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S CE N E VII.
Enter Hermia, Her. ARK night, that from the eye his function
takes, The ear more quick of apprehension makes : Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, It pays the earing double recompence. Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; Mine ear, I thank, it brought me to thy found. But why unkindly didst thou leave me fo? Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press
to go ? Her. What love could press Lysander from my
fide? Lyf. Lysander's love, that would not let him ''bide, Fair Helena; who more engilds the night, Than all yon fiery O's and eyes of light. Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know, The hate, I bear thee, made me leave thee so?
Her. You speak not, as you think; it cannot be.
Hel. Lo, she is one of this confed'racy; Now, I perceive, they have conjoin'd all three, To fashion this false sport in spight of me. Injurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid, Have you conspir’d, have you with these contriv'd To bait me with this foul derision ? Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, The sisters vows, the hours that we have spent, When we have chid the hafty-footed time For parting us; O! and is all forgot? All school-days friendship, childhood innocence ? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Created with our needles both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion; Both warbling of one song, both in one key; As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds
Had been incorp’rate. So we grew together,
ancient love afunder,
you Though I alone do feel the injury.
Her. I am amazed at your passionate words: I scorn you not; it seems, that
scorn me. Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, To follow me, and praise my eyes and face? And made your other love, Demetrius, (Who, even but now, did spurn me with his foot) To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare, Precious, celestial? wherefore speaks he this To her he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysander Deny your love, so rich within his soul, And tender me, forsooth, affection; But by your setting on, by your consent? What though I be not so in grace as you, So hung upon with love, so fortunate ; But miferable most, to love unlov'd ? This you should pity, rather than despise.
Her. I understand not what you mean by this.
Hel. Ay, do, persevere, counterfeit fad looks,
have any pity, grace, or manners,
Lys. Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse ;
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!
Hel. O excellent!
Lys. Thou canst compel, no more than she entreat: Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak
Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do.
Dem. No, no, he'll seem
loole; Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent. Her. Why are you grown fo rude? what change
is this? Sweet love!
Lys. Thy love? out, tawny Tartar, out;
Her. Do you not jest?
Dem. I would, I had your bond; for, I perceive, A weak bond holds
I'll not trust Lyf. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her
dead? Although I hate her, I'll not harm her fo.
Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than hate? Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love? Am not I Hermia? are not you Lysander ? I am as fair now, as I was ere-while.
Since night, you lov'd me; yet, since night, you
Lyf. Ay, by my life;
Her. O me, you jugler; oh, you canker-blossom, You thief of love; what, have you come by night, And stoll'n my love's heart from him ?
Hel. Fine, i faith!
Her. Puppet! why, fo :'ay, that way goes the game.
Her. Lower! hark, again.
Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me; I evermore did love you, Hermia, Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;
Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
stealth unto this wood: He follow'd you, for love I follow'd him, But he hath chid me hence, and threaten'd me To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too; And now, so you will let me quiet go, To Athens will I bear my folly back, And follow you no further. Let me go. You see, how simple and how fond I am. Her. Why, get you gone: who is't that hinders
you? Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. Her. What, with Lysander? Hel. With Demetrius. Lys. Be not afraid, she shall not harm thee, Helena. Dem. No, Sir, she shall not, though you take her part.
Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd; She was a vixen, when she went to school ; And though she be but little, she is fierce.
Her. Little, again? nothing but low, and little?
Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf,
Dem. You are too officious,
Ly. Now she holds me not;
[Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius. Her. You, mistress, all this coil is long of you: Nay, go not back.