Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow! That pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow,
O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
Fanned with the eastern wind, turns to a crow When thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!
O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent To set against me for your merriment.If you were civil and knew courtesy, You would not do me thus much injury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, But you must join in souls to mock me too? If you were men, as men you are in show, You would not use a gentle lady so, To vow and swear and superpraise my parts, When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. You both are rivals and love Hermia, And now both rivals to mock Helena. A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, To conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes With your derision! None of noble sort Would so offend a virgin and extort A poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport.
You are unkind, Demetrius. Be not so, For you love Hermia; this you know I know. And here with all goodwill, with all my heart, In Hermia’s love I yield you up my part. And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love and will do till my death.