Act One, Second Scene
(Quince/Shane, Snug/Flynn, Bottom/Ziggy, Flute/Jack, Snout/Blake, and Starveling/Hunter are all on the stage.)
Quince/Hunter:
Is all our company here?
Bottom/Ziggy:
You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip.
Quince/Shane:
Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is
thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude
before the duke and duchess on his wedding-day at night.
Bottom/Ziggy:
First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on;
then read the names of the actors, and so grow to a point.
You know, build up the suspense.
Dax:
Ziggy! Stick to the lines!
Ziggy:
But I'm great at improvisation!
Dax:
We're doing Shakespeare! You don't improvise Shakespeare!
Ziggy:
Why not?
Snug/Flynn:
I'll explain later. Shane, er, Quince, continue.
Quince/Shane:
Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and
most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.
Bottom/Ziggy:
Was that a joke? Hey, why isn't anyone talking? Oh! It's my turn!
A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry.
Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll.
Masters, spread yourselves.
What are we, jams? Did they even have jams in ancient Greece?
Quince/Shane:
Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.
Bottom/Ziggy:
Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.
'Cause I rock!
Quince/Shane:
You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.
Bottom/Ziggy:
Who is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?
Or both. I mean, a dude can totally be both. Just look at Dillon.
(Cobweb/Dillon, covered with vines, pokes his head out.)
Cobweb/Dillon:
EXCUSE ME?
Bottom/Ziggy:
I said nothing.
Dax:
Ziggy, the line is 'what is Pyramus?' not 'who is Pyramus'.
And no more improvisation!
Bottom/Ziggy:
That sounds wrong, but okay.
Quince/Shane:
A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love.
Bottom/Ziggy:
That will ask some tears in the true performing of it:
if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move
storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest: yet my
chief humour is for a tyrant. I could play Ercles rarely, or a
part to tear a cat in to make all split.
Ew… tearing a cat. Oh, wait, not done.
'The raging rocks
And shivering shocks
Shall break the locks
Of prison gates:
And Phibbus' car
Shall shine from far
And make and mar
The foolish Fates.'
This was lofty. Now the rest of the players. This is
Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling.
(Demetrius/Conner pokes his head out.)
Demetrius/Conner:
Hang on, they didn't have cars in ancient Greece! Or in Shakespeare's time. History isn't my strong suit but I do know that!
Rose:
I think by car he meant a form of transportation. I'll look it up later.
Quince/Shane:
Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
Flute/Jack:
Here, Peter Quince.
I hate my name.
Quince/Jack:
You must take Thisby on you.
Flute/Jack:
What is Thisby? a wandering knight?
Quince/Shane:
It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
Flute/Jack:
Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I have a beard coming.
Quince/Shane:
That's all one; you shall play it in a mask,
and you may speak as small as you will.
Bottom/Ziggy:
An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too.
I'll speak in a monstrous little voice, 'Thisne, Thisne!' 'Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear, and lady dear!'
La, la, la.
Quince/Shane:
No, no; you must play Pyramus; and Flute, you Thisby.
Flute/Jack:
And Vida thinks she has it rough.
Bottom/Ziggy:
Well, proceed.
Quince/Shane:
Robin Starveling, the tailor.
Starveling/Hunter:
Here, Peter Quince.
Quince/Shane:
Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.
Tom Snout, the tinker.
Snout/Blake:
Here, Peter Quince.
Quince/Shane:
You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father; Snug,
the joiner, you the lion's part: and, I hope, here is a play
fitted.
Snug/Flynn:
Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be,
give it me, for I am slow of study.
I might be a lion, but I'm a smart lion! Just to make that clear.
Quince/Shane:
You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but
roaring.
Bottom/Ziggy:
Let me play the lion too. I will roar, that I will do
any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I will
make the duke say, 'Let him roar again, let him roar again.'
Man, and my teammates think I'm a ham! Oo, that rhymed! I'm a poet and I didn't even know it!
Quince/Shane:
An you should do it too terribly, you would fright
the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek; and that
were enough to hang us all.
All:
That would hang us, every mother's son.
Bottom/Ziggy:
I grant you, friends, if that 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.
Tweet, tweet.
Quince/Shane (firmly):
You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus
is a sweet-faced 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.
Bottom/Ziggy:
Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to
play it in?
I wish I had a beard.
Quince/Shane:
Why, what you will.
Bottom/Ziggy:
I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard,
your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain bread, or
your French-crown colour beard, your perfect yellow.
Demetrius/Conner:
France didn't exist back in ancient Greece either!
Dax:
Don't worry about it Conner.
Demetrius/Conner:
Didn't Shakespeare care about historical accuracy?
Rose:
Judging from his plays, he didn't.
Demetrius/Conner:
Crazy.
Quince/Shane:
Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and
then you will play bare-faced. But masters, here are your parts;
and I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you, to
con them by to-morrow night, and meet in the palace
wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight: there will we
rehearse; for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with
company, and our devices known. In the meantime I will
draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray
you, fail me not.
Bottom/Ziggy:
We will meet; and there we may rehearse more
obscenely and courageously. Take pains; be perfect; adieu.
In other words, see you guys later!
Quince/Shane:
At the duke's oak we meet.
Bottom/Ziggy:
Enough; hold, or cut bow-strings.
That doesn't sound nice. Good thing R.P.M. doesn't have any archers or we'd be in big trouble. Unless I'm talking about violin bow-strings and then doc here wouldn't be happy…
(Dr. K. also covered in vines, glares at him from the pit.)
Dr. K.:
What have I told you about calling me doc?!
(They all leave, and the curtains drop.)