ASP 2

Content with Hermia! No; I do repent the tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia but Helena I love:

Things growing are not ripe until their season: So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason.

Who will not change a raven for a dove? The will of man is by his reason swayed and reason says you are the worthier maid.

And touching now the point of human skill, reason becomes the marshal to my will, and leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook love's stories, written in love's richest book.

Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, that I did never, no, nor never can, deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, but you must flout my insufficiency?

Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, in such disdainful manner me to woo.

But fare you well. Perforce I must confess I thought you lord of more true gentleness.

O, that a lady, of one man refused, should of another therefore be abused!

Do not say so, Lysander, say not so. What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though? Yet Hermia still loves you. Then be content.

And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake. Transparent Helena! Nature shows art, that though thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius?

O, how fit a word is that vile name to perish on my sword!

Content with Hermia! No; I do repent the tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia but Helena I love:

Things growing are not ripe until their season: So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason.

Who will not change a raven for a dove? The will of man is by his reason swayed and reason says you are the worthier maid.

And touching now the point of human skill, reason becomes the marshal to my will, and leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook love's stories, written in love's richest book.

Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, that I did never, no, nor never can, deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, but you must flout my insufficiency?

Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, in such disdainful manner me to woo.

But fare you well. Perforce I must confess I thought you lord of more true gentleness.

O, that a lady, of one man refused, should of another therefore be abused!

Do not say so, Lysander, say not so. What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though? Yet Hermia still loves you. Then be content.

And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake. Transparent Helena! Nature shows art, that though thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius?

O, how fit a word is that vile name to perish on my sword!