wak’st, it is thy dear:
Wake when some vile thing is near.
[Exit.]
Enter Lysander and Hermia.
Lys.
Fair love, you faint with wand’ring in the wood;
And to speak troth I have forgot our way.
We’ll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,
And tarry for the comfort of the day.
Her.
Be’t so, Lysander. Find you out a bed;
For I upon this bank will rest my head.
Lys.
One turf shall serve as pillow for us both,
One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.
Her.
Nay, [good] Lysander; for my sake, my dear,
Lie further off yet; do not lie so near.
Lys.
O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!
Love takes the meaning in love’s conference:
I mean, that my heart unto yours [is] knit,
So that but one heart we can make of it;
Two bosoms interchained with an oath,
So then two bosoms and a single troth.
Then by your side no bed-room me deny;
For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.
Her.
Lysander riddles very prettily.
Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied.
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy,
Lie further off, in humane modesty;
Such separation as may well be said
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,
So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend.
Thy love ne’er alter till thy sweet life end!
Lys.
Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I,
And then end life when I end loyalty!
Here is my bed; sleep give thee all his rest!
Her.
With half that wish the wisher’s eyes be press’d!
[They sleep.]
Enter Puck.
Puck.
Through the forest have I gone,
But Athenian found I none,
On whose eyes I might approve
This flower’s force in stirring love.
Night and silence—Who is here?
Weeds of Athens he doth wear:
This is he, my master said,
Despised the Athenian maid;
And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
On the dank and dirty ground.
Pretty soul, she durst not lie
Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe.
When thou wak’st, let love forbid
Sleep his seat on thy eyelid.
So awake when I am gone,
For I must now to Oberon.
Exit.
Enter Demetrius and Helena, running.
Hel.
Stay—though 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.]
Hel.
O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!
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 oft’ner 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 though 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,
