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, On whose eyes I might approve And here the maiden, sleeping sound, Enter DEMETRIUS and HELENA, running. [Exit. 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 DEMETRIUS. 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: No, no, I am as ugly as a bear; For beasts, that meet me, run away for fear: Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet sake. [Waking. Transparent Helena! Nature here shows art, That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Is that vile name, to perish on my sword! Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so: What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though? Yet Hermia still loves you: then be content. Lys. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent The tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia, but Helena I love; Who will not change a raven for a dove? And leads me to your eyes; where I o'erlook Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, But fare you well: perforce I must confess, I thought you lord of more true gentleness. Should, of another, therefore be abus'd! [Exit. Lys. She sees not Hermia:-Hermia, sleep thou there; And never may'st thou come Lysander near! Of all be hated; but the most of me! And all my powers, address your love and might, [Exit. Her. [Starting.] Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best, To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast! Ah me, for pity!—what a dream was here? Lysander! what, remov'd? Lysander! lord! What, out of hearing? gone! no sound, no word? [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I.-The same. The Queen of Fairies lying asleep. Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING. Bot. Are we all met? Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal: This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tyring-house; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the duke. Bot. Peter Quince,- Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom? Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that? Snout. By'rlakin, a parlous fear. Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, when all is done. Bot. Not a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue: and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords; and that Pyramus is not killed indeed: and, for the more better assurance, tell them, that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: This will put them out of fear. |