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 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;
And, touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
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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