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Where art thou proud Demetrius?
Here, villain, drawn and ready! Where art thou?
Follow me then to plainer ground
Lysander, speak again. Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? Speak! In some bush?
Yea, art thou there?
Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars, telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, and wilt not come?
Nay then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt night, abate thy hours, shine comforts from the east, that I may back to Athens by daylight.
On the ground sleep sound. I'll apply to your eye, gentle lover, remedy.
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