[Enter TITANIA's fairy servants: PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, DEWDROP, MOTE, and MUSTARDSEED]
TITANIA: Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
PEASEBLOSSOM: Hail, mortal.
COBWEB: Hail.
DEWDROP: I bethink not, nor shall my mind be swayed! O What knave is this that dareth here prowl? Neither sir nor beast of smell so fowl Methinks he comes with folly in his eye To jest and mock thy grace, and thus defy
TITANIA: Henceforth, all begone! Leave us to our quarrel alone! [Exit BOTTOM, PEASEBLOSSOM, MUSTARDSEED, MOTE and COBWEB]
DEWDROP: But! Mine own fair Titania, what cruel dread, To woo an ass with ears where crown should tread! That ass of fool would have thee play his tail And make thy grace a jest through his flail
TITANIA: Halt! I shall hear no more!
DEWDROP: Thou guard’st thy love with purest grace Yet fawn’st for an ass of face Never did’st thou thy subjects regard Hast thou e’er cared, as doth the shining sun? To thee I gleam as moonlight when night’s begun; Yet when dawn doth draw, my duty is done. Like a shadow at dusk I cling to thee, Yet fade when dawn sets shadows free. What fool am I, to chase thy light, When thou dost trade my gentle night, My heart lies dimmed, eclipsed from mortal sight. I am but a flame thou feed’st with care, Till summer’s heat fill’st the air. Upon the later morrow by thy shore, I drown in depths of duteous love full sore. I am but driftwood cast upon your sea, Carried by tides that answer not to me but thee. With thee I chase the stars through midnight skies, Yet am misled by every wind that flies. I am whisked away, with only thee in view, Yet starry heights I scale, to be cast askew; For the moon’s gaze hath found another’s grace, And I, forlorn, am banished from her face. The waves of high tide do sway to her song Whilst I, Dewdrop, am casted out along.
TITANIA: Dewdrop, dost thou mock mine eye? His voice falleth faint, like fair falling rain, His eyes ever gleam as gemstones do gain; His frame doth tower o’er mountains so high, His fleece fairer fluffs than the lambs of July.
DEWDROP: Thine own eye mock thee.
TITANIA: Cease! I’ve had mine fill of thee, Thy tongue doth sting mine heart sorely. I’ll cast thee forth from gentle grace, To wander lone, a wretch displaced.
DEWDROP: Fie! I can no longer bear to see, Mine own fair queen make jest of thee To make a mock of thine own grace, And cast thy crown in foul disgrace. [Exeunt Dewdrop]
Gabriella Morin Grade 10 Pretty Privilege I’ve never been pretty, Not conventionally at least, Not in my grey eyes, Nor my dirty blonde hair, Not my crooked nose, Nor my raw jagged lips, Not my full cheeks, Nor in my clumsy limbs, Not in my skinny arms, Nor the scars that line my legs, Telling a story of cursed fates and survival. Ugly. I have always been just that. Some people tried to hide it, You're so tall, So skinny, So sweet, Their words fitting around what I am, Ugly. Because nobody is completely ugly. There is always a positive. A silver lining to soften the blow, Some people are honest. You’re flat. Bug eyed, like a deer in headlights, Awkward. I don’t know what’s worse. I want to be pretty, I’ve always wanted to be, Not because of the beauty itself, But to feel what comes with it, Love, Unconditional, I crave the feeling of loyalty, Of passion, Of empathy from others, Simply for the way I am, Not only for the way I look, For the way I speak, The way I carry myself, The way I feel, The way I love, I don’t want to be lusted over, Or envied, Or even called for, I don’t want to need anyone, That’s not it at all, I simply want them there, I’m hungry for connection, Insatiable. But if that’s all I can get, I'd settle in a heartbeat, Like a dog that’s been beat, I still keep coming back, Pathetic. I’m hoping for the chance that maybe, just maybe, there’s been a change. Yet each time I look in the mirror, Stare down my reflection, Pick myself apart, Find each imperfection, I only find myself to look worse, Because I know where to look. How to pinpoint everything I dislike, How to fixate until I can truly say, I hate myself. And the truth is pretty is a privilege, And the prettier you are, the less your personality matters, So however awkward, Uncomfortable, Strange, Weird, Different you are, It fades out when your looks are all that people focus on. And when you grow up ugly, You’ll never stop feeling that way, No matter what you do to yourself.
Hang Up the Phone (cont.) - Gabriella Morin (10) -
I step out of bed, bare feet on the floor, they quickly slide into my slippers. My knees are stiff, my eyes sore, my back aches. I need a new mattress, I can’t afford a new mattress. I’m in an awkward state of adulthood. Still poor from my degree, but not as bad as three years ago. I mean I’m not duct taping my showerhead together, or living off of rice and saltines, but I’m still pirating all my TV, watering down my already watered-down shampoo, and I’m not very well equipped if something goes awry and I need an extra few hundred bucks. But hey, at least I can say “I’m Dr. Naomi Cohen”. Good God, when did I get so old? Thirty-one… that’s how old I am today. I step into my washroom, stare at the patches of water damage I’ve been begging my landlord to check out for the last 7 months, the crooked shower curtain rod, and then at the stained mirror. My reflection stares right back at me. I look at the creases on my forehead that seem to be getting deeper each time I look. Gray strands sprinkle my hair, and my tired, cloudy eyes can’t see the difference between the brown and gray. I yearn for the beauty I used to take for granted, for my soft hands, my pretty smile, my smooth skin, my thick brown hair, my bright eyes, my long lashes, and above all, my thin body. I looked pretty, acted pretty, wanted to be pretty, everyone even told me “you’re pretty”, and yet I never felt pretty. “What would she think now?” I ask myself as I turn away from the mirror, done picking myself apart for now. I’m tired, my head is beginning to pound, I need coffee. Don’t let anyone lie to you, I did 14 years of schooling and all I got from it was a crippling caffeine addiction, and a thick paycheck that means nothing to me until I pay off $400,000 of medical school debt. Achieving high has its sacrifices, and might have you working your ass off for the rest of your life, but I digress. Suddenly, “Sympathy for the Devil” by The Rolling Stones begins blasting from the kitchen. Mom. That’s the ringtone I have set for her, because when you grow up with a mom like her, you either have a lot of empathy, or a really good sense of humour. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. I groan and lumber down the hall into the kitchen. I unplug my phone, take a breath, and pick up. “Hi mom, what’s up?” my tone a bit more sour than I was going for. “Oh nothing Naomi, just checking in. I haven’t done that in awhile.” She says, her voice meaning to come off sweet, but sounding more insincere. She’s not wrong, I haven’t called in two months. I don’t live far away either, but I’m still reluctant to come home, even for the holidays. Nothing personal, I just can’t deal with all the incessant nagging. My dad’s got it handled. He deals with my mom’s crazy. I feel bad, but then again, none of her other kids really reach out to her, unless she calls first. I’m not close with any of them. My four half siblings were already adults when I was born, and my twin brother David and I never quite got along when we were younger. Sometimes when one sibling is the clear favourite, it can drive both of them apart. Still, David doesn’t reach out unless it’s a holiday or a birthday. His wife is pretty insistent on the whole “keeping family together” thing. She doesn’t really understand how ours works though. For us, space is better. I suppose that’s just what happens when you grow up in a home like we did, not much love to go around. “I’m doing fine, how are you, how’s dad?” It’s odd how we’ve become such strangers. I used to yearn for a conversation with her, one without screaming, one where we actually spoke. “Oh you know, all good around here, not much to report. Now that we’re retired, we mostly stay home all day. Sometimes I have the girls from the bank, or your dad’s old army friends over for dinner.” “Well doesn’t that sound fun!” I’m trying my best with my mom, fake enthusiasm, just looking ahead, getting through this conversation. I think of the letter I have tucked away in the top drawer of my nightstand. I wrote it, impulsively, one night a few months ago. It contains everything I’ve ever wanted to say to her, everything she's done wrong, everything I resent her for, and everything I want her to do. It’s gentle, kind, carefully constructed, but firm. In it, I told her not to call me unless it was truly an emergency. After I wrote it, I sobbed myself to sleep, woke up in the morning, eyes puffy and red, hair frizzy and tangled, face swollen, and I sat on it. Four days went by. Four. Days. I thought about sending it, how final it would be, how she would react, what would happen. Finally, I decided to slip it into an envelope. So now, a few months later, it’s sitting in my nightstand, sealed, stamped, and ready to send. Ready to end whatever this is. But I have no courage to send it. “Yeah… yeah… it is.” she pauses, “By the way, how’s Joseph? Are you bringing him home for Chanukkah?” “Ummm…” How on earth do I explain to my mother that at 31 years old, I’m single all over again, and how do I avoid the biological clock conversation? How do I tell her that the perfect guy – tall, handsome, smart, lawyer, and her personal highlight, Jewish, her best friend’s son – is a cheating idiot. “About that…” I start off, nervously. “Naomi, don’t tell me you two broke up!” Here we go… “what did you do?” She says, ready to blame me, always ready to blame me. “I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING MOM!” My voice cracks as it raises, and I tense, why does she insist on being like this? “He cheated on me.” “Naomi, you’re getting older, pretty soon you won’t be able to have kids.” “Mom.” She’s always on me about this, so traditional in that sense. I think she just wants someone to love her, someone naive. Since she’s only seen any of her grandkids a few times in their lives, I think she’s hoping I’ll change that for her. But besides the fact that I’m not sure I’d want my kids around her, I’m not even sure if I want any at all. “No, Naomi, I want grandbabies!” “Mom, you have grandkids, nine of them!” My voice continues wavering, I feel like a kid. “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!” We're both shouting now. None of my brothers bring the kids round anymore, not for Chanukkah, not for Passover, not even for Purim. I can’t blame them, I'd never introduce a kid to this. “Mom please can we have ONE civil conversation?” “I AM BEING CIVIL!” This is why I don’t call. “Now,” “Mom." “No. Naomi. No. We’re just so different now, I think you should come over for Shabbat tonight.” “Mom, no, I don’t have time.” It’s a complete lie. “Naomi, it’s only a 45 minute drive, come on, don’t you miss us?” It’s always something. I want nothing less than to spend Shabbat at my parents house, especially on my birthday. “I have plans already.” Another lie, technically I do, but it’s just sitting in my friend Abigail’s living room and watching reality TV with her and her newborn. I’m not particularly fond of babies. “Naomi, please.” She sounds desperate Oh god, not the begging, anything but the begging. My mom is notorious for her guilt tripping, all of my siblings felt it, and still do. She calls my half sister, Dvora, the most, but she never picks up. I think mom’s the most heartbroken about her, her firstborn, but she won’t change. She just keeps calling in hopes Dvora will. I don’t talk to Dvora all that much, Birthday cards and the occasional comment on a facebook post. I didn’t even go to her wedding. She, like me, took a while to settle down, but still, two years ago, at 56 years old, got married to some guy named Darek. She’s smart, she’s talented, she’s beautiful, and she married an accountant named Darek, whose biggest personality trait is a love of motor-cross. So… There's something to look forward to one day, my very own Darek. “Please Naomi, I really feel like you don’t love me anymore.” “Of course I love you Mom, but I can’t just drop everything to tend to you.” “YOU BARELY EVEN TALK TO ME, THE LEAST YOU COULD DO IS COME OVER FOR DINNER!” This hurts. “I’m sorry mom. It’s a no.” “NAOMI!” “Goodbye.” “NAOMI!” My stomach twists, I can feel my throat tightening. “I love you, please mom, please don’t call me.” I feel my eyes stinging, fighting back tears. “Naomi, please don’t do this to me.” “I’m sorry mom, I love you, so, so much, probably too much, which is why I tried for so long.” There’s a pause, my mom is silent, for once she is silent. Whatever has taken over me, it’s too late to turn back, and besides, it’s for the better. Every insecurity stems from my mom. She was the first one to pick me apart, my skin, my hair, my eyes, my body, me. It’s all an image of her. “Goodbye mom, I love you.” my voice cracks as my finger slides over my phone and clicks the red button on the screen. I slide down the wall, to the floor, as a tear rolls down my cheek. It’s a Friday morning in mid October, and I just made the decision to cut off my mom. Not in the sterile, suppressed way I had planned, but cut off nonetheless. So, here I am, crouched against the wall in my kitchen, faced directly across from my fridge, unloading everything, tear stained cheeks, waves of nausea crashing over me, and the realization of what I just did settling in. I’m angry at her for treating me the way she did, heartbroken that she couldn’t change for me, relieved that I won’t have to speak to her, and heartbroken once more, knowing that I will likely not speak to my mother for a very very long time. I am disappointed, I know people can change, I am an example of this. Had you asked me 2 years ago if I would ever consider doing what I’ve just done, I would’ve been appalled, yet I grew past my desperation for love, and my willful ignorance, so why can’t my mother change. Why won’t she? Am I not worth changing for? Maybe I will send the letter, or burn it, or just loathe it for a while, but all I know now is that it is safely tucked away for only me to know about.
airy/ary (cont.) - Jeannie Campbell (10) -
[Feeling lost, and sorry for myself, I visited the elementary school in my neighbourhood. I asked the advanced students of Mrs.Eleanore’s second grade class what they want to be when they grow up, and I got some varied answers, to say the least. The following is a transcript of my conversations with them]
TRANSCRIPT BEGINS
WOMAN Tell me, Alissa, what do you want to be when you grow up?
ALISSA I want to be a fairy!
WOMAN And why’s that? Why do you want to be a fairy when you grow up?
ALISSA I want to have wings And dance through the flowers Be friends with the lady bugs And fly for endless hours (pause) What do you want to be when you grow up?
WOMAN (chuckle) Well, I’m not quite sure yet, but a fairy sounds like a wonderful idea. Thank you Alissa.
(a chair screeches, and shoes scamper off. Sam sits down in the chair)
WOMAN Nice to meet you Sam, now tell me, what do you want to be when you grow up?
SAM When I grow up, I want to be in the military.
WOMAN And why’s that, Sam?
SAM I want to be just like my dad was I want to be brave, and fight for my land For my country, and for peace Uphold the rights for which we stand (pause) What do you want to be when you grow up?
WOMAN (pause) Well, I’m not quite sure yet, but the military is a fine idea. Thank you Sam.
(a chair screeches, and shoes shuffle away. Asher sits down in the chair)
WOMAN Hello, Asher. What do you want to be when you grow up?
ASHER I want to work at the library when I’m older.
WOMAN And why’s that, Asher?
ASHER I want to be surrounded with books And other readers just like myself I want to introduce this love of mine To other children, and fill every single shelf (pause) What do you want to be when you grow up?
WOMAN Well, I’m not quite sure yet, but the library sounds nice. Thanks Asher.
(a chair screeches, and shoes shuffle away. Dorothy sits down in the chair)
WOMAN Hi Dorothy. Now, what do you want to be when you grow up?
DOROTHY I don’t know, but I hope to have an obituary.
WOMAN And what exactly do you mean by that?
DOROTHY I want to be remembered For all the good things I’ve done I don’t know what those things are just yet But in the meantime, I think I’ll have fun (pause) What do you want to be when you grow up?
WOMAN Well, I’m not quite sure yet. But I hope I have an obituary, and I think I’ll have some fun, too.
TRANSCRIPT ENDS
Goodbye Lit (cont.) - Kayla Nixon (12) -
If a poet rearranges a soul, in mere stanzas, what could a program do, in four years? Gawky and awkward at thirteen, I struggled finding my way, between classrooms, but since the beginning, I’ve never felt lost in Lit.
In these hallowed halls, my imagination ran wild, inventing fairies, pirates, and epic love stories. The rain fell hard into the night, I wrote until I feared daybreak, while still excitedly anticipating, what the morning brings, reading my classmates playwriting, movie scripts, recipes, and unsung histories.
I’ve grown up inside of, the sweetest dream with, poetry so warm, and familiar, comforting words enveloping, novels so tightly packed, wooden shelves heave and curve, so much beauty, bound in leather, written in verse.
I poured over classics and contemporaries, my eyes dilated lovingly, to take in every word. In all of these dusty pages, I’ve absorbed the soul, emotion, the core, and been offered the courage, given the language, and brought the heart, to have grand adventures of my own.
Canterbury has gifted me with the power to wield my voice, confidence in my work, lifelong friendships, and stolen the silence, I once fearfully brandished. The person I am now, is not the kid who auditioned, and the only change is being, surrounded by literature and love.
Tonight I’ve stood up here for the last time, and it is someone’s first. We experience it in turns. Doe eyed authors, don’t take it for granted, this will come to mean, as much to you, as it does to me.
It’s breaking my heart to leave. Deeply, and honestly, with each stanza, each comma, As it nears closer to the epilogue, Goodbye Lit, you were a fairytale to me.
The Equilibrium (cont.) - Madison Kidd Fields (10) -
During the night, when you rest your head upright, and you're transported into a realm of possibility and imagination. Reality turns inverted, as you gaze up into a world beyond normal. Everything comes with challenges but when called to a different universe, problems seem mundane. Aspirations? Is that the word? a strong desire to achieve something significant, suddenly seems simple. Mission achieved; happiness secured, the dream world has been conquered and preserved
Right? But what’s that over there, a small corner is consumed by darkness? The darkness moves quickly and quietly, corrupting and converting dreams into moments of terror and trauma. The nightmares follow, dreams plagued by death, disease and desertion.
Night terrors spread rapidly through the children; screams of terror plague the night. Parents huddle their children close, trying to protect them from the unseen. Igniting the feeling of fleeing in beings who only ever projected themselves with happiness, turned to black and brittle ashes flowing through the storm of grief, the torrents of pain. Greatness, which at first came easy, now felt hollow and empty. Obscurity now breached through the great powers felt through dreams, obscurity turned to panic which turned to pain and bleeding souls. How does one overcome this grief, the feeling of being pushed downwards towards something that swallows everything it touches, everything that once was joyful and full of life now turned to substances to cope, from gambling to alcohol, the Pandora box has been opened and there’s no lock left to close it. The warriors of the world, the soldiers who died for our sins, for our misdeeds now resurfaced, cries from the trenches, from the battlefield echoed through ears of many. People were no longer able to contain them with substances, what was left? Death? Many tried to die, to cure themselves of the pain that haunted them through the night. But even death has a way of eluding a person who wants it too much, who wishes it came to them without fully living, without fully deserving let alone understanding why we die. Are you okay? People may ask, people who have escaped the nightmares, elders who have lived through the terror and have seen the other side. You nod your head yes, smile at the weddings, nod sympathetically at the funerals but deep down your soul has left. Packed their bags and headed towards the higher light, while you lay curled in a dark alley, covered in a torn blanket wondering where you went wrong in life, and why you were chosen. Rage quickly fills that empty void of grief, you curse the gods who have left you like this, who have not saved you like the bible said they would. You knew that if the Rapture was real no one was coming to save you, that you were here alone for the end of your life, for however long they let you suffer. Epiales the god of nightmares, watches from below, smiling as the darkness plagues the world. Dreams had vanished leaving only the darkened view of people whose hearts have been crushed and sliced.
Even with the balance that comes with dreams and nightmares, there is a light that’s waiting, it may seem unattainable but it’s there, if you have lived long enough, lived to your fullest potential, perhaps, it will open up and guide you to your happily ever after.
A Dream (cont.) - Lily Smith (10) -
When we dream, Our minds soar higher Than we can reach with our two hands. We no longer see the ground beneath our feet, Nor the walls around our lives, Nor the depths in which we could fall. We see ahead, above, up high.
When we dream, The fragile string Connecting our hearts and our minds Is cut loose. Allowing our feelings To come from somewhere deeper within us. Allowing rational and reasoning To peel away from our souls.
Some dreams carry meaning, Have significance beyond simple pleasure. An eagle whose cries You hear tear through the night. A feather whose presence Is heavier than stone. An ancestor whose touch You feel graze your skin.
Some dreamers lay Beneath stars and dream catchers. On top of soft moss Or woven chilkat blankets. Breathing in scents of pine and campfires. Surrounded by others Who dream just like them.
Other dreams belong to dreamers Who dream to escape. Whose hearts ache For a life different from their own As their minds tether them To harsh reality.
And some dreamers lost their dreams, Long long ago, To those who cut the string That connects heart to mind, But stole the heart altogether, Leaving only a mind That sees what it is shown, And has not the heart To imagine something different.
We all know some dreams Don’t come true. We all know some hearts Never heal. But we all dream of a day Where neither is true.
My dream is simple. For all dreamers to dream, And all dreams to be valued. Because whether its an eagle you see, Or a path to a different life, Or nothing at all, A dream is a dream, And in the end, Who are we to judge?
Rogue Fairy (cont.) - Nadia Golah-Rusnak (10) -
Act 2 scene 1 Line= Lines I wrote PUCK: How now, spirit! Whither wander you? INVIDIA: I plucked flowers for Titania’s flowr’y bed, When I heard royal news had spread. PUCK: The king doth keep his revels here to-night: Take heed the queen come not within his sight; For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, Because that she as her attendant hath A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king; She never had so sweet a changeling; And jealous Oberon would have the child Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild; But she perforce withholds the loved boy, Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy: And now they never meet in grove or green, By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, but, they do square, that all their elves for fear Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there. INVIDIA: Aye, how tragic for it is true, Yet I am not so blue, My love for Oberon won't go away, How I wish that he and I could stay,
PUCK: What did thou say I could not hearest thee.
INVIDIA: Just how I wish that those gent would maketh up, For the seasons art all mixed up, Art thou Rodin Goodfellow who wander the night, I heard you give the mortals a good fright. PUCK: Thou speak’st aright; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile when I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, Neighing in likeness of a filly foal: And sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl, In very likeness of a roasted crab, And when she drinks, against her lips I bob And on her wither’d dewlap pour the ale. The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, And ‘tailor’ cries, and falls into a cough; And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh, And waxen in their mirth and sneeze and swear A merrier hour was never wasted there. But, room, fairy! Here comes Oberon.
⌜Exit Invidia and Puck⌝
Act 2 Scene 2 TITANIA Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; Then, for the third part of a minute, hence-- Some to kill cankers in the muskrose buds, Some war with reremice for their leathern wings To make my small elves coats, and some keep back The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep.
Then to your offices and let me rest. Fairies sing with the exception of Invidia who has a foul expression on her face. ⌜FIRST FAIRY⌝ You spotted snakes with double tongue, Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen. Newts and blindworms, do no wrong, Come not near our Fairy Queen. ⌜CHORUS⌝ Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby. Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby. Never harm Nor spell nor charm Come our lovely lady nigh. So good night, with lullaby. INVIDIA Weaving spiders, come not here, But I beg Oberon to come near, Let no foul beast approach our Queen, Allow Oberon to not be seen, Close thy eyes and doth not fret, Thy safety shall not be in threat. ⌜CHORUS⌝ Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby. Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby. Never harm Nor spell nor charm
Come our lovely lady night. So good night, with lullaby. INVIDIA Hence, away! Now all is well, Titania shall beest safe as I guard her swell
⌜Fairies exit exapt for Invidia who is guarding Titania.⌝
Enter Oberon, ⌜who’s about to anoint Titania’s eyelids with the nectar.⌝
OBERON What thou seest when thou dost wake Do it for thy true love take. Love and languish for his sake. INVIDIA Thence is Oberon is all his gl’ry, How can that gent look so fair with nay w’rry, I shall cease securing Titania, For she will not awaken, Oberon shall putteth the loveth charm on her, If I’m not mistaken.
OBERON Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, Pard, or boar with bristled hair, In thy eye that shall appear When thou wak’st, it is thy dear. Wake when some vile thing is near.
⌜He exits.⌝
INVIDIA Aye the time has come, The time when Titania shall amount to none, While anon Titania doth loveth the king, But the tempus for yond is done, Titania shalt fall and wither, While I shalt have Oberon come hither , Shun that Obreon shall hie to me, As Titania shall be busy, Cherishing Some foul beast, I shall ruleth before all the other Fairies; All the while when Titania shall cease, As for the charms, it shall be reversed with time, I shall commit no crime, And Titania will cometh crying to me, Screaming, kicking as she begeths for mercy, I shall stand my ground firmly, But it shall all beest for nothing, With time she shall see, My fair Oberon shall beeth faithfull to me, I won’t useth nay charm or lotion,
Nothing shall break mine and Oberon's love Not even a potion, Since I shall woo Obberon And put mine plan into motion, Because I knoweth yond how, If the hour is true spoken, True love can ne’r beest broken.
⌜Exit Invidia⌝
Act 4 scene 1
TITANIA: Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. BOTTOM: Where’s Peaseblossom? PEASEBLOSSOM: Ready. BOTTOM: Scratch my head Peaseblossom. Where’s Mounsieur Cobweb? COBWEB: Ready. BOTTOM:
Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good mounsieur, BOTTOM: Now where is Madoom Invidia? INVIDIA: Ready. BOTTOM: Go fetch me some hay to feed on and a pail of water to wend with it. INVIDIA: Aye sir Bottom.
⌜Heads into forest⌝
INVIDIA: Anon, I can’t beliveth what is going on, Those gents are in love as two birds; Who are singing a song, I feelith as thous have all the might , Oberon shall never beest in fright, I thence shall be there to care for this gent, Our love shall never be bent, I shalt maketh sure that our love shall wend on, Because something so fair can never beest wrong.
⌜Exit Inivdia⌝
TITANIA: I have a venturous fairy that shall seek The squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.
BOTTOM: I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me: I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. TITANIA: Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. Fairies, begone, and be all ways away. [Exeunt fairies.] So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle Gently entwist; the female ivy soEnrings the barky fingers of the elm. O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee! [They sleep.] [Enter Puck and Oberon.] www.blaudog.weebly.com⌜Enter Invidia with hay and water hiding behind a bush⌝
OBERON: [Advancing] Welcome, good Robin. See’st thou this sweet sight? Her dotage now I do begin to pity: Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen. TITANIA: My Oberon! What visions have I seen! Methought I was enamour’d of an ass. OBERON: There lies your love.
TITANIA: How came these things to pass? O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now! OBERON:
Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head. Titania, music call; and strike more dead; Than common sleep of all these five the sense. TITANIA: Music, ho! music, such as charmeth sleep! [Music, still.] PUCK: Now, when thou wakest, with thine own fool’s eyes peep. OBERON: Sound, music! Come, my queen, take hands with me, And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. Now thou and I are new in amity, And will to-morrow midnight solemnly Dance in Duke Theseus’ house triumphantly, And bless it to all fair prosperity: Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. PUCK: Fairy king, attend, and mark: I do hear the morning lark. OBERON: Then, my queen, in silence sad, Trip we after the night’s shade: We the globe can compass soon, Swifter than the wandering moon. TITANIA: Come, my lord, and in our flight ;Tell me how it came this night That I sleeping here was found With these mortals on the ground.
⌜Exit Oberon and Titania holding hands⌝
INVIDIA:
How couldst Oberon do this to me, For I loveth that gent more than his lady, We w’re supposed to be lovers,
So joyous and true, But anon I shall beest forev’r blue.
⌜Exit Invidia holding her face in her hands⌝
The Evolution of Dreaming (In the Scientific World) (cont.) - Sofia Bjornson (10) -
Dreams are something that we all experience even if you don’t remember having them. What was thought of them before we understood them, and how well do we really understand them now? We are about to take a look at some of the history behind what dreaming has been, was understood to be, and what we know now.
As you can imagine dreams are a pretty weird thing our brains do during sleep, the realism, and often abstract oddness of them is interesting. For that reason, dreams have had quite a history, from prophets, to myths, dreams have had a story to tell. The Greeks believed that dreams were divine experiences and that all dreams should be taken seriously as gateways to the gods themselves. With there being personified entities that were dreams in many poems, and stories. In the norse myology dreams held significant prophetic value, so much so that the Scandinavian peoples had dreams so memorable their stories lasted through time. A dream from the ninth century had by Ragnahild, Queen of Halfdan had a dream of a beautiful tree that grew tall with green stems, white branches and a red bowl. This dream is said to have prophesied the reign of her son, the first king of Norway.
In far more recent years people have come to agree that dreams are in fact brain activity while a person sleeps that can affect their mental state as well as their physical one. You may have heard of Freud’s dream theory before, this being because he was one of the first and by far most well known psychoanalytic theorists. Although his theories are questionable today they give a good idea of how we decided to categorize dreams and understand them from a scientific lens. Freud’s theory was - in a nut shell - that dreams were caused by one waking life and played out by taking conflict or fear and making them a concrete visual part of your dream as a way for the subconscious to safely release tensions in your conscious mind. This means that by his logic, everything you dream about is something meaningful in your daily life. On top of that your dreams are usually outlets for negative feelings or events that come up from your subconscious. Freud also thought that everyone dreams about sleeping with their mom. So with that in mind lets take a look at some of the revised theories on dreaming.
Today we understand that dreams occur during the REM (rapid eye movement) portion of your sleep cycle. This happens multiple times a night and even if you can’t remember them, you dream multiple times a night. There are plenty of theories on dreams, but the ones most regarded by the scientific community are that dreams are in the simplest form, a way for you subconscious to process information, that the neurons firing during REM sleep are what cause the realistic physical feelings, images, and noises.
So to conclude this look into dreams; They are very cool, and pretty mysterious. We still have a long way to go when it comes to researching them and there is a lot more to them than you might think. Many awesome topics on dreams were not discussed here such as lucid dreaming, nightmares, etc. You might find some of these in the other pieces on Spotlight or by diving deeper into the subject. I hope you learned something new, thanks for visiting our dreams spotlight!