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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.
Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.
And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake! Transparent Helena! Nature shows art, that through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius? O how fit a word is that vile name, to perish on my sword!
The ousel cock , so black of hue, with orange tawny bill, the throstle with his note so true, the wren with little quill.
What's this to my Lysander? Where is he? Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him?
My Oberon! What visions have I seen! Methought I was enamoured of an ass
My love! Thou art my love, I think.
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