Lys. A good perswasion; therefore heare me Hermia, I haue a Widdow Aunt, a dowager, Of great reuennew, and she hath no childe, From Athens is her house remou'd seuen leagues, And she respects me, as her onely sonne: There gentle Hermia, may I marrie thee, And to that place, the sharpe Athenian Law Cannot pursue vs. If thou lou'st me, then Steale forth thy Fathers house to morrow night: And in the wood, a league without the towne, (Where I did meete thee once with Helena. To do obseruance for a morne of May) There will I stay for thee Her. My good Lysander, I sweare to thee, by Cupids strongest bow, By his best arrow with the golden head, By the simplicitie of Venus Doues, By that which knitteth soules, and prospers loue, And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage Queene, When the false Troyan vnder saile was seene, By all the vowes that euer men haue broke, (In number more then euer women spoke) In that same place thou hast appointed me, To morrow truly will I meete with thee Lys. Keepe promise loue: looke here comes Helena. Enter Helena. Her. God speede faire Helena, whither away? Hel. Cal you me faire? that faire againe vnsay, Demetrius loues you faire: O happie faire! Your eyes are loadstarres, and your tongues sweete ayre More tuneable then Larke to shepheards eare, When wheate is greene, when hauthorne buds appeare, Sicknesse is catching: O were fauor so, Your words I catch, faire Hermia ere I go, My eare should catch your voice, my eye, your eye, My tongue should catch your tongues sweete melodie, Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest Ile giue to be to you translated. O teach me how you looke, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius hart Her. I frowne vpon him, yet he loues me still Hel. O that your frownes would teach my smiles such skil Her. I giue him curses, yet he giues me loue Hel. O that my prayers could such affection mooue Her. The more I hate, the more he followes me Hel. The more I loue, the more he hateth me Her. His folly Helena is none of mine Hel. None but your beauty, wold that fault wer mine Her. Take comfort: he no more shall see my face, Lysander and my selfe will flie this place. Before the time I did Lysander see, Seem'd Athens like a Paradise to mee. O then, what graces in my Loue do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heauen into hell Lys. Helen, to you our mindes we will vnfold, To morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold Her siluer visage, in the watry glasse, Decking with liquid pearle, the bladed grasse (A time that Louers flights doth still conceale) Through Athens gates, haue we deuis'd to steale