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The pale Companion is not for our Pomp.
Hippolita, 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.
Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lyfander, and Demetrius.
Ege. Happy be Thefeus, our renowned Duke.
The. Thanks, good Egens; 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
Stand forth Lyfander. And, my gracious Duke
This hath bewitch'd the Bofom of my Child:
Thou, thou Lyfander, thou haft given her Rhimes,
And interchang'd Love-tokens with my Child:
Thou haft, by Moon-light, at her Window fung,
With feigning Voice, Verfes of feigning Love,
And ftoll'n the Impreffion of her Fantafie,
With Bracelets of thy Hair, Rings, Gawds, Conceits,
Knacks, Trifles, Nofegays, Sweet-meats, Messengers
Of strong Prevailment in unharden'd Youth;
With Cunning haft thou filch'd my Daughter's Heart,
Turn'd her Obedience, which is due to me,'
Toftubborn Harfhnefs. And, my gracious Duke,
Be it fo fhe will not here before your Grace
Confent to marry with Demetrius,
I beg the antient Privilege of Athens,
As the 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 fay you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair Maid.
To you your Father fhould 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 Lyfander.
The. In himself he is;
But in this kind, wanting your Father's Voice,
The other muft be held the worthier.
Her. I would my Father look'd but with my Eyes.
The. Rather your Eyes muft with his Judgment look.
Her. I do intreat your Grace to pardon me,
I know not by what Power I am made bold,
Nor how it may concern my Modesty
In fucha Prefence here to plead my Thoughts
But I beseech your Grace, that I may know
The worst that may befall me in this Cafe,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.
The. Either to die the Death, or to abjure
For ever the Society of Men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, queftion your Defires,
Know of your Youth, examine well your Blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your Father's Choice,
You can endure the Livery of a Nun,
For Aye to be in fhady Cloifter mew'd,
To live a barren Sifter all your Life,
Chanting faint Hymns to the cold fruitless Moon,
Thrice bleffed they that mafter fo their Blood,
To undergo fuch Maiden Pilgrimage.
But earthlier happy is the Rofe diftill'd,
Than that which withering on the Virgin Thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in fingle Bleffedness.
Her. So will I grow, fo live, fo die, my Lord,
E'er I will yield my Virgin Patent up
Unto his Lordship, to whofe unwith'd Yoak
My Soul confents not to give Sovereignty.
The. Take time to paufe, and by the next New Moon,
The fealing Day betwixt my Love and me,
For everlafting Bond of Fellowship,
Upon that Day either prepare to die
For Difobedience to your Father's Will,
Or elfe to wed Demetrius as he would,
Or on Diana's Altar to proteft,
For aye, Aufterity and fingle Life.
Dem. Relent, fweet 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 Lyfander! true, he hath my Love;
And what is mine, my Love fhall render him.
And the is mine, and all my Right of her
I do eftate unto Demetrius.
Lyf. I am, my Lord, as well deriv'd as he,
As well poffeft: My Love is more than his;
My Fortune's every way as fairly rank'd,
If not with vantage, as Demetrius:
And, which is more than all these Boafts can be,
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia,
Why should not I then profecute my Right?
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
Made Love to Nedar's Daughter, Helena,
And won her Soul; and fhe, fweet Lady, doats,
Devoutly doats, doats in Idolatry,
Upon this fpotted and inconftant Man,
The. I must confefs, that I have heard fo much, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; But being over-full of Self-affairs,
My Mind did lofe it. But Demetrius come,
And come Egens, you shall go with me,
I have fome private schooling for both.
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm your self,
To fit your Fancies to your Father's Will;
Or elfe the Law of Athens yields you up
(Which by no Means we may extenuate)
To Death, or to a Vow of fingle Life.
Come my Hippolita, what Cheer, my Love?
Demetrius and Egeus go along,
I must employ you in fome Business
Against our Nuptials, and confer with you
Of fomething nearly that concerns your felves.
Ege. With Duty and Defire we follow you.
Manent Lyfander and Hermia.
Lyf. How now, my Love? Why is your Cheek fo pale? How chance the Rofes there do fade fo faft?
Her. Belike for want of Rain, which I could well
Beteem them from the Tempeft of mine Eyes.
Lyf. Hermia, for ought that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by Tale or Hiftory,
The Courfe of true Love never did run smooth,
But either it was different in Blood-
Her. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to Love.
Lyf. Or elfe mifgraffed, in refpect of Years?
Her. O Spigh! too old to be engag'd too young.
Lyf. Or cif it ftood upon the choice of Merit-
Her. O Hell! to chufe Love by another's Eye.
Lyf. Or if there were a Sympathy in Choice,
War, Death, or Sickness, did lay Siege to it;
Making it momentary as a Sound,
Swift as a Shadow, fhort as any Dream,
Brief as the Lightning in the collied Night,.
That in a Spleen unfolds both Heaven and Earth;
And e'er a Man hath Power to fay, Behold,
The Jaws of Darkness do devour it up;
So quick bright Things come to Confufion,
Her. If then true Lovers have been ever croft, It ftands as an Edict in Destiny:
Then let us teach our Trial Patience,
Because it is a cuftomary Crofs,
As due to Love, as Thoughts, and Dreams, and Sighs,
Wishes and Tears, poor Fancy's Followers wollz.
Lyf. A good Perfuafion; therefore hear me, Hermia,
I have a Widow-Aunt, a Dowager.
Of great Revenue, and the hath no Child;
From Athens is her Houfe remov'd feven Leagues,
And the refpects me as her only Son
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee,
And to that Place, the harp Athenian Law
Cannot purfue us. If thou lov'ft me, then
Steal forth thy Father's Houfe to Morrow Night;
And in the Wood, a League without the Town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do Obfervance for a Morn of May,
There will I stay for thee,
Her. My good Lysander,
I fwear to thee, by Cupid's ftrongest Bow,
By his Beft Arrow with the Golden head,
By the Simplicity of Venus Doves,
By that which knitteth Souls, and profpers Love,
And by that Fire which burn'd the Carthage Queen,
When the falfe Trojan, under Sail, was feen;
By all the Vows that ever Men have broke,
In number more than ever Women spoke,
In that fame Place thou haft appointed me,
To Morrow truly will I meet with thee.
Lyf. Keep promife Love. Look, here comes Helena.
Her. God fpeed fair Helena, whither away?
Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unfay,
Demetrius loves you fair; O happy fair!
Your Eyes are Load-ftars, and your Tongue's fweet Air,
More tunable than Lark to Shepherd's Ear,
When Wheat is green, when Haw-thorn Buds appear.
Sickness is catching: O were Favour fo,
Your Words I'd catch, fair Hermia, e'er I go,
My Ear fhould catch your Voice, my Eye your Eye,
My Tongue should catch your Tongue's fweet Melody.
Were the World mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I'll give to be to you tranflated.
O teach me how you look, and with what Art
You fway the Motion of Demetrius Heart.
Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
Hel. O that your Frowns would teach my Smiles fuch
Her. I give him Curfes, yet he gives me Love. (Skill.
Hel. O that my Prayers could fuch 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 none of mine.
Hel. None but your Beauty, would that Fault were mine. Her. Take Comfort; he no more fhall fee my Face, Lyfander and my felf will fly this Place.
Before the time I did Lyfander fee,
Seem'd Athens like a Paradife to me.
O then, what Graces in my Love do dwell,
That he hath turn'd a Heav'n into Hell?
Lyf. Helen, to you our Minds we will unfold,
To Morrow Night, when Phoebe doth behold
Her Silver Vifage in the wat'ry Glass,
Decking with Liquid Pearl the bladed Grafs,