Athens. The Palace of THESEUS. |
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Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and Attendants. |
The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour |
Draws on apace: four happy days bring in |
Another moon; but O! methinks how slow |
This old moon wanes; she lingers my desires, |
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager |
Long withering out a young man's revenue. |
Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in night; |
Four nights will quickly dream away the time; |
And then the moon, like to a silver bow |
New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night |
Of our solemnities. |
The. Go, Philostrate, |
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; |
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; |
Turn melancholy forth to funerals; |
The pale companion is not for our pomp. [Exit PHILOSTRATE. |
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, |
And won thy love doing thee injuries; |
But I will wed thee in another key, |
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. |
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Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS. |
Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke! |
The. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee? |
Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint |
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. |
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, |
This man hath my consent to marry her. |
Stand forth, Lysander: and, my gracious duke, |
This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child: |
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rimes, |
And interchang'd love-tokens with my child; |
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, |
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; |
And stol'n the impression of her fantasy |
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, |
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers, |
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth; |
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart; |
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, |
To stubborn harshness. And, my gracious duke, |
Be it so she will not here before your Grace |
Consent to marry with Demetrius, |
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, |
As she is mine, I may dispose of her; |
Which shall be either to this gentleman, |
Or to her death, according to our law |
Immediately provided in that case. |
The. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair maid. |
To you, your father should be as a god; |
One that compos'd your beauties, yea, and one |
To whom you are but as a form in wax |
By him imprinted, and within his power |
To leave the figure or disfigure it. |
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. |
Her. So is Lysander. |
The. In himself he is; |
But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, |
The other must be held the worthier. |
Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes. |
The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. |
Her. I do entreat your Grace to pardon me. |
I know not by what power I am made bold, |
Nor how it may concern my modesty |
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts; |
But I beseech your Grace, that I may know |
The worst that may befall me in this case, |
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. |
The. Either to die the death, or to abjure |
For ever the society of men. |
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires; |
Know of your youth, examine well your blood, |
Whe'r, if you yield not to your father's choice, |
You can endure the livery of a nun, |
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, |
To live a barren sister all your life, |
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. |
Thrice blessed they that master so their blood, |
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage; |
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, |
Than that which withering on the virgin thorn |
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. |
Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, |
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up |
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke |
My soul consents not to give sovereignty. |
The. Take time to pause; and, by the next new moon,— |
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me |
For everlasting bond of fellowship,— |
Upon that day either prepare to die |
For disobedience to your father's will, |
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would; |
Or on Diana's altar to protest |
For aye austerity and single life. |
Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield |
Thy crazed title to my certain right. |
Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius; |
Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. |
Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love, |
And what is mine my love shall render him; |
And she is mine, and all my right of her |
I do estate unto Demetrius. |
Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, |
As well possess'd; my love is more than his; |
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd |
If not with vantage, as Demetrius'; |
And, which is more than all these boasts can be, |
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia. |
Why should not I then prosecute my right? |
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, |
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, |
And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes, |
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, |
Upon this spotted and inconstant man. |
The. I must confess that I have heard so much, |
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; |
But, being over-full of self-affairs, |
My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come; |
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me, |
I have some private schooling for you both, |
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself |
To fit your fancies to your father's will, |
Or else the law of Athens yields you up, |
Which by no means we may extenuate, |
To death, or to a vow of single life. |
Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love? |
Demetrius and Egeus, go along: |
I must employ you in some business |
Against our nuptial, and confer with you |
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. |
Ege. With duty and desire we follow you. [Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, DEMETRIUS, and Train. |
Lys. How now, my love! Why is your cheek so pale? |
How chance the roses there do fade so fast? |
Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could well |
Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. |
Lys. Ay me! for aught 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,— |
Her. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low. |
Lys. Or else misgraffed in respect of years,— |
Her. O spite! too old to be engag'd to young. |
Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,— |
Her. O hell! to choose love by another's eye. |
Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, |
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, |
Making it momentany as a sound, |
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, |
Brief as the lightning in the collied night, |
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, |
And ere a man hath power to say, 'Behold!' |
The jaws of darkness do devour it up: |
So quick bright things come to confusion. |
Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, |
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. |
Lys. A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia. |
I have a widow aunt, a dowager |
Of great revenue, and she hath no child: |
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues; |
And she respects me as her only son. |
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee, |
And to that place the sharp Athenian law |
Cannot pursue us. If thou lov'st me then, |
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night, |
And in the wood, a league without the town, |
Where I did meet thee once with Helena, |
To do observance to a morn of May, |
There will I stay for thee. |
Her. 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, |
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, |
When the false Troyan under sail was seen, |
By all the vows that ever men have broke,— |
In number more than ever women spoke,— |
In that same place thou hast appointed me, |
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. |
Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena. |
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Enter HELENA. |
Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away? |
Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. |
Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! |
Your eyes are lode-stars! and your tongue's sweet air |
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, |
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. |
Sickness is catching: O! were favour so, |
Yours 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'd 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. O! that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill. |
Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. |
Hel. O! that my prayers 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 myself will fly this place. |
Before the time I did Lysander see, |
Seem'd Athens as 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' gates have we devis'd to steal. |
Her. And in the wood, where often you and I |
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, |
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, |
There my Lysander and myself shall meet; |
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, |
To seek new friends and stranger companies. |
Farewell, sweet playfellow: 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. |
Lys. I will, my Hermia.—[Exit HERMIA.] Helena, adieu: |
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you! [Exit. |
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, doting 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 in game themselves 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 expense: |
But herein mean I to enrich my pain, |
To have his sight thither and back again. [Exit. |
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