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Lys. How now, my love? Why is your cheek so
pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
Her. Belike, for want of rain; which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes.
Lys. Ah me! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But, either it was different in blood;
Her. O cross! too high to be enthralld to low 8! Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years; Her. O spite! too old to be engag'd to young! Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends : Her. O hell! to choose love by another's eye!
Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it; Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night", That, in a spleen "', unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say,-Behold! The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion.
Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, It stands as an edict in destiny: Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross: As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
Lys. A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia.
I have a widow aunt, a dowager
My good Lysander !
Lys. Keep promise, love: Look, here comes Helena.
Her. God speed, fair Helena! Whither away!
Hel. Call ye me fair? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars"; and your tongue's sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
(A time that lovers' Aights doth still conceal,)
Her. And in the wood, where often you and I
[Erit Herm. Lys. I will, my Hermia.--Helena, adieu: As you on him, Demetrius dote on you !
[Exit Lys. Hel. How happy some, o'er other some, can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know. And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, So I, admiring of his qualities. Tbings base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind : Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguild.
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,
Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, SNOUT, Quince,
Quin. Is all our company
here? Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip.
Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his wedding-day at night.
Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and so grow to a point.