All. Indeed, an’ ’twere but pity of your life, Peter Quince.
Bottom. How say you, masters, shall not we spread ourselves? [All sit down.
Miranda. O Ferdinand, be these all mortal like
Ourselves? More surely I did never spy
So hideously strange a being such
As he who hath the ass’s head.
Ferdinand.Nor I.
Belike he hath incurr’d some wizard’s spite
And, all unwitting, wears this semblance till
The wizard’s anger shall be spent. But see,