An adder did it; for with doubler tongue
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.
Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd
mood:

I am not guilty of Lysander's blood,
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.

Her. I pray thee, tell me, then, that he is well.
Dem. And, if I could, what should I get therefore?
Her. A privilege, never to see me more.―
And from thy hated presence part I so;
See me no more, whether he be dead or no.

[Exit.

Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein:

Here, therefore, for a while I will remain.
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;
Which now in some slight measure it will pay,

quite,

And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight;
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true.
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules; that one man holding
troth,

A million fail, confounding oath on oath.

Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, And Helena of Athens look thou find : All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear. By some illusion see thou bring her here: I'll charm his eyes against she do appear. Puck. I go, I go; look how I go;

Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit.

Puck. Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand,
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover's fee.

Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Obe. Stand aside: the noise they make
Will cause Demetrius to awake.

Puck. Then will two at once woo one;
That must needs be sport alone;
And those things do best please me,
That befal preposterously.

Enter LYSANDER, and HELENA.

Lys. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?

Scorn and derision never come in tears:

Look, when I vow I weep, and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears.

How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith to prove them true?
Hel. You do advance your cunning more and

more.

When truth kills truth, O, devilish-holy fray! These vows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er! Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:

Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales,
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.

Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore.
Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her

o'er.

If

f you were civil, and knew courtesy,
You would not do me thus much injury.
Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
But you must join in souls to mock me too?
If you were men, as men you are in show,
You would not use a gentle lady so;

To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts.
You both are rivals, and love Hermia,
And now both rivals to mock Helena.
A trim exploit, a manly enterprize,
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes
With your derision! none of noble sort
Would so offend a virgin, and extort

A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.

Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so, For you love Hermia; this, you know, I know: And here, with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermia's love I yield you up my part; And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love, and will do till my death.

Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia: I will none: If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd, And now to Helen is it home return'd, There to remain.

Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,

The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
It pays the hearing double recompense.
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?

Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go?

Her. What love could press Lysander from my side?

Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide, Fair Helena, who more engilds the night Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.

Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know,

The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?

Her. You speak not as you think it cannot be.
Hel. Lo! she is one of this confederacy.
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three,
To fashion this false sport in spite of me.
Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid!
Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd
To bait me with this foul derision?

Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd,
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us,-O! is all forgot?

All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence?
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
Have with our needles created both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
Both warbling of one song, both in one key,
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,
Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition;

Two lovely berries moulded on one stem,
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.
And will you rend our ancient love asunder,
To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly:
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
Though I alone do feel the injury.

Her. I am amazed at your passionate words.
I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me.
Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face,
And made your other love, Demetrius,
(Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,)
To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare,
Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander
Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
And tender me, forsooth, affection,
But by your setting on, by your consent?
What though I be not so in grace as you,
So hung upon with love, so fortunate,
But miserable most to love unlov'd,
This you should pity, rather than despise.

Her. I understand not what you mean by this. Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, Make mouths upon me when I turn my back; Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up: This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. If you have any pity, grace, or manners, You would not make me such an argument. But, fare ye well: 'tis partly mine own fault, Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.

Lys. Stay, gentle Helena! hear my excuse: My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena! Hel. O excellent!

Her. What can you do me greater harm than hate?

Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love?

Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?
I am as fair now, as I was erewhile.

Since night, you lov'd me; yet, since night you left

me:

Why, then you left me (O, the gods forbid !) In earnest, shall I say?

Lys.

Ay, by my life; And never did desire to see thee more. Therefore, be out of hope, of question, of doubt; Be certain, nothing truer: 'tis no jest, That I do hate thee, and love Helena.

Her. O me!-you juggler! you canker-blossom! You thief of love! what, have you come by night, And stol'n my love's heart from him? Hel. Fine, i'faith! Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet you!

Her. Puppet! why so? Ay, that way goes the

game.

Now I perceive that she hath made compare
Between our statures: she hath urg'd her height,
And with her personage, her tall personage,
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him.—
And are you grown so high in his esteem,
Because I am so dwarfish, and so low?
How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak ;
How low am I? I am not yet so low,
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.

Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
Let her not hurt me: I was never curst;
I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
I am a right maid for my cowardice:

Let her not strike me. You, perhaps, may think,
Because she is something lower than myself,
That I can match her.

Her.

Lower! hark, again.

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. I evermore did love you, Hermia,

Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;
Save that, in love unto Demetrius,

I told him of your stealth unto this wood.
He follow'd you; for love, I follow'd him;

But he hath chid me hence, and threaten'd me
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:
And now, so you will let me quiet go,
To Athens will I bear my folly back,
And follow you no further. Let me go:
You see how simple and how fond I am.
Her. Why, get you gone. Who is't that hinders
you?

Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.
Her. What, with Lysander?

Hel.

With Demetrius.

I will not trust you, 1,

Nor longer stay in your curst company.
Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray;
My legs are longer though, to run away. [Erit.
Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say.

[Erit. Obe. This is thy negligence: still thou mistak'st, Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully.

Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. Did not you tell me I should know the man By the Athenian garments he had on? And so far blameless proves my enterprize, That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes; And so far am I glad it so did sort,

As this their jangling I esteem a sport.

Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to

fight:

Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;
The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron;
And lead these testy rivals so astray,
As one come not within another's way.
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius;
And from each other look thou lead them thus,
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep,
With leaden legs and batty wings, doth creep:
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye,
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
To take from thence all error with his might.
And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight.
When they next wake, all this derision
Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision;
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,
With league, whose date till death shall never end.
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;
And then I will her charmed eye release
From monster's view, and all things shall be peace.
Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with
haste,

For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger;

At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,

Troop home to church-yards: damned spirits all,
That in cross-ways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
They wilfully themselves exile from light,
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.
Obe. But we are spirits of another sort.

I with the morning's love have oft made sport;
And, like a forester, the groves may tread,
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,

And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day!
For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
[Lies down.
I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps.
Re-enter PUCK, and DEMETRIUS.

Puck. Ho! ho! ho! Coward, why com'st thou not?

Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot, Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place, And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. Where art thou now?