Speeches (Lines) for Flute
in "Midsummer Night's Dream"

Total: 18

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# Act, Scene, Line
(Click to see in context)
Speech text

1

I,2,303

Here, Peter Quince.

2

I,2,305

What is Thisby? a wandering knight?

3

I,2,307

Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

4

III,1,903

Must I speak now?

5

III,1,906

Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew,
As true as truest horse that yet would never tire,
I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.

6

III,1,915

O,—As true as truest horse, that yet would
never tire.

7

IV,2,1787

If he come not, then the play is marred: it goes
not forward, doth it?

8

IV,2,1791

No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft
man in Athens.

9

IV,2,1795

You must say 'paragon:' a paramour is, God bless us,
a thing of naught.

10

IV,2,1802

O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a
day during his life; he could not have 'scaped
sixpence a day: an the duke had not given him
sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged;
he would have deserved it: sixpence a day in
Pyramus, or nothing.

11

V,1,2032

[as Thisbe] O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,
For parting my fair Pyramus and me!
My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones,
Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.

12

V,1,2038

[as Thisbe] My love thou art, my love I think.

13

V,1,2041

[as Thisbe] And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.

14

V,1,2043

[as Thisbe] As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.

15

V,1,2045

[as Thisbe] I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.

16

V,1,2047

[as Thisbe] 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay.

17

V,1,2102

[as Thisbe] This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my love?

18

V,1,2169

[as Thisbe] Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise!
Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Dead, dead? A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These My lips,
This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone:
Lovers, make moan:
His eyes were green as leeks.
O Sisters Three,
Come, come to me,
With hands as pale as milk;
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word:
Come, trusty sword;
Come, blade, my breast imbrue:
[Stabs herself]
And, farewell, friends;
Thus Thisby ends:
Adieu, adieu, adieu.

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