Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace.Four happy days bring in Another moon. But oh, methinks how slow This old moon wanes!
Four days will quickly steep themselves in night. Four nights will quickly dream away the time. And then the moon, like to a silver bow New bent in heaven, shall behold the night Of our solemnities.
Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments. Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth. Turn melancholy forth to funerals. The pale companion is not for our pomp
Either to die the death or to abjure Forever the society of men. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires. Know of your youth. Examine well your blood— Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice
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
Take time to pause, and by the next new moon— The sealing day betwixt my love and me For everlasting bond of fellowship— Upon that day either prepare to die For disobedience to your father’s will,
You have her father’s love, Demetrius. Let me have Hermia’s. Do you marry him.
Relent, sweet Hermia—And, Lysander, yield Thy crazèd title to my certain right.