OBERON.
Stand close, this is the same Athenian.

PUCK.
This is the woman, but not this the man.

DEMETRIUS.
O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?

HERMIA.
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
Then kill me too—
The sun was not so true unto the day,
As he to me. Would he have stolen away
From sleeping Hermia?
It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him,
So should a murderer look, so dread, so grim—

DEMETRIUS.
So should the murder'd look, and so should I,
Pierc'd thro' the heart, with your stern cruelty:
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright and clear,
As yonder Venus, in her glimmering sphere.
AIR. HERMIA.
How calm's the sky, how undisturb'd the deep,
Nature is husht, the very tempests sleep;
The drowsy winds breathe gently thro' the trees,
And silent on the beach repose the seas:
Love only wakes, the storm that tears my breast
For ever rages, and distracts my rest.
O love, relentless love, tyrant accurst,
In desarts bred, by cruel tigers nurst. [Exit. Hermia.

DEMETRIUS.
There is no following her in this fierce vein,
Here, brooding o'er my thoughts, I will remain, [Lies down.

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