_Her._ Out, dog! out, cur! thou drivest me past the bounds 65 Of maiden’s patience. Hast thou slain him, then? Henceforth be never number’d among men! O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake! Durst thou have look’d upon him being awake, And hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch! 70 Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? An adder did it; for with doubler tongue Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. _Dem._ You spend your passion on a misprised mood: I am not guilty of Lysander’s blood; 75 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: 80 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; 85 Which now in some slight measure it will pay, If for his tender here I make some stay. [_Lies down and sleeps._ _Obe._ What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite, And laid the love-juice on some true-love’s sight: Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 90 Some true love turn’d, and not a false turn’d true. _Puck._ Then fate o’er-rules, 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: 95 All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear: By some illusion see thou bring her here: I’ll charm his eyes against she do appear. _Puck._ I go, I go; look how I go, 100 Swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow. [_Exit._ _Obe._ Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid’s archery, Sink in apple of his eye. When his love he doth espy, 105 Let her shine as gloriously As the Venus of the sky. When thou wakest, if she be by, Beg of her for remedy. _Re-enter_ PUCK. _Puck._ Captain of our fairy band, 110 Helena is here at hand; And the youth, mistook by me, Pleading for a lover’s fee. Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be! 115 _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 120 That befal preposterously. _Enter_ LYSANDER _and_ HELENA.