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 love to distraction.

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

Here comes my messenger. Well then, mad spirit? What mischief is going on tonight in this enchanted 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. Close to her private, sacred resting place, while she was in her heavy sleeping hour, a gang of ragged fools, crude working men who earn their bread at market stalls in Athens, had gathered to rehearse a play meant for great Theseus' wedding day. The stupidest blockhead of that dull group, the one who played Pyramus in their show, left the acting area 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 hunter creeping up, or reddish-headed jackdaws in a great flock, rising and cawing at the sound of a gun, scatter apart and madly sweep across the sky — just so, at the sight of him, his companions fly off. And at my stamping, here one falls over and over again; he cries murder and calls for help from Athens. Their wits so weak, and lost with their fears so strong, made lifeless things start to do them harm: briars and thorns snatch at their clothes, taking sleeves from some, hats from others — everything catches at people who give in. I led them on in this bewildered panic and left sweet Pyramus transformed there. And at that very moment, so it happened, Titania woke and straight away 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 ordered 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 is done too — with the Athenian woman at his side, so that when he woke he would necessarily have to see her.

Stand close. This is the same Athenian.

Keep out of sight. 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 should treat you worse, because I fear you have given me reason to curse you. If you have killed Lysander in his sleep, then since you are 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 slipped away from Hermia while she slept? I would just as soon believe that this whole earth could be drilled through, and that the moon could creep through its centre and so annoy her brother the sun at noon on the other side of the world. It can only be that you have murdered him. That is 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 is how the murdered man should look, and that is how I should look, stabbed through the heart by your harsh cruelty. Yet you, the murderer, look as bright and as clear as Venus over there shining in her 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 would 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 girl's patience. So have you killed him? From now on may you never be counted among human beings! Oh, tell the truth for once; tell the truth, if only for my sake! Would you have dared to look at him if he were awake, and yet you killed him while he slept? Oh, what a splendid feat! Could a worm, a snake, not have done as much? A snake did it, since no snake 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 are wasting your anger on a mistaken idea. I am not guilty of shedding Lysander's blood, nor is he dead, as far as I know.

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

Then please tell me that he is safe and well.

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 company: do not see me any more, whether he is 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 is no point in following her while she is in this fierce mood. So I will stay here for a while. Sorrow's heaviness grows heavier still because of the debt that bankrupt sleep owes to sorrow; sleep will now pay a small part 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 have made a complete mistake and put the love-juice on the eyes of someone who was already truly in love. Your error must necessarily result in a true love turned false, rather than a false one turned true.

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

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

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 sick with love and pale in the face from sighs of love, which cost the fresh blood dearly. See that you bring her here by some trick; I will 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 am going, I am 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 the woman he loves, let her shine as gloriously as Venus in the sky. — When you wake, if she is nearby, beg 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 band of fairies, Helena is close by, and the young man I mistook is with her, 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 men will be courting one woman at the same time. That is bound to be unrivalled entertainment; and the things that please me best are the ones that turn out completely absurdly.

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 that I court you mockingly? Mockery and ridicule never come with tears. Look — when I make a vow, I weep; and in vows born that way, complete truth shows from the moment of their birth. How can these things in me seem like mockery to you, when they carry the badge of sincerity 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 destroys another, what a devilishly holy battle that is! These vows belong to Hermia: will you abandon her? Weigh one oath against the other and you will be weighing nothing at all. Your vows to her and to me, put in two scales, will balance exactly, and both as light as empty stories.

I had no judgment when to her I swore.

I had no sense when I swore love to her.

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

And none now either, to my mind, when you abandon her.

Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.

Demetrius loves her, and he does not 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 beside them. Oh, how deliciously ripe your lips grow, those kissing cherries, so tempting! That pure frozen white, the snow on high Taurus, blown by the east wind, turns as black as a crow when you raise your hand. Oh, let me kiss this queen 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, how cruel! Oh, hell! I see you are all determined to gang up on me for your own amusement. If you were decent and knew any courtesy, you would not wrong me like this. Is it not enough to hate me, as I know you do — must you join together to mock me as well? If you were men, as you look like men, you would not treat a well-bred lady this way: making vows and swearing and praising my features extravagantly, when I am sure you hate me in your hearts. You are both rivals in love for Hermia; and now you are both rivals in mocking Helena. A fine achievement, a manly undertaking, to force tears into a poor girl's eyes with your ridicule! No one of noble kind would so insult a young woman and strain a poor creature's patience, all to make sport for 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 are being cruel, Demetrius; do not be so, because you love Hermia; you know that I know this. And here, willingly and with all my heart, I hand over to you my share in Hermia's love; and you must leave me your share of Helena, whom I love and will love until I die.

Never did mockers waste more idle breath.

Mockers never wasted more pointless words.

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 want nothing of 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 is not 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.

Do not belittle a devotion you know nothing about, or you may pay for it dearly, at your own risk. Look, here comes your love; there is 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 power, makes the ear quicker at picking things up; and where it weakens the sense of sight, it repays the hearing twice over. My eye did not find you, Lysander; my ear, which I thank for it, brought me to the sound of you. But why did you cruelly leave me like that?

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 urge 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 would not let him stay — beautiful Helena, who gilds the night more brightly than all those fiery circles and eyes of light up there. Why are you looking for me? Could this not have shown you that it was my hatred of you that made me leave you like that?

You speak not as you think; it cannot be.

You do not mean what you say; it cannot 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 is one of this conspiracy! Now I see that all three of them have joined together to put on this cruel game to spite me. Insulting Hermia, most ungrateful girl! Have you plotted, have you schemed with these two, to torment me with this foul ridicule? All the secrets that the two of us have shared, the vows we made as sisters, the hours we have spent together, when we scolded quick-footed time for parting us — oh, is it all forgotten? All our schoolday friendship, our childhood innocence? We two, Hermia, like two gods creating art, made a single flower with our needles, both on one piece of embroidery, sitting on one cushion, both singing one song in one key, as if our hands, our bodies, our voices and our minds had been joined into one. So we grew up together, like a double cherry, seeming divided but still one whole in the division, two lovely berries formed on one stem; so, with two apparent bodies but a single heart; like two identical charges on a coat of arms, belonging to one person and topped with a single crest. And will you tear our long-standing love apart, and side with men in scorning your poor friend? It is not friendly, it is not what a young woman should do. All women, as well as I, may reproach you for it, though I alone feel the wound.

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

I am astonished at your furious words: I am not scorning you; it seems that you are 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.

Have you not put Lysander up to following me and praising my eyes and my face, as a joke against me? And made your other admirer, Demetrius, who only a moment ago kicked me away with his foot, call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare, precious, heavenly? Why does he say this to a woman he hates? And why does Lysander deny his love for you, which is so strong in his heart, and offer me, of all things, his affection — except at your urging, with your agreement? So what if I am not as favoured as you, not so clung to by love, not so fortunate, but utterly wretched in loving without being loved? You ought to pity me for this rather than look down on me.

I understand not what you mean by this.

I do not 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 serious faces, make mocking faces at me when my back is turned, wink at one another, keep the fine joke going. This game, well played, will go down in the records. If you had any pity, decency, or manners, you would not make me such a subject for your fun. But goodbye. It is partly my own fault, and death, or going away, will soon put it right.

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, beautiful Helena!

O excellent!

Oh, excellent!

Sweet, do not scorn her so.

My love, do not mock her like that.

If she cannot entreat, I can compel.

If she cannot persuade you, I can force you.

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 pleading. Helen, I love you, on my life I do; I swear by the life I am willing to lose for you that I will prove anyone a liar who says I do not love you.

I say I love thee more than he can do.

I say I love you more than he possibly can.

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

If you say so, step aside with me and prove it too.

Quick, come.

Come on, quickly.

Lysander, whereto tends all this?

Lysander, what is all this leading to?

Away, you Ethiope!

Get away, you black-faced thing!

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 will only pretend to break free. Make a show as though you would follow me, but do not actually come. You are a tame creature, 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! Let go, vile thing, or I will 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 dark-skinned savage, get away! Away, you sickening medicine! Hateful poison, get out of here!

Do you not jest?

Aren't you joking?

Yes, sooth, and so do you.

Yes, truly he is, 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 that a weak tie 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, would you have me 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, my love? Am I not Hermia? Are you not Lysander? I am just as beautiful now as I was a little while ago. You loved me last night, and yet last night you left me. So then, you left me — oh, may the gods forbid it! — in earnest, am I to 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 fear. 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 cheat! You worm in the flower bud! You love-thief! 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!

Very nice, honestly! Have you no decency, no girl's sense of shame, no trace of modesty? What, will you 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? Yes, so that's how the game is played. 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, if you please, she has won him over. And have you risen so high in his opinion because I am so tiny and so short? How short am I, you painted maypole? Speak. How short am I? I am not 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.

Gentlemen, I beg you, mock me if you like, but don't let her hurt me. I was never quarrelsome; I have no talent at all for scolding; I am a proper girl in my cowardice. Don't let her hit me. Perhaps you think that because she is somewhat shorter than I am, I could 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 harsh with me. I always loved you, Hermia, always kept your secrets, never wronged you, except that, out of love for Demetrius, I told him you had slipped away into this wood. He followed you; out of love I followed him. But he has told me off and driven me away, and threatened to hit me, kick me, in fact to kill me too. And now, if you will just let me go quietly, I'll carry my foolishness back to Athens and follow you no further. Let me go. You see how simple and how foolish I am.

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

Well, go then. Who is stopping you?

A foolish heart that I leave here behind.

A foolish heart that I am leaving 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 spitfire at school, and though she's little, she is fierce.

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

Little again! Nothing but short and little? Why do you let her insult 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, you dwarf; you tiniest of things, 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 eager on behalf of a woman who despises your help. Leave her alone. Don't speak of Helena; don't take her side; because if you mean to show her even the slightest sign of love, you will 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.

Now she isn't holding me. Now follow, if you dare, and let's find out whose claim to Helena is stronger, yours or mine.

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

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

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

You, my lady, all this trouble 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 spiteful 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 always make mistakes, or else you play your tricks 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 recognise the man by the Athenian clothes he was wearing? So my work is blameless to this extent: I did anoint an Athenian's eyes. And I'm glad it turned out this way to this extent: I consider their squabbling 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 that these lovers are looking for a place to fight. Hurry then, Robin, cloud the night over; at once cover the starry sky with a low-hanging fog as black as Acheron, and lead these irritable rivals so far astray that neither of them can come near the other. Sometimes shape your voice to sound like Lysander's, and provoke Demetrius with bitter insults; and sometimes abuse them in Demetrius's voice. Lead them away from each other like this until sleep that imitates death creeps over their foreheads with its leaden legs and bat's wings. Then squeeze this plant into Lysander's eye; its juice has the healing power to remove all its illusion from that eye and make his eyeballs see as they used to. When they next wake, all this mockery will seem like a dream and a pointless vision, and the lovers will make their way back to Athens in a bond that will last 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 will free her enchanted eye from looking at 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, because night's swift dragons are cutting through the clouds at speed; and over there the morning star, Aurora's herald, is shining, and at its coming the ghosts that wander here and there troop home to the churchyards. All the damned spirits, buried at crossroads and in rivers, have already gone to their maggoty beds; for fear that daylight should look on their disgrace, they deliberately banish themselves from the light and must keep company forever with black-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 played with the morning's beloved, and like a hunter I can walk the woods even until the eastern gate, all fiery red, opens on Neptune with beautiful blessed beams and turns his salt-green waters to yellow gold. But even so, hurry, don't delay. We can still 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, you villain, sword out and ready. Where are you?

I will be with thee straight.

I'll be with you immediately.

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 are looking for a fight, and then refusing to come? Come on, you deserter, come on, you baby! I'll whip you with a stick. Anyone who draws a sword on you is disgracing himself.

Yea, art thou there?

So, 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 faster on his feet than I am. I followed quickly, but he fled more quickly still, so that now I have stumbled onto a dark, rough path, and I'll rest here. Come, gentle day! [He lies down.] Because 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; I know very well that you keep running ahead of me, changing your place all the time, and don't dare stand still or 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, you're just mocking me. You'll pay dearly for this if I ever see your face in daylight. Go your way now. Exhaustion forces me to stretch myself 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, exhausting night, oh long and tiresome night, cut your hours short! Shine out, comforts, from the east, so that I can get back to Athens by daylight, away from these people who hate my miserable company. And let 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 on, 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 wretched, splashed all over with dew and scratched by thorns, I can't crawl any further or go any further. My legs can't keep up with what I want. I'll rest here until daybreak. May the heavens protect Lysander, if those two intend 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 cure 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 will take true delight in the sight of your former lady's eye. 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 have his mare again, and all shall be well.