, nor these fairy toys.

Lovers and madmen have such
seething brains, such shaping fantasies,

that apprehend more than
cool reason ever comprehends.

So in the night, imagining some fear,
how easy is a bush supposed a bear.

But all the story
of the night told over.

What revels are in hand?

Is there no play to ease
the anguish of a torturing hour?

There's a brief
how many sports are ripe.

What masques,

what dances shall we have?

"A tedious, brief scene of young Pyramus
and his love Thisbe,

"very tragical mirth."

"Merry and tragical?"

"Tedious and brief."

No, no, no,
my noble lord. It's...

It's not for you.

We will hear it.

Ah! Hard-handed folk
that work in Athens here,

which never labour'd
in their minds till now.

If we offend, it is with our good will.

That you should think, we come not
to offend, but with good will.

To show our simple skill,
that is the true beginning of our end.

Consider then we come but in despite.

We do not come as minding
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.

She hath rid her prologue
like a rough colt,

she knows not the stop.

Her speech was like a tangled chain,

nothing impaired, but all disordered.

Who is next?

In this same interlude,
it doth 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 doth show
that I am that same wall.

The truth is so.

Very good.

O grim-look'd night!

O night with hue so black!

O night, which ever art when day is not.

O night, O night!

Alack, alack, alack,

I fear my Thisbe's promise is forgot.

And thou, O wall,
O sweet, O lovely wall,

which stand'st between
her father's ground and mine.

Thou wall, O wall,
O sweet and lovely wall,

show me thy chink,
to blink through with mine eyne!

Thanks, courteous wall.

Jove shield thee well for this.

What see I?

No Thisbe do I see.

O wicked wall,
through whom I see no bliss!

Cursed be thy stones
for thus deceiving me!

The wall, methinks, being sensible,
should curse again.

No, in truth, sir, he should not.

Hmm?

"Deceiving me" is Thisbe's cue,
she is to enter now,

- and I am to spy her through the wall.
- Bottom.

You shall see,
it will fall pat as I told you.

- No, no, Bottom...
- Yonder she comes.

Bottom. Bottom.

Yonder she comes!

O where is Pyramus,
most lily-white of hue?

Full often hast thou heard my moans,
for parting my fair Pyramus and me.

My cherry lips have often
kiss'd thy stones,

thy stones with lime and hair
knit up in thee.

I see a voice.

Now will I to the chink, to spy,
and I can hear my Thisbe's face.

Thisbe!

My love! Thou art my love, I think.

O kiss me through the hole
of this vile wall!

- All right. Can you...
- No, I can't really do it.

I kiss the wall's hole,
not your lips at all.

- Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb...
- Ninas' tomb.

Ninas' tomb meet me straightaway?

'Tide life, 'tide death,
I come without delay.

"Ninas' tomb," I know.

I always forget, I know.

Thus have I, Wall,
my part discharged so.

And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.

Oh! Oh, me finger.

This is the silliest stuff
that I have ever heard.

I wonder if the lion be to speak.

One lion may, when many asses do.

You ladies, you,
whose gentle hearts

do fear the smallest monstrous mouse

that creeps on floor,

may now perchance
both quake and tremble here,

when lion rough
in wildest rage doth roar.

Then know that I, as Snug,
the joiner am.

It's me. I'm Snug.

Get on with it.

A lion fell,
nor else no lion's dam.

For, if I should as lion come in strife

into this place, 'twere pity on my life.

This lanthorn doth
the horned moon present...

He should have worn
the horns on his head.

This lanthorn doth
the horned moon present...

He is no crescent, and his horns
are invisible within the circumference.

This lanthorn doth
the horned moon present,

myself the man in the moon
do seem to be.

Oh! This is the greatest error
of all the rest.

The man should be in the lanthorn.
How is it else "The man in the moon?"

All I have to say is, to tell you
this lanthorn is the moon,

I am the man in the moon,

this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush,

and this dog, my dog.

- This is old Ninny's tomb.
- Ninas'! Ugh!

But where is my love?

Oh!

Well roared, Lion. Well run, Thisbe.

Well shone, Moon.

Well moused, Lion.

Ah!

And then came Pyramus,
and so the lion vanished.

Sweet Moon, I thank thee
for thy sunny beams.

I thank thee, Moon,
for shining now so bright.

For, by thy gracious,
golden, glittering gleams,

I trust to take
of truest Thisbe's sight.

But stay, O spite!

But mark, poor knight,
what dreadful dole is here!

Eyes, do you see?

How can it be?

O dainty duck!

O dear!

Thy mantle good.
What, stain'd with blood?

Approach, ye Furies fell!

O Fates, come, come,

cut thread and thrum.

Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

Beshrew my heart,
but I pity the man.

Come, tears, confound,

out, sword, and wound
the pap of Pyramus.

Ay, that left pap, where heart doth hop.

Thus die I,

thus...

Thus...

Thus.

Thus.

Thus.

Thus.

Now, am I dead,

now am I fled.

My soul is in the sky.

Tongue, lose thy light,

moon take thy flight.

Take thy flight.

Now, die.

Die.

Die.

Die, die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

No die, but an ace for him.

Oh, here she comes,
and her passion ends the play.

She hath spied him already
with those sweet eyes.

Asleep, my love?

What, dead, my dove?

O Pyramus, arise.

Speak, speak.

Quite dumb?

Dead, dead?

A tomb must cover thy sweet eyes.

These lily lips,

this cherry nose,

these yellow cowslip cheeks
are gone, are gone.

Lovers, make moan.
His eyes were green as leeks.

O 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.

Come, blade, my breast imbrue.

And, farewell, friends.

Thus, Thisbe ends.

A dieu,

adieu,

adieu.

Ooh.

Oh. But come. Bergomask.

Bergomask.

Bergomask.
Bergomask. Bergomask.

♪ It was a lover and his lass

♪ With a hey, and a ho,
and a hey nonino

♪ That over the green
corn-field did pass

♪ In the springtime

♪ The only pretty ring time

♪ When birds do sing

♪ Ding-a-ding, ding, ding

♪ Sweet lovers love

♪ The spring

Let your epilogue alone.

♪ Sweet lovers love the spring

♪ Between the acres and the rye

♪ With a hey, and a ho,
and a hey nonino

♪ These pretty country folks would lie

♪ In the springtime

♪ The only pretty ring time

♪ When birds do sing

♪ Ding-a-ding, ding, ding

Hey! Ho!

♪ Sweet lovers love

♪ The spring

♪ Sweet lovers love

♪ The spring ♪

Now, until the break of day,

through this house each fairy stray.

Never harm, nor spell nor charm,

come my lovely lady nigh.

Hand in hand, with fairy grace,

will we sing and bless this place.

Hey, hey, hey!

♪ This carol they began that hour

♪ With a hey, and a ho,
and a hey nonino

♪ How that life was but a flower

♪ In the springtime

♪ The only pretty ring time

♪ When birds do sing

Now, the people
of it blessed...

♪ Ding-a-ding, ding, ding

Ever shall in safety rest.

Hey!

♪ And therefore take the present time

♪ With a hey, and a ho,
and a hey nonino

♪ For love is crowned with the prime

♪ In the springtime

♪ The only pretty ring time

♪ When birds do sing

♪ Ding-a-ding, ding, ding

♪ Sweet lovers love

♪ The spring

♪ Sweet lovers love

♪ The spring ♪

If we shadows have offended,
think but this, and all is mended,

that you have but slumber'd here
while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,
no more yielding, but a dream.

Gentles, do not reprehend,
if you pardon, we will mend.

Else the Puck a liar call,

so good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends,
and Robin shall restore amends.