Act1

Theseus. Hyppolita, I woo'd thee with my sword, And wonne thy loue, doing thee iniuries: But I will wed thee in another key, With pompe, with triumph, and with reueling.

Egeus. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke.

Theseus. Thankes good Egeus. What's the newes with thee?

Egeus. Full of vexation, come I, with complaint Against my childe, my daughter, Hermia. Stand forth Demetrius.

My noble Lord, This man hath my consent to marry her. Stand forth Lisander. And my gratious Duke, This man hath bewitcht the bosome of my childe. Thou, thou Lysander, thou hast giuen her rimes, And interchang'd loue tokens with my childe: Be it so, she will not here, before your Grace, Consent to marry with Demetrius,

I beg the auncient priuiledge of Athens: As she is mine, I may dispose of her:

Theseus. What say you, Hermia? Hermia. I doe intreat your grace, to pardon mee. I know not by what power, I am made bould; Nor how it may concerne my modesty, In such a presence, here to plead my thoughts:

Demetrius. Relent, sweete Hermia, and, Lysander, yeeld Thy crazed title to my certaine right.

Lysander. You haue her fathers loue, Demetrius: Let me haue Hermias: doe you marry him.

Egeus. Scornefull Lysander, true, he hath my loue: And what is mine, my loue shall render him. And she is mine, and all my right of her I doe estate vnto Demetrius.

Lysander. Demetrius, Ile auouch it to his heade, Made loue to Nedars daughter, Helena, And won her soule: and she (sweete Ladie) dotes, Deuoutly dotes, dotes in Idolatry, Vpon this spotted and inconstant man. Theseus. I must confesse, that I haue heard so much;

Theseus. For you, faire Hermia, looke you arme your selfe, To fit your fancies, to your fathers will; Or else, the Law of Athens yeelds you vp (Which by no meanes we may extenuate) To death, or to a vowe of single life.

Lysander. I haue a widowe aunt, a dowager, Of great reuenew, and she hath no childe: From Atheus is her house remote, seauen leagues: And she respectes mee, as her only sonne: There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee:

Hermia. God speede faire Helena: whither away?

Helena. Call you mee faire? That faire againe vnsay. Demetrius loues your faire: happy faire! Your eyes are load starres, and your tongues sweete aire More tunable then larke, to sheepeheards eare, When wheat is greene, when hauthorne buddes appeare. O, teach mee how you looke, and with what Art, You sway the motion of Demetrius heart.

Hermia. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. Helena. None but your beauty; would that fault were mine.

Helena. How happie some, ore othersome, can be! Through Athens, I am thought as faire as shee. But what of that? Demetrius thinkes not so: I will goe tell him of faire Hermias flight: Then, to the wodde, will he, to morrow night, Pursue her: and for this intelligence, If I haue thankes, it is a deare expense: But herein meane I to enrich my paine, To haue his sight thither, and back againe.