PUCK.
What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here,
So near the cradle of the Fairy Queen?
What, a play toward? I’ll be an auditor;
An actor too perhaps, if I see cause.
QUINCE.
Speak, Pyramus.—Thisbe, stand forth.
PYRAMUS.
Thisbe, the flowers of odious savours sweet
QUINCE.
Odours, odours.
PYRAMUS.
. . . odours savours sweet.
So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisbe dear.
But hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile,
And by and by I will to thee appear.
[Exit.]
PUCK.
A stranger Pyramus than e’er played here!
[Exit.]
THISBE.
Must I speak now?
QUINCE.
Ay, marry, must you, For you must understand he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.