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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, 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 hath bewitch'd the Bofom of my Child :
Thou, thou Lysander, thou hast given her Rhimes,
And interchang'd Love-tokens with my Child :
Thou hast, by Moon-light, at her Window sung,
With feigning Voice, Verses of feigning Love,
And stoli’n the Impression of her Fantasie,
With Bracelets of thy Hair, Rings, Gawds, Conceits,
Knacks, Trifles, Nolegays, Sweet-meats, 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 antient 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 intreat your Grace to pardon me,
I know not by what Power I am made bold,
Nor how it may concern my Modefty
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,
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 Sifter all
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 distilld,
Than that which withering on the Virgin Thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in fingle Blessedness.
Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my Lord,
E'er I will yield my Virgin Patent up,
Unto his Lordship, to whose unwilh'd Yoak,
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 Lyfander, 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,
Lyf. I am, my Lord, as well deriv'd as he,
As well posseft: 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 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, doats,
Devoutly doats, doats 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 Egens, you shall go with me,
I have some private schooling for you both.
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm your self,
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 Hippolita, what Cheer, my Love?
Demetrius and Egeus go along,
I must employ you in some Business
Against our Nuptials, and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns your selves.
Ege. With Duty and Desire we follow you. [Exeunt,
Manent Lysander and Hermia.
Lyf. How now, my Love? Why is your Cheek so pale ?
How chance the Roses, there do fade fo faft?
Her. Belike for want of Rain, which I could well
Beteem them from the Tempest of mine Eyes.
Lys. Hermia, for ought that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by Tale or History,
The Courfe of true Love never did run smooth,
But either it was different in Blood
Her. O cross! too high to be enthralld to Love.
Lyf. Or else mifgraffed, in respect of Years-
Her. O Spigh:! too old to be engag’d too young. -
Ly. Or ellu se stood upon the choice of Merie-
Her. O Hell! to chuse 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 momentary as a Sound,
Swift as a Shadow, Thort'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 say, Behold,
The Jaws of Darkness do devour it up;
So quick bright Things come to Confusion,
Her. If the true Lovers have been ever croft,
It stands as an Edic 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, Hermią,
I have a Widow-Aunt, a Dowager,
Of great Revenue, and fhe hath no Child;
From Athens is her House remov'd seven Leagues,
And the respects me as her only Son : ...!
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee,
And to chat Place, the sharp Athenian Law
Cannot pursue us. If thou lov'ft 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 for 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 Love,
And by that Fire which burn'd the Carthage Queen,
When the false Trojan, 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.
LIS. Keep promise Love. Look, here comes Helena,
Her. God speed fair Helena, whither away?
Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay,
Demetrius loves you fair ; O happy fair!,
Your Eyes are Load-stars, and your Tongue's sweet Air,
More tunable than Lark to Shepherd's Ear,
When Wheat is green, when Haw-thorn Buds appear,
Sickness is catching: O were Favour so,
Your Words I'd catch, fair Hermia, e'er I gos
My Ear should catch your Voice, my Eye your Eye,
My Tongue should catch your Tongue's Tweet Melody.
Were the World mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I'll 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
Her. I give him Curses, yet he gives me Love. (Skill.
Hel. O that my Prayers could such Affe&tion 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 shall see my Face,
Lysander and my self will Ay this place.
Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seem'd Athens like a Paradise 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 Phæbe doth behold
Her Silver Visage in the wat’ry Glass,
Decking with Liquid Pearl the bladed Grass,