Her.
God speed, fair Helena! whither away?

Hel.
Call you me fair? that fair again unsay;
Demetrius loves you, fair; O happy fair!
Your eyes are load-stars, and your tongue's sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
When wheat is green, when haw-thorn buds appear.
Sickness is catching: oh, were favour so!
(a) ^noteYour's would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye;
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being 'bated,
The rest I'll give to be to you translated.
O teach me, how you look; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

Her.
I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

Hel.
Oh, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

Her.
I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

Hel.
Oh, that my pray'rs could such affection move!

Her.
The more I hate, the more he follows me.

Hel.
The more I love, the more he hateth me.

Her.
His Folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

Hel.
None, but your beauty; would that fault were mine!

Her.
Take comfort; he no more shall see my face;
Lysander and my self will fly this place.
Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seem'd Athens like a Paradise to me.
O then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell?

Lys.
Helen, to you our minds we will unfold;
To morrow night, when Phœbe doth behold

Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass;
(A time, that lovers flights doth still conceal)
Through Athens' gate have we devis'd to steal.

Her.
And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lye,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsels swell'd;
There, my Lysander and my self shall meet;
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
To seek new Friends and strange Companions.
Farewel, sweet play-fellow; pray thou for us,
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
Keep word, Lysander; we must starve our sight
From Lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. [Exit Hermia.

Lys.
I will, my Hermia.—Helena, adieu;
As you on him, Demetrius doat on you! [Exit Lysand.

Hel.
How happy some, o'er other some, can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so:
He will not know; what all, but he, do know.
And as he errs, doating on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities.
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity:
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.
Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste;
Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:
And therefore is Love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd.
As waggish boys themselves in game forswear,
So the boy Love is perjur'd every where.
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,
He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine;
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt.

I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night,
Pursue her; and for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is a dear expence.
But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
To have this ^note sight thither, and back again. [Exit.

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