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If Hermia meant to say, Lysander ly'd.
Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I;
Puck Through the forest have I gone,
But Athenian found I none,
So awake, when I am gone ;
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
[Exit DEMETRIUS. Hel. O, I am out of breath, in this fond chace ! 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 oftner wash'd than hers. No, no, I am as ugly as a bear; For beasts, that meet me; run away for fear: Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 370 Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne ? But who is here? Lysander! on the ground ! Dead ? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound:Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. Lys. And run through fire I will, 'for thy sweet sake.
[Waking: Transparent Helena ! Nature shews art, That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius ? Oh, how fit a word Diij
Is that vile name, to perish on my sword!
Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so: 380 What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what
though? Yet Hermia still loves you: then be content.
Lys. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent The tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia, but Helena I love : Who will not change a raven for a dove ? The will of man is by his reason sway'd; And reason says, you are the worthier maid. Things growing are not ripe until their season ; So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; 390 And touching now the point of human skill, Reason becomes the marshal to my will, And leads me to youş eyes; where I o'erlook Love's stories, written in love's richest book.
Hel. Wherefore was I to his keen mockery born? When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency?
400 Good troth, you do me wrong, good şooth, you do, In such disdainful manner mę to wop. But fare you well: perforce I must confess, I thought you lord of more true gentleness. Oh, that a lady, of one man refus’d Should, of another, therefore be abusid ! [Exit.