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Help me, Lysander, help me; do thy best To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast. Ay me, for pity! What a dream was here! Lysander, look how I do quake with fear.
I'll follow you. I'll lead you about a round, Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier; Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire,
O, methinks how slow This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires Like to a stepdame or a dowager Long withering out a young man's revenue.
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