_Lys._ Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. 125 How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? _Hel._ You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! These vows are Hermia’s: will you give her o’er? 130 Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, Will even weigh; and both as light as tales. _Lys._ I had no judgement when to her I swore. _Hel._ Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er. 135 _Lys._ Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. _Dem._ [_Awaking_] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow! 140 That pure congealed white, high Taurus’ snow, Fann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow When thou hold’st up thy hand: O, let me kiss This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss! _Hel._ O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent 145 To set against me for your merriment: If you were civil and knew courtesy, You would not do me thus much injury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, But you must join in souls to mock me too? 150 If you were men, as men you are in show, You would not use a gentle lady so; To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. You both are rivals, and love Hermia; 155 And now both rivals, to mock Helena: A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, To conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes With your derision! none of noble sort Would so offend a virgin, and extort 160 A poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport. _Lys._ You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so; For you love Hermia; this you know I know: And here, with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermia’s love I yield you up my part; 165 And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love, and will do till my death. _Hel._ Never did mockers waste more idle breath. _Dem._ Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none: If e’er I loved her, all that love is gone. 170 My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn’d, And now to Helen is it home return’d, There to remain. _Lys._ Helen, it is not so. _Dem._ Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. 175 Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear. _Re-enter_ HERMIA.