Ay, and Wall too.

And thus she means, videlicet:--

A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which
Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God warrant us;
she for a woman, God bless us.

No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.

And then came Pyramus.

Well roared, Lion.

Why, all these should be in the lanthorn; for all
these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.

He dares not come there for the candle; for, you
see, it is already in snuff.

He should have worn the horns on his head.

Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his
discretion; and the fox carries the goose.

The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.

No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear
without warning.

It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard
discourse, my lord.

No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do.

Why, then, we are awake: let's follow him
And by the way let us recount our dreams.

Are you sure
That we are awake? It seems to me
That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
The duke was here, and bid us follow him?

These things seem small and undistinguishable,

My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
Of this their purpose hither to this wood;
And I in fury hither follow'd them,
Fair Helena in fancy following me.
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,--
But by some power it is,--my love to ...

Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy this dear,
If ever I thy face by daylight see:
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
To measure out my length on this cold bed.
By day's approach look to be visited.

Abide me, if thou darest; for well I wot
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place,
And darest not stand, nor look me in the face.
Where art thou now?

Yea, art thou there?

Lysander! speak again:
Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?
Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?

Follow! nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole.

You are too officious
In her behalf that scorns your services.
Let her alone: speak not of Helena;
Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend
Never so little show of love to her,
Thou shalt aby it.

No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.

I would I had your bond, for I perceive
A weak bond holds you: I'll not trust your word.

No, no; he'll
Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow,
But yet come not: you are a tame man, go!

Quick, come!

I say I love thee more than he can do.

If she cannot entreat, I can compel.

Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.
Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.

Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none:
If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone.
My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd,
And now to Helen is it home return'd,
There to remain.

Awaking O Helena, 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!
That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow,
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
When thou ...

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:
Which now in some slight measure it will pay,
If for his tender here I make some stay.

An if I could, what should I get therefore?

You spend your passion on a misprised mood:
I am not guilty of Lysander's blood;
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.

I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.

So should the murder'd look, and so should I,
Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty:
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.

O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

Stay, on thy peril: I alone will go.

I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.

I will not stay thy questions; let me go:
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.

I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.

You do impeach your modesty too much,
To leave the city and commit yourself
Into the hands of one that loves you not;
To trust the opportunity of night
And the ill counsel of a desert place
With the rich worth of your virginity.

Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;
For I am sick when I do look on thee.

Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth
Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?

I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?
The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.
Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood;
And here am I, and wode within this wood,
Because I cannot meet my Hermia.
Hence, get ...

Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield
Thy crazed title to my certain right.