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 you an 'twere any nightingale.
Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet fac'd man, a proper man as one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely gentleman-like man: therefore you must needs play Pyramus.
Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in?
Quin. Why what you will.
Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-colour'd beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour'd beard, your perfect yellow.
Quin. Some of your French-crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play bare-fac'd. But, masters here are your parts, and I am to intreat you, request you, and desire you to con them by to-morrow night; and meet me in the palace-wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight, there we will rehearse; for if we meet in the city, we shall be dog'd with company, and our devices known. In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray you fail me not.
Bot. We will meet, and there we may rehearse more obscenely and courageously. Take pains, be perfect, adieu.
Quin. At the Duke's oak we meet.
Bot. But hold ye, hold ye, neighbours; are your voices in order, and your tunes ready? For if we miss our musical pitch, we shall be all 'sham'd and abandon'd.