Lys.
How now, my love? why is your cheek so pale?
How chance, the roses there do fade so fast?

Her.
Belike, for want of rain; which I could well
^{7 note}Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes.

Lys.
Hermia, for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth;
But, either it was different in blood—

Her.
O cross!—too high, to be enthrall'd to low!—(a) ^note

Lys.
Or else misgraffed, in respect of years—

Her.
O spight! too old, to be engag'd to young!

Lys.
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends—

Her.
O hell! to chuse love by another's eye!

Lys.
Or if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it;
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,

&wlquo;^{8 note}


Brief as the lightning in the ^{9 note}collied night,
&wlquo;That (in a spleen) unfolds both heav'n and earth;
&wlquo;And ere a man hath power to say, Behold!
&wlquo;The jaws of darkness do devour it up;&wrquo;
So quick bright things come to confusion.—

Her.
If then true lovers have been ever crost,
It stands as an edict in destiny:
Then, let us teach our tryal patience:
Because it is a customary cross,
As due to love, as thoughts and dreams, and sighs,
Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers!

Lys.
A good persuasion; therefore hear me, Hermia.
I have a widow-aunt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child;
From Athens is her house remov'd seven leagues,
And she respects me as her only son.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us. ^{1 note}

Steal forth thy father's house to morrow night;
And in the wood, a league without the town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena
To do observance to the morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.

Her.
My good Lysander,—

Lys.
I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head,
By the Simplicity of Venus' doves,
By that, which knitteth souls, and prospers loves;
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage Queen,
When the false Trojan under sail was seen;
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
In number more than ever women spoke;—

Her.
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
To morrow truly will I meet with thee.

Lys.
Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

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