Pretty soul! she durst not lie Nearer this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. All the power this charm doth owe. Sleep his seat on thy eyelid : So awake when I am gone; For I must now to Oberon. [Exit. Enter DEMETRIUS and HELENA, running Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me? do not so. Dem. Stay, on thy peril: I alone will go. [Exit. Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase! The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears: If so, my eyes are oftener washed than hers. No, no, I am as ugly as a bear; For beasts, that meet me, run away for fear: Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. Lys. [Awaking] And run through fire I will, for thy sweet sake. Transparent Helen! Nature here shows art, That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word Is that vile name to perish on my sword! Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so. What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though? Yet Hermia still loves you: then be content. Who will not change a raven for a dove? And leads me to your eyes; where I o'erlook Love's stories written in love's richest book. Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Good troth, you do me wrong,-good sooth, you do, In such disdainful manner me to woo. But fare you well: perforce I must confess I thought you lord of more true gentleness. Should of another therefore be abused! [Exit. Lys. She sees not Hermia.-Hermia, sleep thou there : And never may'st thou come Lysander near! For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; Or, as the heresies that men do leave Of all be hated, but the most of me. And, all my powers, address your love and might To honour Helen, and to be her knight. [Exit. Her. [Awaking.] Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best, To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast! [Exit. ACT THIRD SCENE I.-The Wood. TITANIA lying asleep Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING Bot. Are we all met? Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiringhouse; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the duke. Bot. Peter Quince, Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom? Bot. There are things in this comedy of 'Pyramus and Thisbe,' that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself, which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that? Snout. By 'r lakin, a parlous fear. Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, when all is done. Bot. Not a whit: I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and, for the more better assurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver. This will put them out of fear. Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue, and it shall be written in eight and six. Bot. No, make it two more: let it be written in eight and eight. Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion? Star. I fear it, I promise you. |