Unknown Story

How now, my love?Why is your cheek so pale?How chance the roses there do fade so fast?Ay me , for aught that i could ever read,could ever hear by tale or history,The cores of true love never did run smoothBut either it was different in bloodor else misgraffed in respect of years.
Be like for want of rain, which i could well beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.O cross! too high to be enthralled to low
These are the forgeries of jealousy;And never, since the middle summer’s spring,Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead.
How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?Didst not thou lead him through the glimmeringnightFrom Perigouna, whom he ravishèdAnd make him with fair Aegles break his faith,With Ariadne and Antiopa?
I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.Stay, on thy peril. I alone will go.
Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetriuso, wilt thou darkling leave me ?so not so.O, I am out of breath in this fond chase.The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.Happy is Hermia, wheresoe’er she lies,For she hath blessèd and attractive eyes.How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears.If so, my eyes are oftener washed than hers.

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