Jesters do oft prove prophets - "King Lear"
Directed by Janie Martinez
I do entreat your grace to pardon me. I know not by what power I am made bold.
If then true lovers have ever cross'd, It stands as an edict in destiny.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest I'd give to be to you translated.
An I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe, too.
Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study.
I will not stay thy questions; let me go.
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy Lie further off.
And touching now the point of human skill, Reason becomes the marshal to my will.
Ay me, for pity! what a dream was here!
Come, sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts.
Ninus' tomb, man: why, you must not speak that yet
If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.
Out of this wood do not desire to go.
Be kind and courteous to this gentleman.
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, And kill me too.
The sun was not so true unto the day As he to me.
Disparage not the faith thou dost not know.
Wherefore speaks he this to her he hates?
I say I love thee more than he can do
Hang off, thou cat, thou burr!
And with her personage, her tall personage, Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him
Let me go! You see how simple and how fond I am!
Thou see'st these lovers seek a place to fight
Her dotage I do now begin to pity.
My Oberon! What visions I have seen!
Now, when thou wakest, with thine own fool's eyes peep.
My lord, I shall reply amazedly, Half sleep, half waking
My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth
My love to Hermia, Melted as the snow, seems to me now As the remembrance of an idle gaud
No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens.
An the Duke had not given him six pence day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged.
For the short and long is, our play is preferred.
Fair lovers, you are fortunately met
Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have
Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name.
I wonder if the Lion be to speak?
Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne!
I see a voice!
O wall, full often has thou heard my moans, For parting my fair Pyramus and me!
O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall!
If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men.
This lanthorn doth the horned moon present.
O Fates, come, come, Cut thread and thrum; Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!
No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse.
I am a-weary of this Moon: would that he would change.
Come, blade, my breast imbue
If we shadows have offended, Think but this and all is mended
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