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