A Midsummer Night's Dream (Eva Toller)
- Editor: Eva Toller (submitted 2020-06-10). Score information: Unknown Copyright: Personal
- Edition notes: All files are available on http://www.evatoller.se/main_mixed_titles_A-D.html
Title: A Midsummer Night's Dream
Composer: Eva Toller
Lyricist: William Shakespeare, Eva Tollercreate page
Number of voices: 12vv Voicing: SSSAAATTTBBB
Genre: Secular, Unknown
Instruments: A cappella
First published: 2016
Description: Excerpts from William Shakespeare´s "A Midsummer Night´s Dream".
Original text and translations
Midsummer's Night is like a dream.
Nothing seems real, flows like a stream.
And a troupe of fairies coming out to play in moonlit meadow;
Oberon, Titania? Titania, Titania.
Oberon: Amadan-na Briona, that is his other name. Amadan-na Briona.
Lo and behold, two elves are near,
one is so bold: Puck he comes here.
How now, spirit!
Whither wander you?
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Thorough flood, thorough fire.
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
Farewell, thou lob of spirits: I'll be gone;
our queen and all her elves come here anon.
The king doth keep his revels here to Amadan-na Briona!
Take heed the queen come not within his sight.
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
Because that she as her attendant hath
A lov'ly boy, stolen from an Indian king.
And jealous Oberon would have the child knight of his train, to trace the forests wild.
And now they never meet in grove, or green;
By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen.
Either I mistake your shape
or else you are that shrew'd and knavish sprite
call'd Robin Goodfellow: are you not he?
Fairy, thou speak'st aright;
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile.
But room, fairy! here comes Oberon.
I'll met by moonlight, proud Titania!
What! jealous Oberon.
Fairies, skip hence; I have forsworn his bed and company.
Tarry, rash wanton! am not I thy lord?
Then I must be thy lady.
Why art thou here, but that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love
to Theseus must be wedded.
How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,
glance at my credit with Hippolyta
knowing I know thy love to Thesues?
These are the forgeries of jealousy:
and never, since the middle summer's spring met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
to dance our ringlets to the whistling wind.
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
as in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea contagious fogs; which falling in the land, have ev'ry pelting river made so proud that they have overborne their continents:
the moon, the governess of floods, pale in her anger, washes all the air;
we see the seasons alter: hoary-headed forsts fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
The spring, the summer, the childing autumn, angry winter change...
And this same progeny of evil comes from our debate, from our dissension.
Do you amend it then; it lies in you.
I do but beg a little chang'ling boy.
The fairy land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a votaress of my order;
but she, being mortal, of that boy did die;
and for her sake I do rear up her boy
and for her sake I will not part with him.
How long within this wood intend you stay?
Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day.
If you will patiently dance in our round,
and see our moonlight revels, go with us:
if not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.
Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.
Not for thy fairy kingdom.
Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove
till I torment thee for this injury.
My gentle Puck, come hither.
Thou remember'st since once I sat upon a promontory;
that very time I saw, but thou couldst not, flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took
and loos'd his loveshaft smartly from his bow.
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon.
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
it fell upon a little western flower,
before milk-white, now purple with love's wound.
Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once:
the juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid
will make or man or woman madly dote
upon the next live creature that it sees.
Having once this juice I'll watch Titania when shee's asleep, and drop the liquor of it in her eye:
the next thing that she waking looks upon, she shall pursue it with the soul of love:
and ere I take this charm off from her sight,
as I can take it with another herb,
I'll make her render up her page to me.
Amadan-na Briona! Amadan-na Briona!
Ay there it is. I pray thee, give it to me.
I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine,
with sweet muskroses, and with eglantine:
there sleeps Titania some time of the night,
lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;
and there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in;
Amadan-na Briona! Amadan-na Briona!
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes
and make her full of hateful fantasies.
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.
Fear not my lord, your servant shall do so.
Thus he did speak, Robin Goodfellow, and turn'd the Queen wanton and mellow.
And so it ends, Midsummer's Night, wrong end for some; for others, right.
Dear, sleep tight!