A Midsummer Night’s Dream – Lysander

He hath turned a heaven into a hell! Helen, to you our minds we will unfold.Tomorrow night when Phoebe doth beholdHer silver visage in the watery glassdecking with liquid pearl upon the bladed grassa time which lovers’ flights doth still conceal,through athens gates have we devised to steal.
we must starve our sightfrom lovers’ food till morrow deep midnight. I will, my Hermia.
Wake when some vile thing is near. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood.and to speak troth, I have forgot our way.we’ll rest Hermia, if you think it good,and tarry for the comfort of the day.
For I upon this bank will rest my head. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both.One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.
Do not lie so near. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence.Love takes the meaning in love’s conference.I mean that my heart unto yours is knitSo that but one heart we can make of it.Two bosoms interchainèd 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.
Thy love ne’er alter till thy sweet life end! 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!
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.Transparent Helena! Nature shows artThat through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.Where is Demetrius? Oh, how fit a wordIs that vile name to perish on my sword!
Yet Hermia still loves you. Then be content. Content with Hermia? No. I do repentThe 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 swayed,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 willAnd leads me to your eyes, where I o’erlookLove’s stories written in love’s richest book.
Oh, that a lady of one man refusedShould of another therefore be abused! She sees not Hermia.—Hermia, sleep thou there.And never mayst thou come Lysander near!For as a surfeit of the sweetest thingsThe deepest loathing to the stomach brings,Or as the heresies that men do leaveAre hated most of those they did deceive,So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,Of all be hated, but the most of me.—And all my powers, address your love and mightTo honor Helen and to be her knight.
And those things do best please meThat befall preposterously. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?Scorn and derision never come in tears.Look, when I vow, I weep. And vows so born,In their nativity all truth appears.How can these things in me seem scorn to you,Bearing the badge of faith to prove them true?
our vows to her and me, put in two scales,Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. I had no judgment when to her I swore.
Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.
None of noble sortWould so offend a virgin, and extortA poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport. You are unkind, Demetrius. Be not so.For you love Hermia. This you know I know.And here, with all good will, with all my heart,In Hermia’s love I yield you up my part.And yours of Helena to me bequeath,Whom I do love and will do till my death.
And now to Helen is it home returned,There to remain. Helen, it is not so.
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy soundBut why unkindly didst thou leave me so? Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go?
What love could press Lysander from my side? Lysander’s love, that would not let him bide,Fair Helena, who more engilds the nightThan all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.Why seek’st thou me? Could not this make thee knowThe hate I bear thee made me leave thee so?
‘Tis partly my own fault,Which death or absence soon shall remedy. Stay, gentle Helena. Hear my excuse.My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!
If she cannot entreat, I can compel. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat.Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.—Helen, I love thee. By my life, I do.I swear by that which I will lose for theeTo prove him false that says I love thee not.
I say I love thee more than he can do. If thou say so, withdraw and prove it too.
Lysander, whereto tends all this? Away, you Ethiope!
Take on as you would follow,But yet come not. You are a tame man, go! Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! Vile thing, let looseOr I will shake thee from me like a serpent.
Why are you grown so rude? What change is this,Sweet love? Thy love? Out, tawny Tartar, out!Out, loathèd medicine! O hated potion, hence!
Yes, sooth, and so do you. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.
I would I had your bond, for I perceiveA weak bond holds you. I’ll not trust your word. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?Although I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.
Why then, you left me—Oh, the gods forbid!—In earnest, shall I say? Ay, by my life,And never did desire to see thee more.Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt.Be certain, nothing truer. ‘Tis no jestThat I do hate thee and love Helena.
With Demetrius. Be not afraid. She shall not harm thee, Helena.
“Little” again? Nothing but “low” and “little”!—Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?Let me come to her. Get you gone, you dwarf,You minimus of hindering knotgrass made,You bead, you acorn!
For if thou dost intendNever so little show of love to her,Thou shalt aby it. Now she holds me not.Now follow, if thou darest, to try whose right,Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.
Goblin, lead them up and down.Here comes one. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.
Here, villain. Drawn and ready. Where art thou? I will be with thee straight.
Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head? Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,Telling the bushes that thou look’st for wars,And wilt not come? Come, recreant. Come, thou child!I’ll whip thee with a rod. He is defiledThat draws a sword on thee.
Yea, art thou there? Follow my voice. We’ll try no manhood here.
Follow my voice. We’ll try no manhood here. He goes before me and still dares me on.When I come where he calls, then he is gone.The villain is much lighter-heeled than I.I followed fast, but faster he did fly,That fallen am I in dark uneven way,And here will rest me.(lies down) Come, thou gentle day!For if but once thou show me thy grey light,I’ll find Demetrius and revenge this spite.(sleeps)
Come, thou gentle day!For if but once thou show me thy grey light,I’ll find Demetrius and revenge this spite. Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why comest thou not?
Where art thou now? Come hither. I am here.
Begin these woodbirds but to couple now? Pardon, my lord.
How comes this gentle concord in the world,That hatred is so far from jealousyTo sleep by hate and fear no enmity? My lord, I shall reply amazèdly,Half sleep, half waking. But as yet, I swear,I cannot truly say how I came here.But as I think—for truly would I speak,And now do I bethink me, so it is—I came with Hermia hither. Our intentWas to be gone from Athens, where we might,Without the peril of the Athenian law—
And Hippolyta. And he did bid us follow to the temple.
Joy and fresh days of loveAccompany your hearts! More than to usWait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!
This fellow doth not stand upon points. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt. He knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true.
The very best at a beast, my lord, that ‘ere I saw. This lion is a very fox for his valor.
But yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. Proceed, Moon.
And then came Pyramus. And so the Lion vanished.
No die, but an ace for him, for he is but one. Less than an ace, man. For he is dead. He is nothing.
He for a man, God warrant us, she for a woman, God bless us. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.

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