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you, sir ?
Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good master Cobweb : if I cut my finger, I shali make bold with you. Your name, honest gentleman ?
Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, your mother, and to master Peascod, your father. Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too.—Your name, I beseech
Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your patience well : that same cowardly, giant-like oxbeef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house : I promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you more acquaintance, good master Mustard-seed. Tita. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
[Exeunt. SCENE II.-Another part of the wood. Enter
Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love.
(1) Revelry. (2) Simple fellows.
Were met together to rehearse a play,
Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. But hast thou yet latch’d4 the Athenian's eyes With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?
Puck. I took”him sleeping,—that is finish'd too, And the Athenian woman by his side; That, when he wak’d, of force she must be ey'a.
Enter Demetrius and Hermia. Obe. Stand close; this is the same Athenian. Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. Dem. O why rebuke you him that loves you so,? (1) Stupid company. (2) Head. (3) Actor.
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
should I, Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty: Yet
you, the murderer, 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 carcase 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 number'd 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 a doubler tongue Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd2
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.
(1) Exploit. (2) Mistaken.
Dem. And if I could, what should I get there
fore? 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 beavier
grow For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;
in some slight measure it will pay, If for his tender here I make some stay.
(Lies down. 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'er-rules; that, one man hold
ing 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-sickl she is, and pale of cheer2 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;
Obe. Flower of this purple dye,
(1) Love-sick. VOL. II.
Obe. Stand aside: the noise they make,
Puck. Then will two at once, woo one;
Enter Lysander and Helena.
in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears : Look, when I vow, I weep; and rows 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 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 Helena, goddess, nymph,
perfect, divine ! To wbat, 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, Fannd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow,