Hel.
Stay, tho' 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 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, tho' Demetrius
Do (as a monster) fly my presence thus.
What wicked, and dissembling, glass of mine
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 thro' fire I will, for thy sweet sake. [Waking.
Transparent Helen, nature here shews art,
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
Where is Demetrius? Oh, how fit a word
Is that vile name, to perish on my sword!

Hel.
Do not say so, Lysander, say not so;
What tho' he love your Hermia, lord, what tho'?
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 Helen now 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;

And, touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will,^{1 note}
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 mock'ry 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?
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;
Oh, that a lady, of one man refus'd,
Should of another therefore be abus'd! [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,
Are hated most of those they did deceive:
So thou, my surfeit and my heresie,
Of all be hated, but the most of me!
And all my pow'rs address your love and might
To honour Helen, and to be her Knight! [Exit.

Her.
Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast:
Ay me, for pity!—what a dream was here?
Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear;
Me-thought, a serpent eat my heart away;
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey.
Lysander! what remov'd? Lysander, lord!
What, out of hearing gone? no sound, no word?
Alack, where are you? speak, and if you hear,
Speak, of all loves; I swoon almost, with fear.

No?—then I well perceive, you are not nigh;
Or death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Exit.

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