BOTTOM        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.

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 name the rest of the players. This is Ercles’ vein, a tyrant’s vein. A lover is more condoling.      (1.2.21-37)

That will ask some tears in the true performing of it, Bottom concedes, this gallant lover part has potential, will make an impact, MOVE the audience, if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes. They’ll WEEP. And the implication is that the actor will too. I will move storms; I will condole, in some measure, I’ll HOWL with grief, lament, beat my chest, the whole lot.

Then Bottom has another thought: will that be enough, though, to enable him to demonstrate the full range of his thespian abilities? To the rest, yet my chief humour is for a tyrant. I really think that’s more me, more suited to my talents? Yes, I know you’re wanting to get on to the other roles… I could play Ercles rarely—Hercules! that’s a part with my name on it!—or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. Cat-tearing seems to imply grand, violent gestures, rather than actual violence against felines; the main point is the roaring, physical intensity, stalking, arm-waving. (It is likely having a go at Edward Alleyn—the archetype of the roaring, stalking tyrant, especially in Marlowe’s Tamburlaine—and the Admiral’s Men, who had 2 Hercules plays in their rep at just this moment.) And now a little imitation, which also establishes Bottom as a keen, impressionable theatre-goer (he’s imitating, not improvising, and might put on a deep, booming voice): the raging rocks and shivering shocks (the alliteration as well as the thumping metre makes it archaic) shall break the locks of prison gates, bursting out, boom, crash, biff, kapow etc. And Phibbus’ car—that’s Phoebus, the sun in his chariot—shall shine from far, a good classical allusion, and make and mar the foolish fates. It doesn’t make much sense, but the vibes are all there.

Yes, yes, this was lofty, thank you, thank you, and some of the others might be completely awestruck by Bottom’s prowess. And now name the rest of the players, you can get on with it now. (Quince would love to.) This is Ercles’ vein, a tyrant’s vein, yessssss, really got myself going, YES, that’s how to do it! You see, a lover is more condoling, dial it down, smaller, quieter. I can do both, of course. I’m VERSATILE, even if I think I was BORN to play a TYRANT.