A Midsummer Night’s Dream

by: William Shakespeare

Original Text

Modern Text

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own.
I won Demetrius so easily, as if he were a precious diamond I just found lying around. It’s mine because I found it, but I feel like someone else could easily come and claim it was hers.

DEMETRIUS

    Are you sure
That we are awake? It seems to me
180That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
The duke was here, and bid us follow him?

DEMETRIUS

Are you sure we’re awake? It seems to me like we’re still sleeping, still dreaming. Do you remember seeing the duke here? Did he tell us to follow him?

HERMIA

Yea, and my father.

HERMIA

Yes, he did. And my father was here too.

HELENA

  And Hippolyta.

HELENA

And Hippolyta.

LYSANDER

And he did bid us follow to the temple.

LYSANDER

And he told us to follow him to the temple.

DEMETRIUS

Why then, we are awake. Let’s follow him
185And by the way let us recount our dreams.

DEMETRIUS

Well, then, we’re awake. Let’s follow him. We can tell one another our dreams along the way.
Exeunt LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HELENA, and HERMIA
LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HELENA, and HERMIA exit.

BOTTOM

(waking) When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is “Most fair Pyramus.” Heigh-ho! Peter Quince? Flute the bellows-mender? Snout the tinker? Starveling? God’s my life, stol'n hence, and left me asleep? I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream—past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was—there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had—but man is but a patched fool if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream.

BOTTOM

(waking up) Tell me when my cue comes, and I’ll say my line. My next cue is “Most handsome Pyramus.” Hey! Peter Quince? Flute the bellows-repairman? Snout the handyman? Starveling? My God, they’ve all run away and left me sleeping here? What a weird dream I had.—You can’t even describe such a weird dream. You’d be an ass if you even tried to explain it. I thought I was—no, nobody can even describe what I was. I thought I was, I thought I had—but a person would be an idiot to try to say what I thought I had. No eye has ever heard, no ear has ever seen, no hand has tasted, or tongue felt, or heart described what my dream was like. I’ll get Peter Quince to write this dream down as a ballad.