Array MyBooks Classics - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Illustrated edition (37 plays, 160 sonnets and 5 Poetry Books With Active Table of Contents)

Being o’er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,

And kill me too.

The sun was not so true unto the day

As he to me. Would he have stolen away

From sleeping Hermia? I’ll believe as soon

This whole earth may be bor’d, and that the moon

May through the centre creep, and so displease

Her brother’s noontide with th’ Antipodes.

It cannot be but thou hast murd’red him;

So should a murtherer look—so dead, so grim.

Dem.

So should the murthered look, and so should I,

Pierc’d through the heart with your stern cruelty.

Yet you, the murtherer, look as bright, as clear,

As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.

Her.

What’s this to my Lysander? Where is he?

Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?

Dem.

I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.

Her.

Out, dog, out, cur! thou driv’st me past the bounds

Of maiden’s patience. Hast thou slain him then?

Henceforth be never numb’red among men!

O, once tell true; tell true, even for my sake!

Durst thou have look’d upon him being awake?

And hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch!

Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?

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 bankrout [sleep] doth sorrow owe;

Which now in some slight measure it will pay,

If for his tender here I make some stay.

Lie down [and sleep].

Obe.

What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken 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’errules, 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 costs 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.]

Obe.

Flower of this purple dye,

Hit with Cupid’s archery,

Sink in apple of his eye.

When his love he doth espy,

Let her shine as gloriously

As the Venus of the sky.

When thou wak’st, if she be by,

Beg of her for remedy.

Enter Puck.

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 befall prepost’rously.

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.

Lys.

Demetrius loves her; and he loves not you.

Dem. [Awaking.]

O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!

To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?

Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show

Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!

That pure congealed white, high Taurus’ snow,

Fann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow

When thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss

This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!

Hel.

O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent

To set against me for your merriment.

If 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 enterprise,

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.

Lys.

Helen, it is not so.

Dem.

Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,

Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.

Look where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.

Enter Hermia.

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