Full of vexation come I. with complaint against my child, my daughter Hermia. Stand forth Demetrius- My noble lord, This man hath my consent to marry her.- Stand forth Lysander.- And, my gracious duke, This man bewitched the bosom of my child.
What say you, Hermia? Be advised, fair maid. To you, your father should be as a god, one that composed your beauties, yea, and one to whom you are but as a form in wax by him imprinted and within his power to leave the figure or disfigure it. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.
So is Lysander.
How now, my love? Why is your cheeks so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
At me! For aught that I could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth. But either it was different in blood-
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends-
O spite! Too old to be engaged to young.
Or else misgraffѐd in respect of years-
Belike for want of rain, which I could well beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.