A Midsummer Night's Dream Full show (Hermia/Moth)

Theseus: …To you your father should be as a god.

Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

So is Lysander.

I would my father looked but with my eyes.

Theseus: Rather your eyes must with his judgement look.

I beseech your Grace that I may know

The worst that may befall me

If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

Theseus: Either to die the death, or to renounce

For ever the society of men.

So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,

Ere I will yield my virgin patent up

Unto his lordship.

Lysander: The course of true love never did run smooth.

So quick bright things come to confusion.

Let us teach our trial patience.

Lys: I have a widow aunt, she hath no child…

There will I stay for thee.

My good Lysander,

I swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow,

By all the vows that ever men have broke

(In number more than ever women spoke),

In that same place thou hast appointed me,

Tomorrow truly will I meet with thee.

Lys: Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

God speed sweet Helena! Whither away?

Helena: Call you me sweet? That sweet again unsay!

Demetrius loves your sweet: O happy sweet!

O, teach me how you look, and with what art

You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart.

I frown upon him; yet he loves me still.

Helena: O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

I give him curses; yet he gives me love.

Helena: O that my prayers could such affection move!

The more I hate, the more he follows me.

Helena: The more I love, the more he hateth me.

His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

Helena: None but your beauty; would that fault were mine!

Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;

Lysander and myself will fly this place.

Lys: Helen, to your our minds we will unfold:

Tomorrow night,

Through Athens’ gates have we devised to steal.

And in the wood where you and I would go,

There my Lysander and myself shall meet.

Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us,

And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!

Keep word, Lysander; we must starve our sight

From lovers’ food, till morrow deep midnight.

Puck: How now, spirit! Whither wander you?

I do wander everywhere,

Swifter than the moon’s sphere.

And I serve the Fairy Queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green.

I must go seek some dew-drops here,

And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.

Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone;

Our Queen and all her elves come here anon.

Puck: The King doth keep his revels here tonight…

But she perforce withholds the lovéd boy,

Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy.

You are that shrewd and knavish sprite

Called Robin Goodfellow. And sweet Puck.

Are not you he?

Puck: Thou speak’st aright;
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile —

But room, fairy! Here comes Oberon. (Imperial March)

And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!

Lys: Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood;

And to speak troth, I have forgot our way:

We’ll rest us, Hermia.

Find you out a bed;

For I upon this bank will rest my head.

Lys: One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;

One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth.

Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,

Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.

Lys: Amen, here is my bed: sleep give thee all his rest!

With half that wish the wisher’s eyes be pressed!

Lys: She sees not Hermia…

To honor Helen and to be her knight!

Lysander! Love! What, out of hearing?
I will find you immediately.

Cobweb: And I.

And I.

Mustardseed: And I.

Where shall we go?

Cobweb: Hail!

Hail!

Dem: O why rebuke you him that loves you so?

Where is my Lysander?
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?

Dem: I had rather give his carcuss to my hounds.

Out, dog! Out, cur!

Thou drive’st me past the bounds

Of maiden’s patience.

Dem: I am not guilty of Lysander’s blood;

Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.

I pray thee tell me then that he is well.

Dem: And if I could, what should I get therefore?

A privilege, never to see me more.

And from thy hated presence part I so:

See me no more, whether he be dead or no.

Dem: Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none.

Look where thy love comes.

Why didst thou leave me so?

Lys: Why should he stay whom love doth press to go?

What love could press Lysander from my side?

Lys: Could not this make thee know

The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?

You speak not as you think; it cannot be!

Helena: Lo, she is one of this confederacy!…

…Wherefore speaks he this

To her he hates? This you should pity.

I understand not what you mean by this.

Dem: Quick, come!

Lysander, whereto tends all this?

Lys: Hang off, thou vile thing, let loose,

Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent.

Why are you grown so rude? What change is this,

Sweet love —

Lys: Thy love?

Out, loathéd medecine! O hated potion, hence!

Do not you jest?

Lys: What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
Although I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.

What, can you do me greater harm than hate?
Hate me? Wherefore?

Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?
I am as fine now as I was erewhile.

Since night you lov’d me; yet since night you left me.

Why, then you left me — O the gods forbid! —

In earnest, shall I say?

Lys: Ay, by my life!

Be certain, nothing truer; ‘tis no jest,

That I do hate thee, and love Helena.

O me! You juggler! You canker-blossom!

You thief of love!

Helena: Have you no modesty, no touch of bashfulness?

Fie, fie, you counterfeit! You puppet you!

“Puppet!” Why, so? Ay, that way goes the game!

Now I perceive that she hath made compare

Between our statures; she hath urged her height;

And with her height, forsooth, she hath prevailed with him.

And are you grown so high in his esteem

Because I am so trollish and so low?

How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak!

How low am I? I am not yet so low

But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes!

Helena: Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.

I evermore did love you.

To Athens will I bear my folly back.

Get you gone! Who is’t that hinders you?

Helena: A foolish heart that I leave here behind.

What! with Lysander?

Helena: O, when she is angry, she is keen and shrewd;

And though she be but little, she is fierce.

“Little”? Nothing but “low” and “little.”

Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?

Let me come to her!

Dem: Follow? Nay, I’ll go with thee, cheek by jowl.

You, mistress. Nay, go not back.

Helena: Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray:
My legs are longer though, to run away.

I am amazed, and know not what to say.

Puck: Yet but three? Come one more,

Two of both kinds makes up four.

Never so weary, never so in woe,
I can no further crawl, no further go —