eaver!

Bot. Ready: Name what part I am for, and proceed.

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

Bot. What is Pyramus, a lover, or a tyrant?

Quin. A lover that kills himself most gallantly for love.

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true performing of it: If I
do it let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms; I will
condole in some measure. To the rest; yet, my chief humour is for a
tyrant; 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 carr shall shine from far, and make
and mar the foolish fates!" This was lofty. Now name the rest of
the players. This is Ercles vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more
condoling.

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

Flu. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. Flute, you must take Thisby on you.

Flu. What is Thisby, a wand'ring knight?

Quin. It is the Lady that Pyramus must love.

Flu. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman, I have a beard coming.

Quin. That's all one, you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak
small as you will.

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too; I'll speak in a
monstrous little voice; Thisne, Thisne, ah Pyramus my lover dear, thy
Thisby dear, and lady dear.

Quin. No, no, you must play Pyramus; and Flute, you Thisby.

Bot. Well, proceed.

Quin. Robin Starveling, the Taylor.

Star. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother:

Tom Snowt, the tinker.

Snowt. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father; Snug the
joiner, you the Lion's part; I hope there is a play fitted.

Snug. Have you the Lion's part written? Pray you, if it be, give it
me, for I am slow of study.

Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

Bot. 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!

Quin. If you should do it too terribly, you would fright the
Dutchess and the Ladies, that they would shriek, and that were enough
to hang us all.

All. That would hang us every mother's son.

Bot. I grant you, friends, if you should fright the Ladies out of
their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us; but
I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any
sucking dove; I will roar y