A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 3, Scene 2

I wonder if Titania be awak’d; Then, what it was that next came in her eye, Which she must dote on in extremity.

I wonder whether Titania has woken up; and then, what it was that came before her eyes first, which she must be madly in love with.

Here comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit? What night-rule now about this haunted grove?

Here comes my messenger. Well, mad spirit? What night-time mischief is going on in this haunted grove?

My mistress with a monster is in love. Near to her close and consecrated bower, While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, Were met together to rehearse a play Intended for great Theseus’ nuptial day. The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort Who Pyramus presented in their sport, Forsook his scene and enter’d in a brake. When I did him at this advantage take, An ass’s nole I fixed on his head. Anon, his Thisbe must be answerèd, And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy, As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, Rising and cawing at the gun’s report, Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky, So at his sight away his fellows fly, And at our stamp, here o’er and o’er one falls; He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. 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. When in that moment, so it came to pass, Titania wak’d, and straightway lov’d an ass.

My mistress is in love with a monster. Near her private and holy bower, while she was in her drowsy, sleeping hour, a gang of fools, rough workmen who work for a living at the market stalls of Athens, had met together to rehearse a play meant for great Theseus's wedding day. The most empty-headed blockhead of that dull crowd, who played Pyramus in their show, left the stage and went into a thicket. When I caught him at that advantage, I fastened an ass's head on his head. Soon his Thisbe had to be answered, and out comes my actor. When they spot him, like wild geese that catch sight of the creeping hunter, or like grey-headed jackdaws, a whole flock of them, rising and cawing at the noise of the gun, scattering and sweeping madly across the sky — so at the sight of him his friends fly off; and at the stamp of my foot, one after another falls down here. He shouts murder, and calls for help from Athens. Their wits so weak, and so overwhelmed by their strong fears, made even lifeless things start to attack them: briars and thorns snatch at their clothes, taking sleeves from some, hats from others — everything is stripped from people who give way. I led them on in this bewildered panic, and left sweet Pyramus transformed there. And at that very moment, as it happened, Titania woke up and immediately fell in love with an ass.

This falls out better than I could devise. But hast thou yet latch’d the Athenian’s eyes With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?

This turns out better than I could have planned. But have you yet moistened the Athenian's eyes with the love-juice, as I told you to do?

I took him sleeping—that is finish’d too— And the Athenian woman by his side, That, when he wak’d, of force she must be ey’d.

I found him asleep — that's done too — and the Athenian woman was beside him, so that when he woke he was bound to see her.

Stand close. This is the same Athenian.

Stay hidden. This is the same Athenian.

This is the woman, but not this the man.

This is the woman, but this is not the man.

O why rebuke you him that loves you so? Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

Oh, why do you scold the man who loves you so much? Save such bitter words for your bitter enemy.

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 the deep, And kill me too. 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 May through the centre creep and so displease Her brother’s noontide with th’ Antipodes. It cannot be but thou hast murder’d him. So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.

Right now I only scold you, but I ought to treat you worse, because I'm afraid you've given me reason to curse you. If you have killed Lysander in his sleep, then since you're already ankle-deep in blood, plunge in all the way and kill me too. The sun was not as faithful to the day as he was to me. Would he have stolen away from Hermia while she slept? I would sooner believe that this whole earth could be drilled through, and that the moon could creep through the centre of it and annoy her brother the sun's noon on the other side of the world. It can only be that you have murdered him. That's how a murderer should look — so deathly, so grim.

So should the murder’d look, and so should I, Pierc’d through the heart with your stern cruelty. Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.

That's how the murdered man should look, and that's how I look, stabbed through the heart by your harsh cruelty. Yet you, the murderer, look as bright and clear as Venus over there in her shining sphere.

What’s this to my Lysander? Where is he? Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?

What has this to do with my Lysander? Where is he? Ah, good Demetrius, will you give him back to me?

I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.

I'd rather give his dead body to my hounds.

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! Durst thou have look’d upon him, being awake, And hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch! Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? An adder did it; for with doubler tongue Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.

Get away, dog! Get away, mongrel! You drive me past the limits of a maiden's patience. So you have killed him? From now on may you never be counted among men! Oh, tell the truth for once; tell the truth, if only for my sake! Would you have dared to look at him while he was awake — and have you killed him asleep? Oh, what a brave deed! Couldn't a worm, a snake, have done as much? A snake did do it; for no adder ever stung with a more forked tongue than yours, you serpent.

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.

You're wasting your anger on a mistake: I'm not guilty of Lysander's blood, and he isn't dead, as far as I can tell.

I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.

Please, then, tell me that he is safe.

And if I could, what should I get therefore?

And if I could, what would I get for it?

A privilege never to see me more. And from thy hated presence part I so: See me no more, whether he be dead or no.

The privilege of never seeing me again. And so I leave your hated presence: don't see me again, whether he's dead or not.

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; Which now in some slight measure it will pay, If for his tender here I make some stay.

There's no point following her while she's in this fierce mood. So I'll stay here for a while. Sorrow's weight grows heavier because of the debt that bankrupt sleep owes to sorrow; and now sleep will pay a little of it, if I wait here for it to offer payment.

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.

What have you done? You've made a complete mistake, and put the love-juice on the eyes of someone truly in love. Your blunder must inevitably result in a true love being turned false, rather than a false one made true.

Then fate o’er-rules, that, one man holding troth, A million fail, confounding oath on oath.

Then fate rules over all: for every one man who keeps faith, a million break it, breaking promise after promise.

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 costs the fresh blood dear. By some illusion see thou bring her here; I’ll charm his eyes against she do appear.

Go through the wood faster than the wind, and make sure you find Helena of Athens. She is quite sick with love, and pale in the face with sighs of love, which cost the fresh blood dearly. By some trick, see that you bring her here; I'll charm his eyes ready for when she appears.

I go, I go; look how I go, Swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.

I'm going, I'm going; look how I go, faster than an arrow from the Tartar's bow.

Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid’s archery, Sink in apple of his eye. When his love he doth espy, Let her shine as gloriously As the Venus of the sky.— When thou wak’st, if she be by, Beg of her for remedy.

Flower of this purple colour, struck by Cupid's arrow, sink into the pupil of his eye. When he catches sight of his love, let her shine as gloriously as Venus in the sky. When you wake, if she is near, ask her for a cure.

Captain of our fairy band, Helena is here at hand, And the youth mistook by me, Pleading for a lover’s fee. Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Captain of our fairy band, Helena is close by, and the young man I mistook, begging for a lover's reward. Shall we watch their foolish show? Lord, what fools these mortals are!

Stand aside. The noise they make Will cause Demetrius to awake.

Stand aside. The noise they make will wake Demetrius up.

Then will two at once woo one. That must needs be sport alone; And those things do best please me That befall prepost’rously.

Then two will court one woman at the same time. That's bound to be fun in itself; and the things that please me best are the ones that happen absurdly, back to front.

Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears. 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, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?

Why should you think I'm courting you in mockery? Mockery and ridicule never come with tears. Look: when I make a vow, I weep; and vows born that way show they are all truth from their very birth. How can these things seem like mockery to you, when they carry the badge of faith to prove them true?

You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! These vows are Hermia’s: will you give her o’er? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, Will even weigh; and both as light as tales.

You push your trickery further and further. When one truth kills another truth, what a devilish-holy battle that is! These vows belong to Hermia: will you abandon her? Weigh one oath against the other, and you'll weigh nothing at all: put your vows to her and to me in two scales, and they'll balance exactly; both as light as fairy tales.

I had no judgment when to her I swore.

I had no sense when I swore to her.

Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er.

And none now either, in my opinion, when you abandon her.

Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.

Demetrius loves her, and he doesn't love you.

[Waking.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow! That pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow, Fann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow When thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!

[Waking.] Oh Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! What shall I compare your eyes to, my love? Crystal is muddy next to them. Oh, how ripe your lips look, those kissing cherries, growing so temptingly! That pure frozen white, the snow on high Taurus, blown by the east wind, turns as black as a crow when you hold up your hand. Oh, let me kiss this princess of pure whiteness, this seal of happiness!

O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent To set against me for your merriment. If you were civil, and knew courtesy, You would not do me thus much injury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, But you must join in souls to mock me too? If you were men, as men you are in show, You would not use a gentle lady so; To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. You both are rivals, and love Hermia; And now both rivals, to mock Helena. A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, To conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes With your derision! None of noble sort Would so offend a virgin, and extort A poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport.

Oh, what spite! Oh, hell! I see you're all determined to gang up on me for your amusement. If you were decent, and had any manners, you wouldn't do me this much harm. Isn't it enough to hate me, as I know you do — must you also join together heart and soul to mock me as well? If you were real men, as you look like men, you wouldn't treat a well-born lady like this: making vows and swearing oaths and praising my features to the skies, when I'm sure you hate me in your hearts. You're both rivals in loving Hermia; and now you're rivals in mocking Helena. What a fine achievement, what a manly undertaking, to bring tears into a poor girl's eyes with your ridicule! No one of noble character would insult a maiden like this, and strain a poor soul's patience, all just to amuse yourselves.

You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so, For you love Hermia; this you know I know. And here, with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermia’s love I yield you up my part; And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love and will do till my death.

You're being unkind, Demetrius; don't be. You love Hermia — you know that I know this. And here, with all good will, with all my heart, I hand over to you my share in Hermia's love; and you leave me your share of Helena, whom I love and will love until I die.

Never did mockers waste more idle breath.

No mockers ever wasted more pointless breath.

Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none. If e’er I lov’d her, all that love is gone. My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn’d; And now to Helen is it home return’d, There to remain.

Lysander, keep your Hermia; I don't want her. If I ever loved her, all that love is gone. My heart only stayed with her like a guest visiting; and now it has returned home to Helen, to stay there.

Helen, it is not so.

Helen, it isn't true.

Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, Lest to thy peril thou aby it dear. Look where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.

Don't belittle a devotion you know nothing about, or you'll pay dearly for it at your own risk. Look, here comes your love; there's your darling.

Dark 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 hearing double recompense. Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?

Dark night, which takes away the eye's function, makes the ear quicker to understand; whatever it takes from the sense of sight, it pays back double to the hearing. It wasn't my eye that found you, Lysander; my ear, thank goodness, led me to the sound of you. But why did you leave me so unkindly?

Why should he stay whom love doth press to go?

Why should a man stay when love urges him to go?

What love could press Lysander from my side?

What love could push Lysander away from my side?

Lysander’s love, that would not let him bide, Fair Helena, who more engilds the night Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. Why seek’st thou me? Could not this make thee know The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?

Lysander's love, which wouldn't let him stay — love of fair Helena, who gilds the night more brightly than all those fiery circles and eyes of light up there. Why are you looking for me? Couldn't this have told you that it was hatred for you that made me leave you like that?

You speak not as you think; it cannot be.

You don't mean what you say; it can't be true.

Lo, she is one of this confederacy! Now I perceive they have conjoin’d all three To fashion this false sport in spite 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 hasty-footed time For parting us—O, is all forgot? All school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles created 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 incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet a union in partition, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart; Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Due but to one, and crownèd with one crest. And will you rent our ancient love asunder, To join with men in scorning your poor friend? It is not friendly, ’tis not maidenly. Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it, Though I alone do feel the injury.

Look, she's part of this conspiracy too! Now I see that all three of them have joined together to put on this false game to spite me. Insulting Hermia, most ungrateful girl! Have you plotted, have you arranged with these two, to torment me with this vile ridicule? All the secrets we two have shared, the vows we made as sisters, the hours we spent together, when we scolded swift-footed time for separating us — oh, is it all forgotten? All our schooldays' friendship, our childhood innocence? We two, Hermia, like two skilful gods, created one flower with our needles, both working on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, both singing one song, both in one key, as if our hands, our bodies, our voices and our minds had been joined into one. So we grew together, like a double cherry, seeming separate, but still joined in the separation: two lovely berries formed on one stem; so, with two apparent bodies, but a single heart. Two of the same thing, like two coats of arms in heraldry, belonging to one person and topped by a single crest. And will you tear our old love apart, to join with men in scorning your poor friend? It isn't friendly, it isn't ladylike. All women, not just me, may scold you for it, even though I'm the only one who feels the injury.

I am amazèd at your passionate words: I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me.

I'm astonished by your passionate words. I'm not scorning you; it seems that you're scorning me.

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 miserable most, to love unlov’d? This you should pity rather than despise.

Haven't you put Lysander up to following me, in mockery, and praising my eyes and face? And made your other lover, Demetrius, who just now was kicking me away with his foot, call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare, precious, heavenly? Why does he speak like this to a woman he hates? And why does Lysander deny his love for you, so deeply rooted in his soul, and offer me, of all people, his affection — unless you put him up to it, with your agreement? What if I'm not as favoured as you, not so surrounded by love, not so fortunate, but utterly wretched, loving without being loved? That is something you should pity rather than despise.

I understand not what you mean by this.

I don't understand what you mean by this.

Ay, do. Persever, counterfeit sad looks, Make mouths upon me when I turn my back, Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up. This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. If you have any pity, grace, or manners, You would not make me such an argument. But fare ye well. ’Tis partly my own fault, Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.

Yes, go on. Keep it up, put on fake sad faces, pull faces at me when my back is turned, wink at one another; keep the lovely joke going. This game, if it's played well, will get written down in the history books. If you had any pity, decency, or manners, you wouldn't make me the subject of such a joke. But goodbye to you. It's partly my own fault, and death or absence will soon cure it.

Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse; My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!

Wait, gentle Helena; listen to my explanation — my love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!

O excellent!

Oh, excellent!

Sweet, do not scorn her so.

My love, don't mock her like that.

If she cannot entreat, I can compel.

If she can't persuade him, I can force him.

Thou canst compel no more than she entreat; Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers. Helen, I love thee, by my life I do; I swear by that which I will lose for thee To prove him false that says I love thee not.

You can force no more than she can persuade; your threats have no more power than her feeble prayers. Helen, I love you; on my life I do. I swear by the life I'm willing to lose for you, to prove wrong anyone who says I don't love you.

I say I love thee more than he can do.

And I say I love you more than he can.

If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.

If you say that, come away with me and prove it too.

Quick, come.

Quick, come on.

Lysander, whereto tends all this?

Lysander, where is all this leading?

Away, you Ethiope!

Get away, you Ethiope!

No, no. He will Seem to break loose. Take on as you would follow, But yet come not. You are a tame man, go!

No, no. He'll only pretend to break away. Make a fuss as though you're going to follow me, but don't actually come. You're a tame man, go on!

Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! Vile thing, let loose, Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent.

Let go of me, you cat, you burr! Vile thing, let go, or I'll shake you off me like a snake.

Why are you grown so rude? What change is this, Sweet love?

Why have you turned so rough? What is this change, my sweet love?

Thy love? Out, tawny Tartar, out! Out, loathèd medicine! O hated potion, hence!

Your love? Get away, you brown-skinned Tartar, get away! Away, you hateful medicine! Oh, detested potion, be gone!

Do you not jest?

Aren't you joking?

Yes, sooth, and so do you.

Yes, truly, and so are you.

Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.

Demetrius, I will keep my promise to you.

I would I had your bond; for I perceive A weak bond holds you; I’ll not trust your word.

I wish I had it in writing, because I can see a weak bond is holding you back. I won't trust your word.

What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead? Although I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.

What, do you expect me to hurt her, hit her, kill her outright? Even though I hate her, I won't do her that kind of harm.

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 erewhile. Since night you lov’d me; yet since night you left me. Why then, you left me—O, the gods forbid!— In earnest, shall I say?

What, can you do me any greater harm than hating me? Hate me? Why? Oh no! What is this news, my love? Am I not Hermia? Are you not Lysander? I am just as beautiful now as I was a little while ago. During the night you loved me, and yet during the night you left me. So then you really left me — oh, may the gods forbid it! — in earnest, must I say?

Ay, by my life; And never did desire to see thee more. Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt; Be certain, nothing truer; ’tis no jest That I do hate thee and love Helena.

Yes, on my life, and I never wanted to see you again. So give up all hope, all questioning, all doubt. Be sure of it — nothing is truer — it is no joke that I hate you and love Helena.

O me! You juggler! You cankerblossom! You thief of love! What! have you come by night And stol’n my love’s heart from him?

Oh no! You trickster! You canker in the blossom! You thief of love! What, have you come in the night and stolen my love's heart from him?

Fine, i’ faith! Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? Fie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you!

That's lovely, honestly! Have you no decency, no maidenly shame, no trace of modesty? What, are you going to drag angry answers out of my mild tongue? Shame on you, shame, you fake, you doll, you!

Puppet! Why so? Ay, that way goes the game. Now I perceive that she hath made compare Between our statures; she hath urg’d her height; And with her personage, her tall personage, Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him. And are you grown so high in his esteem Because I am so dwarfish and so low? How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak, How low am I? I am not yet so low But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.

Doll! Why that word? Ah, so that's how the game goes. Now I see she has been comparing our heights; she has made much of how tall she is, and with her figure, her tall figure, her height, indeed, she has won him over. And have you risen so high in his opinion because I am so dwarfish and so short? How short am I, you painted maypole? Speak. How short am I? I am not yet so short that my nails can't reach your eyes.

I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, Let her not hurt me. I was never curst; I have no gift at all in shrewishness; I am a right maid for my cowardice; Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think, Because she is something lower than myself, That I can match her.

I beg you, gentlemen, even though you mock me, don't let her hurt me. I was never bad-tempered; I have no talent at all for being shrewish; I am a true girl in my cowardice. Don't let her hit me. You may think, perhaps, because she is somewhat shorter than I am, that I can take her on.

Lower! Hark, again.

Shorter! Listen, there it is again.

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, I told him of your 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.

Good Hermia, don't be so bitter towards me. I always loved you, Hermia, always kept your secrets, never wronged you — except that, out of love for Demetrius, I told him you were slipping away to this wood. He followed you; out of love I followed him. But he has driven me off with scolding, and threatened to hit me, kick me, yes, even to kill me. And now, if you will just let me go away quietly, I'll carry my foolishness back to Athens and follow you no further. Let me go. You see how silly and how doting I am.

Why, get you gone. Who is’t that hinders you?

Well then, go. Who is it that's stopping you?

A foolish heart that I leave here behind.

A foolish heart that I leave behind here.

What! with Lysander?

What, with Lysander?

With Demetrius.

With Demetrius.

Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.

Don't be afraid; she won't hurt you, Helena.

No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.

No, sir, she won't, even if you do take her side.

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.

Oh, when she's angry she is sharp and vicious. She was a vixen when she was at school, and though she is small, she is fierce.

Little again! Nothing but low and little? Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? Let me come to her.

Small again! Nothing but short and small? Why do you let her jeer at me like this? Let me get at her.

Get you gone, you dwarf; You minimus, of hind’ring knot-grass made; You bead, you acorn.

Get away from here, you dwarf, you tiny thing, made out of stunting knot-grass, you bead, you acorn.

You are too officious In her behalf that scorns your services. Let her alone. Speak not of Helena; Take not her part; for if thou dost intend Never so little show of love to her, Thou shalt aby it.

You are far too busy on behalf of a woman who despises your services. Leave her alone. Don't speak of Helena. Don't take her side, because if you make even the smallest show of love towards her, you'll pay for it.

Now she holds me not. Now follow, if thou dar’st, to try whose right, Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.

She isn't holding me now. Follow me, if you dare, and let's test whose claim to Helena is greater, yours or mine.

Follow! Nay, I’ll go with thee, cheek by jole.

Follow! No, I'll walk right beside you, cheek by jowl.

You, mistress, all this coil is long of you. Nay, go not back.

You, madam, all this turmoil is because of you. No, don't back away.

I will not trust you, I, Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray. My legs are longer though, to run away.

I won't trust you, not I, nor stay any longer in your foul company. Your hands are quicker than mine for a fight, but my legs are longer for running away.

I am amaz’d, and know not what to say.

I am bewildered, and don't know what to say.

This is thy negligence: still thou mistak’st, Or else commit’st thy knaveries willfully.

This is your carelessness: you're always making mistakes, or else you commit your mischief on purpose.

Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. Did not you tell me I should know the man By the Athenian garments he had on? And so far blameless proves my enterprise That I have ’nointed an Athenian’s eyes: And so far am I glad it so did sort, As this their jangling I esteem a sport.

Believe me, king of shadows, I made a mistake. Didn't you tell me I would recognize the man by the Athenian clothes he was wearing? And my effort is blameless at least in this, that the eyes I anointed were an Athenian's. And I'm glad it turned out this way, since I consider this squabbling of theirs great fun.

Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight. Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night; The starry welkin cover thou anon With drooping fog, as black as Acheron, And lead these testy rivals so astray As one come not within another’s way. Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; And sometime rail thou like Demetrius. And from each other look thou lead them thus, Till o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep. Then crush this herb into Lysander’s eye, Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, To take from thence all error with his might And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. When they next wake, all this derision Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision; And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, With league whose date till death shall never end. Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, I’ll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy; And then I will her charmèd eye release From monster’s view, and all things shall be peace.

You see these lovers are looking for a place to fight. Hurry then, Robin, and darken the night. Cover the starry sky at once with a low-hanging fog as black as Acheron, and lead these quarrelsome rivals so far astray that neither one comes near the other. Sometimes shape your voice like Lysander's, and provoke Demetrius with stinging insults; and sometimes abuse them speaking like Demetrius. Lead them away from each other like this until sleep that imitates death creeps over their foreheads with leaden legs and bat's wings. Then squeeze this herb into Lysander's eye; its juice has this healing power, to strip away all his delusion with its strength and make his eyeballs see as they used to. When they next wake, all this mockery will seem a dream and an empty vision, and the lovers will go back to Athens in a bond that will never end until death. While I have you busy with this task, I'll go to my queen and beg her for her Indian boy; and then I'll free her enchanted eye from the sight of the monster, and everything will be peaceful.

My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast; And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger, At whose approach, ghosts wandering here and there Troop home to churchyards. Damnèd spirits all, That in cross-ways and floods have burial, Already to their wormy beds are gone; For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They wilfully themselves exile from light, And must for aye consort with black-brow’d night.

My fairy lord, this must be done quickly, for night's swift dragons are cutting through the clouds very fast, and over there shines Aurora's herald, at whose coming the ghosts wandering here and there troop home to the churchyards. All the damned spirits, who are buried at crossroads and in water, have already gone to their worm-filled beds; for fear that daylight should look on their disgrace, they deliberately banish themselves from the light and must keep company forever with dark-browed night.

But we are spirits of another sort: I with the morning’s love have oft made sport; And, like a forester, the groves may tread Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, Opening on Neptune with fair blessèd beams, Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. But, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay. We may effect this business yet ere day.

But we are spirits of a different kind. I have often gone out sporting with the morning's beloved, and, like a forester, I may walk the groves even until the eastern gate, all fiery red, opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, turns his salt-green waters into yellow gold. Still, hurry, make no delay. We can get this business done before daybreak.

Up and down, up and down, I will lead them up and down. I am fear’d in field and town. Goblin, lead them up and down. Here comes one.

Up and down, up and down, I will lead them up and down. I am feared in country and town. Goblin, lead them up and down. Here comes one of them.

Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.

Where are you, proud Demetrius? Speak up now.

Here, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou?

Here, villain, with my sword drawn and ready. Where are you?

I will be with thee straight.

I'll be with you right away.

Follow me then to plainer ground.

Follow me then, to more level ground.

Lysander, speak again. Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? Speak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?

Lysander, speak again. You runaway, you coward, have you fled? Speak. Are you in some bush? Where are you hiding your head?

Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars, Telling the bushes that thou look’st for wars, And wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child! I’ll whip thee with a rod. He is defil’d That draws a sword on thee.

You coward, are you boasting to the stars, telling the bushes that you're looking for a battle, and won't come? Come, traitor, come, you baby! I'll whip you with a stick. Anyone who draws a sword on you disgraces himself.

Yea, art thou there?

Yes, are you over there?

Follow my voice; we’ll try no manhood here.

Follow my voice; we won't test our courage here.

He goes before me, and still dares me on; When I come where he calls, then he is gone. The villain is much lighter-heel’d than I: I follow’d fast, but faster he did fly, That fallen am I in dark uneven way, And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day! [Lies down.] For if but once thou show me thy grey light, I’ll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.

He keeps ahead of me and keeps challenging me on; when I get to where he calls from, he's gone. The villain is much quicker on his feet than I am. I followed fast, but he fled faster, so that I've stumbled into a dark, rough path, and I'll rest here. Come, gentle day! [He lies down.] For if you just once show me your grey light, I'll find Demetrius and take revenge for this insult.

Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com’st thou not?

Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why don't you come?

Abide me, if thou dar’st; for well I wot Thou runn’st before me, shifting every place, And dar’st not stand, nor look me in the face. Where art thou?

Wait for me, if you dare; because I know very well that you're running ahead of me, changing your place all the time, and daring neither to stand still nor look me in the face. Where are you?

Come hither; I am here.

Come over here; I'm here.

Nay, then, thou mock’st me. Thou shalt buy this dear If ever I thy face by daylight see: Now go thy way. Faintness constraineth me To measure out my length on this cold bed. By day’s approach look to be visited.

No, then, you're mocking me. You'll pay dearly for this if I ever see your face by daylight. Now go your way. Exhaustion forces me to stretch myself out full length on this cold bed. When day comes, expect a visit from me.

O weary night, O long and tedious night, Abate thy hours! Shine, comforts, from the east, That I may back to Athens by daylight, From these that my poor company detest. And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.

Oh weary night, oh long and tiresome night, shorten your hours! Shine out, comforts, from the east, so that I can get back to Athens by daylight, away from these people who hate my poor company. And sleep, which sometimes closes sorrow's eye, steal me away for a while from my own company.

Yet but three? Come one more. Two of both kinds makes up four. Here she comes, curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad Thus to make poor females mad.

Only three so far? Come, one more. Two of each sex makes four. Here she comes, bad-tempered and miserable. Cupid is a mischievous boy, to drive poor women mad like this.

Never so weary, never so in woe, Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers, I can no further crawl, no further go; My legs can keep no pace with my desires. Here will I rest me till the break of day. Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!

Never so tired, never so miserable, soaked with the dew and scratched by thorns, I can't crawl any further, can't go any further. My legs can't keep up with what I want. I'll rest here until daybreak. May heaven protect Lysander, if they really mean to fight!

On the ground Sleep sound. I’ll apply To your eye, Gentle lover, remedy.

Sleep soundly on the ground. I'll put the remedy on your eye, gentle lover.

When thou wak’st, Thou tak’st True delight In the sight Of thy former lady’s eye. And the country proverb known, That every man should take his own, In your waking shall be shown: Jack shall have Jill; Nought shall go ill; The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.

When you wake, you'll take true delight in the sight of the eye of the lady you loved before. And the well-known country proverb, that every man should take what is his own, will be proved when you wake: Jack shall have Jill; nothing shall go wrong; the man shall get his mare back, and all shall be well.