« AnteriorContinuar »
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently.
SCENE II.-Another part of the Wood.
Obe. I wonder if Titania be awak'd ;
Then, what it was that next came in her eye,
Here comes my messenger.
How now, mad spirit?
What night-rule 8 now about this haunted grove?
Near to her close and consecrated bower,
And forth my mimic comes: when they him spy,
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls;
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong, Made senseless things begin to do them wrong:
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;
Some, sleeves, some, hats; from yielders all things catch.
I led them on in this distracted fear,
And left sweet Pyramus translated there :
Obe. This falls out better than I could devise.
Puck. I took him sleeping-that is finish'd tooAnd the Athenian woman by his side;
That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd.
Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA.
Obe. Stand close; this is the same Athenian. Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse; For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in knee-deep,11
The sun was not so true unto the day,
As he to me would he have stol'n away
From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon,
This whole earth may be bor'd; and that the moon
It cannot be, but thou hast murder'd him ;
So should a murderer look-so dead, so grim.
Dem. So should the murder'd look; and so should I, Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty:
Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he?
Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.
Her. Out, dog! out, cur! thou driv'st me past the bounds Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then?
Henceforth be never number'd among men !
O! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake;
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch !12
Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood:
I am not guilty of Lysander's blood;
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.
Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.
And from thy hated presence part I so:
See me no more, whether he be dead or no.
Dem. 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;
[Lies down and sleeps.
Obe. What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite, And laid the love-juice on some true love's sight:
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true.
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules; that, one man holding troth, A million fail, confounding oath on oath.
Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, And Helena of Athens look thou find :
All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer
With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear:
Hit with Cupid's archery,
[Squeezes the flower on DEMETRIUS' eyelids.
Sink in apple of his eye!
Puck. Captain of our fairy band,
And the youth, mistook by me,
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Re-enter LYSANDER and HELENA.
Lys. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears.
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:
Will even weigh; and both as light as tales.
Lys. I had no judgment when to her I swore.
Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.
Dem. [Awaking.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes
poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.