That self-same evening, in another part of this same wood, a party of mechanics, some of the hard-handed men of Athens, had met to rehearse a play which they hoped to perform at the Duke’s nuptial festivities.
There was Flute, the bellows-mender; Starveling, the tailor; Snout, the tinker; Quince, the carpenter; and among the rest, stout old Bottom, the weaver,—Bully Bottom, as his comrades called him. He was, in his own conceit, the best actor of them all; the best for tragedy, comedy, or tragical comical. “Seneca was not too heavy, nor Plautus too light,” for old Bottom, and he would have taken all parts in the play at once, with great cheerfulness.
These jolly fellows had rehearsed their play, and Bottom, in his character of lover, had spoken all the tender speeches to Flute, the bellows-mender, who was to play the lady of the piece, when Puck entered. His love for sport was never quiet; so, when he saw poor Bottom a little separated from his companions, he fixed on his shoulders an ass’s head, with long ears. This odd head-dress fitted the self-satisfied weaver so well, that he wore it without dreaming he had anything unusual on his head. But his amazed companions ran away at the strange sight, crying out that Bottom was certainly enchanted. Alas for Titania! This noise awoke her; and
