Lys. O take the sence sweet, of my innocence, Loue takes the meaning, in loues conference, I meane that my heart vnto yours is knit, So that but one heart can you make of it. Two bosomes interchanged with an oath, So then two bosomes, and a single troth. Then by your side, no bed-roome me deny, For lying so, Hermia, I doe not lye Her. Lysander riddles very prettily; Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied. But gentle friend, for loue and courtesie Lie further off, in humane modesty, Such separation, as may well be said, Becomes a vertuous batchelour, and a maide, So farre be distant, and good night sweet friend; Thy loue nere alter, till thy sweet life end Lys. Amen, amen, to that faire prayer, say I, And then end life, when I end loyalty: Heere is my bed, sleepe giue thee all his rest Her. With halfe that wish, the wishers eyes be prest. Enter Pucke. They sleepe. Puck. Through the Forest haue I gone, But Athenian finde I none, One whose eyes I might approue This flowers force in stirring loue. Nigh and silence: who is heere? Weedes of Athens he doth weare: This is he (my master said) Despised the Athenian maide: And heere the maiden sleeping sound, On the danke and durty ground. Pretty soule, she durst not lye Neere this lacke-loue, this kill-curtesie. Churle, vpon thy eyes I throw All the power this charme doth owe: When thou wak'st, let loue forbid Sleepe his seate on thy eye-lid. So awake when I am gone: For I must now to Oberon. Enter. Enter Demetrius and Helena running. Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweete Demetrius De. I charge thee hence, and do not haunt me thus Hel. O wilt thou darkling leaue me? do not so De. Stay on thy perill, I alone will goe. Exit Demetrius. Hel. O I am out of breath, in this fond chace, The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace, Happy is Hermia, wheresoere she lies; For she hath blessed and attractiue eyes. How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt teares. If so, my eyes are oftner washt then hers. No, no, I am as vgly as a Beare; For beasts that meete me, runne away for feare, Therefore no maruaile, though Demetrius Doe as a monster, flie my presence thus. What wicked and dissembling glasse of mine, Made me compare with Hermias sphery eyne? But who is here? Lysander on the ground; Deade or asleepe? I see no bloud, no wound, Lysander, if you liue, good sir awake Lys. And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake. Transparent Helena, nature her shewes art, That through thy bosome makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius? oh how fit a word Is that vile name, to perish on my sword! Hel. Do not say so Lysander, say not so: What though he loue your Hermia? Lord, what though? Yet Hermia still loues you; then be content