Enter PUCK. Here comes my messenger.-How now, mad spirit! And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls; He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong, Made senseless things begin to do them wrong; Some, sleeves; some, hats; from yielders all things catch. I led them on in this distracted fear, And left sweet Pyramus translated there; 1 Revelry. 2 A patch was a common contemptuous term. 3 Barren is dull, unpregnant. Sort is company. 4 A head. 5 The chough is a bird of the daw kind. Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. But hast thou yet latched the Athenian's eyes Puck. I took him sleeping,-that is finished, too,And the Athenian woman by his side; That, when he waked, of force she must be eyed. Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA. Obe. Stand close; this is the same Athenian. Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse; For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, The sun was not so true unto the day, As he to me. Would he have stolen away From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe, as soon, This whole earth may be bored, and that the moon It cannot be, but thou hast murdered him : So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. Dem. So should the murdered look; and so should 1, Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty. Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. Her. What's this to my Lysander? Where is he? Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds. Her. Out, dog! Out, cur! Thou driv'st me past the bounds Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, then? 1 Latched or letched, licked or smeared over. O! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake. An adder did it; for with doubler tongue Dem. You spend your passion on a misprised 2 mood. I am not guilty of Lysander's blood; Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. Dem. An if I could, what should I get therefore? Her. A privilege, never to see me more.And from thy hated presence part I so,— See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit. Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein; Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow, For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe; If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down. quite, And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight. Of thy misprision must perforce ensue Some true-love turned, and not a false turned true. Puck. Then fate o'errules; that, one man holding troth, A million fail, confounding oath on oath. Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, And Helena of Athens look thou find. All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer3 With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear.1 Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. 1 A touch anciently signified a trick. 2 "On a misprised mood," i. e. in a mistaken manner. 3 Cheer here signifies countenance, from cera (Ital.). [Exit. 4 Alluding to the ancient supposition, that every sigh was indulged at the expense of a drop of blood." Obe. Flower of this purple dye, Re-enter PUCK. Puck. Captain of our fairy band, And the youth mistook by me, Pleading for a lover's fee. Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be! Obe. Stand aside; the noise they make, Will cause Demetrius to awake. Puck. Then will two at once woo one; That must needs be sport alone; And those things do best please me, That befall preposterously. Enter LYSANDER and HELENA. Lys. 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 How can these things in me seem scorn to you, more. When truth kills truth, O devilish holy fray! Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales, Lys. I had no judgment when to her I swore. To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow! To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes, A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so; Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none: If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. 1 i. e. join heartily, unite in the same mind. |