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

HERMIA.
Belike for want of rain, which I could well
Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes.

LYSANDER.
Hermia, for ought 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,
Strangely misgrafted in respect of years,
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,
Or if there were a sympathy of choice;
War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it,
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as is a dream.

HERMIA.
If then true lovers have been ever crost,
It stands as an edict in destiny:
Then let us teach our trial patience:
Because it is a customary cross,

As due to love, as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
Wishes and tears, poor Fancy's followers!

LYSANDER.
A good persuasion, therefore hear me, Hermia:
Steal forth thy Father's house to-morrow night,
And in the wood, a league without the town,
There will I stay for thee, there marry thee,
And fly from Athens and her rigorous laws.
Thou know'st the place, where I did meet thee once
To do observance to the morn of May.
AIR.
When that gay season did us lead
To the tann'd hay-cock in the mead,
When the merry bells rung round,
And the rebecks brisk did sound,
When young and old came forth to play
On a sunshine holyday.
Let us wander far away,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray
O'er the mountains barren breast,
Where labouring clouds do often rest,
O'er the meads with daizies py'd,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide.

HERMIA.
My good Lysander,
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,
By all the vows that men have ever broke,
In number more than ever woman spoke,
Hermia to-morrow in the depth of night
Will meet Lysander, and attempt her flight.

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