A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 1, Scene 1

Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace; four happy days bring in Another moon; but oh, methinks, how slow This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires, Like to a step-dame or a dowager, Long withering out a young man’s revenue.

Now, lovely Hippolyta, the hour of our wedding is coming on quickly; four happy days bring in a new moon. But oh, it seems to me that this old moon fades so slowly! She holds back my desires, like a stepmother or a widow who takes a long time using up a young man's inheritance.

Four days will quickly steep themselves in night; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow New bent in heaven, shall behold the night Of our solemnities.

Four days will quickly soak themselves in night; four nights will quickly dream the time away. And then the moon, like a silver bow newly bent in the sky, will look down on the night of our ceremonies.

Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; Turn melancholy forth to funerals; The pale companion is not for our pomp.

Go, Philostrate, rouse the young people of Athens to celebrations; wake up the lively, quick spirit of fun; send sadness off to funerals. That pale companion has no place in our festivities.

Hippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword, And won thy love doing thee injuries; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.

Hippolyta, I courted you with my sword, and won your love by doing you injuries; but I will marry you in a different key, with ceremony, with celebration, and with revelling.

Happy be Theseus, our renownèd Duke!

Happiness to Theseus, our famous Duke!

Thanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?

Thank you, good Egeus. What news do you bring?

Full of vexation come I, with complaint Against my child, my daughter Hermia. Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, This man hath my consent to marry her. Stand forth, Lysander. And, my gracious Duke, This man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child. Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, And interchang’d love-tokens with my child. Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; And stol’n the impression of her fantasy With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats (messengers Of strong prevailment in unharden’d youth) With cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart, Turn’d her obedience (which is due to me) To stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke, Be it so she will not here before your grace Consent to marry with Demetrius, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens: As she is mine I may dispose of her; Which shall be either to this gentleman Or to her death, according to our law Immediately provided in that case.

I come full of distress, with a complaint against my child, my daughter Hermia. Step forward, Demetrius. My noble lord, this man has my permission to marry her. Step forward, Lysander. And, my gracious Duke, this man has put a spell on my child's heart. You, you, Lysander, you have given her poems, and exchanged love-gifts with my child. You have sung at her window by moonlight, in a pretending voice, verses of pretended love; and you have stolen an impression on her imagination with bracelets made of your hair, rings, showy trinkets, ornaments, knick-knacks, trifles, little bouquets, sweets — messengers that have strong power over inexperienced youth. With cunning you have stolen my daughter's heart, and turned her obedience, which belongs to me, into stubborn defiance. And, my gracious Duke, if she will not consent here in front of your grace to marry Demetrius, I claim the ancient right of Athens: since she is mine, I may dispose of her as I choose, which will be either to this gentleman or to her death, according to our law that deals directly with such a case.

What say you, Hermia? Be advis’d, fair maid. To you your father should be as a god; One that compos’d your beauties, yea, and one To whom you are but as a form in wax By him imprinted, and within his power To leave the figure, or disfigure it. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

What do you say, Hermia? Think carefully, lovely girl. To you, your father should be like a god; he is the one who made your beauty, yes, and the one to whom you are nothing but a shape in wax that he stamped, and it is in his power to keep the figure as it is, or to deform it. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

So is Lysander.

So is Lysander.

In himself he is. But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice, The other must be held the worthier.

In himself he is. But in this matter, since he lacks your father's approval, the other must be considered the worthier man.

I would my father look’d but with my eyes.

I wish my father would look with my eyes.

Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

Rather, your eyes must look with his judgement.

I do entreat your Grace to pardon me. I know not by what power I am made bold, Nor how it may concern my modesty In such a presence here to plead my thoughts: But I beseech your Grace that I may know The worst that may befall me in this case, If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

I beg your Grace to forgive me. I do not know what power makes me bold, nor how it may affect my modesty to argue my thoughts in such company as this. But I beg your Grace to let me know the worst that can happen to me in this situation, if I refuse to marry Demetrius.

Either to die the death, or to abjure For ever the society of men. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, Know of your youth, examine well your blood, Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice, You can endure the livery of a nun, For aye to be in shady cloister mew’d, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Thrice-blessèd they that master so their blood To undergo such maiden pilgrimage, But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

Either to be put to death, or to give up the company of men forever. So, lovely Hermia, question your own desires, consider your youth, examine your feelings closely, and ask whether, if you do not accept your father's choice, you can bear a nun's uniform, to be shut up forever in a shadowy convent, to live all your life as a childless sister, singing thin hymns to the cold, barren moon. Three times blessed are those who can control their blood enough to go through such a virgin journey. But the rose that is distilled is happier in this world than the one which, withering on its virgin stem, grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.

So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, Ere I will yield my virgin patent up Unto his lordship, whose unwishèd yoke My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

So I will grow, so live, so die, my lord, rather than give up my virgin rights to a man whose unwanted yoke my soul refuses to accept as its master.

Take time to pause; and by the next new moon The sealing-day betwixt my love and me For everlasting bond of fellowship, Upon that day either prepare to die For disobedience to your father’s will, Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would, Or on Diana’s altar to protest For aye austerity and single life.

Take time to think it over; and by the next new moon — the day that seals the bond between my love and me in everlasting fellowship — on that day either prepare to die for disobeying your father's will, or else to marry Demetrius, as he wishes, or to swear at Diana's altar to lifelong strictness and a single life.

Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield Thy crazèd title to my certain right.

Give in, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, surrender your cracked claim to my sure right.

You have her father’s love, Demetrius. Let me have Hermia’s. Do you marry him.

You have her father's love, Demetrius. Let me have Hermia's. You marry him.

Scornful Lysander, true, he hath my love; And what is mine my love shall render him; And she is mine, and all my right of her I do estate unto Demetrius.

Scornful Lysander, it is true, he has my love; and what is mine my love will hand over to him. And she is mine, and all my rights over her I give to Demetrius.

I am, my lord, as well deriv’d as he, As well possess’d; my love is more than his; My fortunes every way as fairly rank’d, If not with vantage, as Demetrius’; And, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am belov’d of beauteous Hermia. Why should not I then prosecute my right? Demetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head, Made love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena, And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes, Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

My lord, I come from as good a family as he does, and I am as wealthy; my love is greater than his; my fortune is ranked every bit as well as Demetrius', if not better; and, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am loved by the beautiful Hermia. Why then should I not press my claim? Demetrius — I will say it to his face — courted Nedar's daughter, Helena, and won her heart; and she, sweet lady, adores, devoutly adores, adores to the point of idolatry, this stained and unfaithful man.

I must confess that I have heard so much, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; But, being over-full of self-affairs, My mind did lose it.—But, Demetrius, come, And come, Egeus; you shall go with me. I have some private schooling for you both.— For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father’s will, Or else the law of Athens yields you up (Which by no means we may extenuate) To death, or to a vow of single life. Come, my Hippolyta. What cheer, my love? Demetrius and Egeus, go along; I must employ you in some business Against our nuptial, and confer with you Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

I must admit I have heard as much, and I meant to speak to Demetrius about it; but, being too taken up with my own affairs, I forgot it. But, Demetrius, come here, and come, Egeus; you shall both come with me. I have some private lecturing for the two of you. As for you, lovely Hermia, see that you prepare yourself to fit your wishes to your father's will, or else the law of Athens — which we can in no way soften — hands you over to death, or to a vow of single life. Come, my Hippolyta. How are you feeling, my love? Demetrius and Egeus, come along; I must use you in some business connected with our wedding, and talk with you about something that closely concerns yourselves.

With duty and desire we follow you.

We follow you with duty and with willingness.

How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

What is it, my love? Why is your cheek so pale? How does it happen that the roses there fade so fast?

Belike for want of rain, which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

Probably from lack of rain, which I could easily pour on them from the storm of my eyes.

Ay me! For aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth. But either it was different in blood—

Oh dear! From everything I have ever read, or ever heard in story or history, the course of true love never did run smooth. But either there was a difference in rank—

O cross! Too high to be enthrall’d to low.

Oh, what a curse! Too high-born to be bound to someone low.

Or else misgraffèd in respect of years—

Or else badly grafted as far as age goes—

O spite! Too old to be engag’d to young.

Oh, how hateful! Too old to be engaged to someone young.

Or else it stood upon the choice of friends—

Or else it depended on the choice of relatives—

O hell! to choose love by another’s eyes!

Oh, hell! To choose your love with someone else's eyes!

Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And, ere a man hath power to say, ‘Behold!’ The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion.

Or, if there was agreement in the choice, then war, death or sickness besieged it, making it as momentary as a sound, as swift as a shadow, as short as any dream, as brief as the lightning in the coal-black night that, in a fit of temper, opens up both heaven and earth, and, before a man can say, 'Look!', the jaws of darkness swallow it up. So quickly do bright things fall into ruin.

If then true lovers have ever cross’d, It stands as an edict in destiny. Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross, As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, Wishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers.

If true lovers have always been thwarted, then it stands as a decree of destiny. So let us teach our ordeal patience, because it is a usual trouble, as much a part of love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, wishes and tears, the poor followers of desire.

A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia. I have a widow aunt, a dowager Of great revenue, and she hath no child. From Athens is her house remote seven leagues, And she respects me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee, And to that place the sharp Athenian law Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then, Steal forth thy father’s house tomorrow night; And in the wood, a league without the town (Where I did meet thee once with Helena To do observance to a morn of May), There will I stay for thee.

That is good reasoning; so listen to me, Hermia. I have an aunt who is a widow, with a large income, and she has no child. Her house is seven leagues away from Athens, and she thinks of me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, I can marry you, and the harsh Athenian law cannot follow us to that place. So if you love me, slip out of your father's house tomorrow night; and in the wood, a league outside the town, where I once met you with Helena to keep the morning of May, there I will wait for you.

My good Lysander! I swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow, By his best arrow with the golden head, By the simplicity of Venus’ doves, By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, And by that fire which burn’d the Carthage queen When the false Trojan under sail was seen, 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.

My good Lysander! I swear to you by Cupid's strongest bow, by his best arrow with the golden head, by the innocence of Venus' doves, by whatever it is that ties souls together and makes love flourish, and by that fire which burned the queen of Carthage when she saw the false Trojan sailing away, by all the vows that men have ever broken — more of them than women have ever spoken — in that very place you have appointed for me, tomorrow I will truly meet you.

Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

Keep your promise, my love. Look, here comes Helena.

God speed fair Helena! Whither away?

God speed you, lovely Helena! Where are you off to?

Call you me fair? That fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair. O happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars and your tongue’s sweet air More tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear, When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. Sickness is catching. O were favour so, Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go. My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody. Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest I’d give to be to you translated. O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart!

You call me lovely? Take that word 'lovely' back. Demetrius loves your loveliness. Oh, you lucky beauty! Your eyes are guiding stars, and the sweet music of your voice is more tuneful than a lark is to a shepherd's ear when the wheat is green and the hawthorn buds appear. Sickness can be caught. Oh, if looks could be caught too, I would catch yours, lovely Hermia, before I went. My ear would catch your voice, my eye your eye, my tongue would catch the sweet melody of your tongue. If the world were mine, with Demetrius left out, I would give all the rest of it to be changed into you. Oh, teach me how you look, and by what skill you control the movements of Demetrius' heart!

I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

I frown at him, and still he loves me.

O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

Oh, if only your frowns would teach my smiles that skill!

I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

I curse him, and still he gives me love.

O that my prayers could such affection move!

Oh, if only my prayers could stir up such affection!

The more I hate, the more he follows me.

The more I hate him, the more he follows me.

The more I love, the more he hateth me.

The more I love him, the more he hates me.

His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

His foolishness, Helena, is no fault of mine.

None but your beauty; would that fault were mine!

No fault but your beauty; I wish that fault were mine!

Take comfort: he no more shall see my face; Lysander and myself will fly this place. Before the time I did Lysander see, Seem’d Athens as a paradise to me. O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn’d a heaven into hell!

Take comfort: he will not see my face any more; Lysander and I are going to run away from this place. Before the time I first saw Lysander, Athens seemed like paradise to me. Oh, what powers there must be in my love, that he has turned a heaven into a hell!

Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: Tomorrow night, when Phoebe doth behold Her silver visage in the watery glass, Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass (A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal), Through Athens’ gates have we devis’d to steal.

Helen, we will reveal our plans to you. Tomorrow night, when Phoebe looks at her silver face in the watery mirror, and decorates the blades of grass with liquid pearl — the hour that always hides lovers' escapes — we have arranged to slip out through the gates of Athens.

And in the wood where often you and I Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie, Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, There my Lysander and myself shall meet, And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, To seek new friends and stranger companies. 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.

And in the wood where you and I so often used to lie on beds of pale primroses, pouring out our sweet secrets to each other, there my Lysander and I are to meet, and from there we will turn our eyes away from Athens, to look for new friends and the company of strangers. Goodbye, sweet playmate. Pray for us, and may good luck grant you your Demetrius! Keep your word, Lysander. We must starve our eyes of the sight of each other, love's food, until deep midnight tomorrow.

I will, my Hermia.

I will, my Hermia.

Helena, adieu. As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

Helena, goodbye. May Demetrius adore you as much as you adore him!

How happy some o’er other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know. And as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes, So I, admiring of his qualities. Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love’s mind of any judgment taste. Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste. And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil’d. As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, So the boy Love is perjur’d everywhere. For, ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne, He hail’d down oaths that he was only mine; And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, So he dissolv’d, and showers of oaths did melt. I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight. Then to the wood will he tomorrow night Pursue her; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expense. But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither and back again.

How much happier some people can be than others! All over Athens I am thought as beautiful as she is. But what good is that? Demetrius does not think so; he refuses to know what everyone but him knows. And just as he is mistaken, doting on Hermia's eyes, so am I, admiring his qualities. Love can change things that are low and worthless, with no substance at all, into beauty and dignity. Love does not look with the eyes, but with the mind; and that is why winged Cupid is painted blind. Nor does love's mind have any taste for judgement. Wings, and no eyes, stand for reckless haste. And that is why love is said to be a child, because in its choices it is so often deceived. Just as playful boys break their word in a game, so the boy Love breaks his oaths everywhere. For before Demetrius looked at Hermia's eyes, he rained down oaths like hail that he was mine alone; and when this hail felt a little warmth from Hermia, he melted, and showers of oaths dissolved away. I will go and tell him about lovely Hermia's escape. Then tomorrow night he will go into the wood after her; and if I get thanks for this information, it is a costly way to earn them. But this is how I mean to make my pain worth something: to see him on the way there and back again.