Ob. Stand afide: the noife, they make, Will caufe Demetrius to awake. Puck. Then will two at once woo one; That must needs be sport alone. And thofe things do beft please me, That befal prepoft'rously. Enter Lyfander and Helena. Lyf. Why fhould you think, that I fhould woo in scorn? How can these things in me feem fcorn to you, Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I fwore. To what, my love, fhall I compare thine eyne? Thy lips, thofe kiffing cherries, tempting grow! To To vow and fwear, and fuper-praife my parts; Whom I do love, and will do to my death. My heart to her but, as gueft-wife, fojourn'd; Lyf. It is not fo. } Dem. Difparage not the faith, thou doft not know, Left to thy peril thou abide it dear. Look, where thy love comes, yonder is thy dear. Enter Hermia. } Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, The ear more quick of apprehenfion makes: Wherein it doth impair the feeing sense, It pays the hearing double recompence, Thou art not by mine eye, Lyfander, found; Lyf. Why should he stay, whom love doth prefs to go? (17) A trim Exploit, a manly Enterprize,] This Reproach, in the Form of it, feems extreamly to have the Caft of That, in the ift Eneid; Egregiam verò Laudem, & fpolia ampla refertis, Her. Her. What love could prefs Lyfander from my fide Lyf. Lyfander's love, that would not let him bide, Fair Helena; who more engilds the night, Than all yon fiery O's and eyes of light. Why feek'st thou me? could not this make thee know, The hate, I bear thee, made me leave thee fo? Her. You fpeak not, as you think it cannot be. Have you confpir'd, have you with these contriv'd Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, Two lovely berries molded on one stem, (18) Two of the first Life, coats in Heraldry, for it; Due but to One, and crowned with one Creft.] The true Correction of this Paffage I owe to the Friendship and Communication of the ingenious Martin Folks, Efq; -Two of the firft, fecond, &c. are Terms peculiar in Heraldry to distinguish the different Quarterings of Coats. Her. Her. I am amazed at your paffionate words: (Who, even but now, did fpurn me with his foot) You would not make me fuch an argument: Her. Sweet, do not fcorn her fo. Dem. If the cannot entreat, I can compel. Lyf. Thou canst compel, no more than the entreat : Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak Prayers. (19) (19) Thy Threats have no more Strength than her weak Praife.] This Line is certainly but an Enlargement upon, or rather a Variation in Terms of the Senfe of the preceding Line. But, in That, there is a defign'd Antithefis betwixt compel and entreat: this Contraft of Terms is wanting, in Threats and Praife: wherefore We need make no Difficulty of fubftituting Prayers. Indeed, my Sufpicion is, the Poet might have coin'd a Subftantive plural, (from the verb, to pray) Prays; i. e. Prayings, Entreaties, Befeechings; and the Identity of Sound might give Birth to the Corruption of it into praife. But I have chosen the known and familiar Word. I 3 Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do; Her. Lyfander, whereto tends all this? Dem. No, no, he'll feem To break away; take on as he would follow, Lyf. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr; vile thing, let loofer Or I will shake thee from me, like a ferpent. Her. Why are you grown fo rude? what change is this? Sweet love! Lyf. Thy love? out, tawny Tartar, out; Out, loathed medicine: hated poison, hence. Her. Do you not jest? Hel. Yes, footh, and fo do you. Lyf. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. Dem. I would, I had your bond; for, I perceive, A weak bond holds you; I'll not truft your word. Lyf. What, fhould I hurt her, ftrike her, kill her dead? Although I hate her, I'll not harm her fo.. Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than hate? Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love? Am not I Hermia? are not you Lyfander? I am as fair now, as I was ere-while. Since night, you lov'd me; yet, fince night, you left me; Why then you left me- (O the gods forbid !) In earneft, fhall I fay? Lyf. Ay, by my life; And never did defire to fee thee more. Therefore be out of hope, of question, doubt; That I do hate thee, and love Helena. Her. O me, you jugler; oh, you canker-bloffom, You thief of love; what, have you come by night, And ftoll'n my love's heart from him? Hel. Fine, i'faith! |