A Midsummer Night’s Dream

William Shakespeare · c. 1595

Act I, Scene I Athens. The palace of THESEUS.

Athens, the court of Duke Theseus. Theseus and Queen Hippolyta — whose wedding is four days off — are interrupted by Egeus, an Athenian citizen who has come to the duke with a legal complaint against his daughter Hermia. He wants her to marry Demetrius, the man he has chosen; she wants to marry Lysander, the man she loves. Theseus invokes ancient Athenian law: a daughter who refuses her father’s chosen suitor must either die, or be confined as a vestal of Diana for the rest of her life. He gives Hermia until the next new moon — his own wedding-day — to decide.

Left alone with Lysander, Hermia agrees to elope. They will meet the next night in the wood outside Athens, at the same spot where they once met Hermia’s old school-friend Helena, and from there make their way to Lysander’s widow aunt, seven leagues off, beyond the reach of Athenian law. Helena enters in the middle of the planning, is told the scheme out of friendship, and — alone — resolves to betray it to Demetrius, with whom she is hopelessly and unrequitedly in love.

The scene establishes the play’s central tangle: four young Athenians, three of whom are in love with the wrong people. Theseus’s law of the father, the four-day countdown, and the wood-outside-Athens as the place the lovers will run to — these set up everything in Acts II through IV.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and Attendants.

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! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame or a dowager
Long withering out a young man revenue.

Our wedding hour, fair Hippolyta, comes on apace: four happy days will bring in the new moon. But how slowly the old one wanes! She holds back my desires the way a stepmother or a widow holds back a young man’s inheritance — wearing it down on herself instead.

Hippolyta

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.

Four days will steep themselves quickly in night; four nights will dream the time away. And then the moon — like a silver bow newly drawn in heaven — will look down on the night of our wedding.

Theseus

Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
The pale companion is not for our pomp.

Go, Philostrate — rouse the youth of Athens to celebration. Wake up the lively spirit of mirth; send melancholy off to its proper company, the funerals. Gloom is no fit guest for our pomp.

Exit PHILOSTRATE.

Hippolyta, I woo’d 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.

Hippolyta, I wooed you with my sword, and won your love by doing you injury. But I’ll wed you in a different key — with pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.

Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS.

Egeus

Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!

Long live Theseus, our renowned duke.

Theseus

Thanks, good Egeus: what’s the news with thee?

Thanks, good Egeus — what brings you here?

Egeus

Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia.

I come full of grievance, my lord — with a complaint against my own child, my daughter Hermia.

Stand forth, Demetrius.

Stand forward, Demetrius.

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

My noble lord — this man has my permission to marry her.

Stand forth, Lysander: and my gracious duke,
This man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child;
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
And interchanged love-tokens with my child:
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
With feigning voice verses of feigning love,
And stolen the impression of her fantasy
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers
Of strong prevailment in unharden’d youth:
With cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart,
Turn’d her obedience, which is due to me,
To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,
Be it so she; will not here before your grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,
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, according to our law
Immediately provided in that case.

And stand forward, Lysander. Your grace — this man has bewitched my child. You, Lysander — you’ve given her love-poems, exchanged gifts with her, sung at her window by moonlight in a faking voice with verses of pretended love, and stolen the picture in her imagination away with locks of your hair braided into bracelets, with rings, with showy trinkets, little ornaments, trifles, posies, sweets — the kind of messengers that wear down the resistance of inexperienced young women. By such trickery you’ve stolen my daughter’s heart, and turned the obedience she owes me into stubborn defiance. And so, your grace, if she will not, here in your presence, consent to marry Demetrius, I claim the ancient right of Athens: as she is mine, I may dispose of her as I see fit — either to this gentleman, or to her death, by the law expressly provided for such cases.

Theseus

What say you, Hermia?

What do you say, Hermia?

be advised fair maid:
To you your father should be as a god;
One that composed your beauties, yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax
By him imprinted and within his power
To leave the figure or disfigure it.

Be advised, fair maid. To you, your father should be as a god — the one who composed your beauties, and the one to whom you are no more than a figure pressed in wax, stamped by him and within his power either to keep or to deface.

Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

Hermia

So is Lysander.

Theseus

In himself he is;
But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice,
The other must be held the worthier.

In himself, yes. But in this case, lacking your father’s consent, the other must be held the worthier.

Hermia

I would my father look’d but with my eyes.

I wish my father would look only through my eyes.

Theseus

Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

Rather, your eyes must look through his judgement.

Hermia

I do entreat your grace to pardon me.

I beg your grace’s pardon.

I know not by what power I am made bold,
Nor how it may concern my modesty,
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;
But I beseech your grace that I may know
The worst that may befall me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

I don’t know what power makes me so bold, or whether it tells against my modesty to plead my case in such a presence here. But I beg your grace to let me know the worst that may befall me, if I refuse to wed Demetrius.

Theseus

Either to die the death or to abjure
For ever the society of men.

Either to die, or to vow forever to renounce the company of men.

Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun,
For aye to be in shady cloister mew’d,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.

So, fair Hermia, question your desires. Look at your youth, weigh well your blood — if you won’t yield to your father’s choice, can you endure the habit of a nun: forever caged in a dim cloister, living out your life as a childless sister, chanting weak hymns to the cold, barren moon?

Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;
But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d,
Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.

Three times blessed are those who master themselves enough for such a maiden pilgrimage. But the rose that is distilled into perfume — the rose that lives out into the world — is happier in earthly terms than the one that withers on the virgin thorn, growing, living, and dying alone.

Hermia

So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
Ere I will my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

So I will grow, so live, and so die, my lord, before I surrender my virgin freedom to a lord whose unwanted yoke my soul refuses to acknowledge.

Theseus

Take time to pause; and, by the next new moon—
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
For everlasting bond of fellowship—
Upon that day either prepare to die
For disobedience to your father’s will,
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would;
Or on Diana’s altar to protest
For aye austerity and single life.

Take time to think. By the next new moon — my own wedding-day, the day that seals my union forever — on that day, either prepare to die for disobedience to your father’s will, or to wed Demetrius as he would have you do, or, at Diana’s altar, to swear a life of austerity and chastity for ever.

Demetrius

Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield
Thy crazed title to my certain right.

Relent, sweet Hermia. And you, Lysander — give up your flawed claim to my settled right.

Lysander

You have her father’s love, Demetrius;
Let me have Hermia’s: do you marry him.

You have her father’s love, Demetrius — let me have Hermia’s. Why don’t you marry him.

Egeus

Scornful Lysander!

Insolent Lysander!

true, he hath my love,
And what is mine my love shall render him.

True — he has my love, and what is mine my love shall make over to him.

And she is mine, and all my right of her
I do estate unto Demetrius.

And she is mine, and all my right in her I assign to Demetrius.

Lysander

I am, my lord, as well derived as he,
As well possess’d; my love is more than his;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank’d,
If not with vantage, as Demetrius’;
And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
I am beloved of beauteous Hermia:
Why should not I then prosecute my right?

I am, my lord, of as good birth as he is, and as well off; my love is more than his, and my fortunes ranked every way as fairly — if not better — as Demetrius’s. And, more telling than all those boasts: I am loved by the beautiful Hermia. Why shouldn’t I, then, press my claim?

Demetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head,
Made love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena,
And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

Demetrius — I’ll say it to his face — made love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena, and won her heart. And she, sweet lady, dotes — dotes devoutly, dotes to the point of idolatry — on this stained and faithless man.

Theseus

I must confess that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
But, being over-full of self-affairs,
My mind did lose it.

I confess I’ve heard as much before, and meant to speak of it with Demetrius — but I had too much of my own to attend to, and let it slip.

But, Demetrius, come;
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,
I have some private schooling for you both.

But Demetrius, come — and you, Egeus, come along too. I have a few private words for you both.

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—
Which by no means we may extenuate—
To death, or to a vow of single life.

As for you, fair Hermia — prepare yourself to fit your wishes to your father’s will. Or else the law of Athens (which we have no power to soften) yields you up to death, or to a vow of single life.

Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?

Come, my Hippolyta — how do you fare, my love?

Demetrius and Egeus, go along:
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

Demetrius, Egeus — come along. I have some business to set in motion for our wedding, and something nearly touching yourselves to discuss with you.

Egeus

With duty and desire we follow you.

With duty and gladness, we follow you.

Exeunt all but LYSANDER and HERMIA.

Lysander

How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

What now, my love — why is your cheek so pale? How is it the roses there fade so fast?

Hermia

Belike for want of rain, which I could well
Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

Likely for want of rain — and I could give them plenty, from the storm in my eyes.

Lysander

Ay me!

Ah me!

for aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth;
But, either it was different in blood,—

For everything I’ve ever read, ever heard told in story or history, the course of true love never did run smooth. Either the lovers were of different rank —

Hermia

O cross! too high to be enthrall’d to low.

Oh, the cross of it — too high in rank to be bound to one too low.

Lysander

Or else misgraffed in respect of years,—

Or else mismatched in age —

Hermia

O spite! too old to be engaged to young.

Oh, what cruelty — too old to be promised to one too young.

Lysander

Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,—

Or else it depended on the choice of relatives —

Hermia

O hell! to choose love by another’s eyes.

Oh, that’s hell — to choose love through someone else’s eyes.

Lysander

Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say ‘Behold!’
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.

Or — even if the lovers were matched in choice — war, death, or sickness laid siege to it, making it as momentary as a sound, swift as a shadow, short as any dream. Brief as lightning in the pitch-black night, which in a sudden flash uncovers both heaven and earth — and before a man can say “Look!”, the jaws of darkness have swallowed it up. So quickly do bright things come to ruin.

Hermia

If then true lovers have been ever cross’d,
It stands as an edict in destiny:
Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross,
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
Wishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers.

If true lovers have always been thwarted this way, it must be a decree of destiny. Then let us teach our trial to be patient — because it’s a usual hardship, as much a part of love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, wishes and tears, all the poor followers of fancy.

Lysander

A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia.

A good argument — so listen to 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.

I have a widowed aunt — a dowager of large estate, and no children. Her house is seven leagues from Athens; and she regards me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, I can marry you, and the sharp Athenian law cannot reach us.

If thou lovest me then,
Steal forth thy father’s house to-morrow night;
And in the wood, a league without the town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.

If you love me, then, steal out of your father’s house tomorrow night. And in the wood, a league outside the town — where I once met you and Helena, doing observance to a May morning — there I’ll wait for you.

Hermia

My good Lysander!

I swear to thee, by Cupid’s strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head,
By the simplicity of Venus’ doves,
By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
And by that fire which burn’d the Carthage queen,
When the false Troyan under sail was seen,
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
In number more than ever women spoke,
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

I swear to you — by Cupid’s strongest bow, by his best gold-tipped arrow, by Venus’s innocent doves, by the bond that knits souls together and makes love prosper, by the fire that burned the Queen of Carthage when the false Trojan was seen putting out to sea, by all the vows men have ever broken (more in number than women have ever sworn) — that in the place you’ve named, tomorrow I will truly meet you.

Lysander

Keep promise, love.

Keep your promise, love.

Look, here comes Helena.

Look — here comes Helena.

Enter HELENA.

Hermia

God speed fair Helena! whither away?

Good speed, fair Helena! Where are you off to?

Helena

Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.

You call me fair? Take that “fair” back.

Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!

Demetrius loves your beauty — oh, lucky beauty!

Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue’s sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear,
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.

Your eyes are guiding stars, and your tongue’s sweet music more tuneful than a lark to a shepherd’s ear when the wheat is green and the hawthorn is in bud.

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.

Sickness is contagious — oh, if beauty were too, I’d catch yours, fair Hermia, before I left. My ear would catch your voice, my eye your eye, my tongue your tongue’s sweet melody.

Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I’d give to be to you translated.

If the world were mine, with Demetrius excepted, I’d give all the rest just to be transformed into you.

O, teach me how you look, and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart.

Oh, teach me the way you look — the art by which you sway the motion of Demetrius’s heart.

Hermia

I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

I frown at him, and yet he loves me still.

Helena

O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

Oh, that your frowns could teach my smiles such art!

Hermia

I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

I curse him — and he gives me love.

Helena

O that my prayers could such affection move!

Oh, that my prayers could move such affection in him!

Hermia

The more I hate, the more he follows me.

The more I hate, the more he pursues me.

Helena

The more I love, the more he hateth me.

The more I love, the more he hates me.

Hermia

His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

Helena

None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!

No fault, except your beauty — and I wish that fault were mine.

Hermia

Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;
Lysander and myself will fly this place.

Take comfort — he’ll see my face no more. Lysander and I will flee this place.

Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seem’d Athens as a paradise to me:
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn’d a heaven unto a hell!

Before I knew Lysander, Athens seemed a paradise to me. Oh, then, what graces my love must contain, that he has turned that heaven into a hell!

Lysander

Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the watery glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal,
Through Athens’ gates have we devised to steal.

Helen, we’ll lay our plan out for you. Tomorrow night, when the moon looks at her silver face in the watery mirror of the dew and decks the blades of grass with liquid pearl — a time that always conceals lovers’ flights — we’ve decided to slip out through the gates of Athens.

Hermia

And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
There my Lysander and myself shall meet;
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.

And in the wood — where you and I used to lie on beds of faint primroses, pouring out our hearts’ secrets to each other — there my Lysander and I will meet. And from there we’ll turn our eyes away from Athens, to seek new friends and stranger company.

Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us;
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!

Farewell, sweet playmate — pray for us. And may good luck win you your Demetrius.

Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight
From lovers’ food till morrow deep midnight.

Keep your word, Lysander — we must starve our sight of one another till deep midnight tomorrow.

Lysander

I will, my Hermia.

Exit HERMIA.

Helena, adieu:
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

Helena, farewell — may Demetrius dote on you as you dote on him.

Exit.

Helena

How happy some o’er other some can be!

How much happier some are than others can be!

Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.

Throughout Athens I’m thought as beautiful as she is.

But what of that?

Demetrius thinks not so;
He will not know what all but he do know:
And as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities:
Things base and vile, folding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity:
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind:
Nor hath Love’s mind of any judgement taste;
Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:
And therefore is Love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.

Demetrius doesn’t think so. He won’t know what everyone else does. And just as he’s wrong, doting on Hermia’s eyes, so I’m wrong, admiring his qualities. Things low and worthless, with no real substance, love can recast as graceful and dignified — for love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, which is why winged Cupid is painted blind. Love’s mind hasn’t any taste for judgement: wings and no eyes are the picture of reckless haste. And so love is said to be a child, because he is so often deceived in choice.

As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,
So the boy Love is perjured every where:
For ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne,
He hail’d down oaths that he was only mine;
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.

As mischievous boys break their oaths in play, so the boy Love is forsworn everywhere. Before Demetrius ever looked at Hermia’s eyes, he hailed down oaths that he was only mine — and when that hail felt the heat of Hermia, he dissolved, and the showers of his oaths melted away.

I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight:
Then to the wood will he to-morrow 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.

I’ll go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight. Then he’ll be off to the wood tomorrow night, in pursuit — and if I get any thanks for the tip-off, even that is a costly purchase. But I mean to gain at least this much from my pain: the sight of him going there, and coming back again.

Exeunt. — End of Act I, Scene I.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

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