Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, and won thy love, doing thee injuries; but I will wed thee in another key, with pomp, with triumph and with revelling.
Full of vexation come I, with complaint against my child, my daughter Hermia. I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, as she is mine, I may dispose of her: which shall be either to this gentleman or to her death, according to our law immediately provided in that case.
I do entreat your grace to pardon me. I know not by what power I am made bold, nor how it may concern my modesty, in such a presence here to plead my thoughts; but I beseech your grace that I may know the worst that may befall me in this case, if I refuse to wed Demetrius.
Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield thy crazed title to my certain right.
You have her father's love, Demetrius; let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.
Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
God speed fair Helena! whither away?
None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!