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Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace; four happy days bring in Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires, Like to a step-dame or a dowager Long withering out a young man revenue.
Now, fair Hippolyta, our wedding day Draws near; four happy days will bring in Another moon: but, oh, I think, how slowly This old moon fades away! she drags on my desires, Like a stepmother or an old widow Slowly draining a young man’s inheritance.
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.
Four days will quickly pass into night; Four nights will quickly pass away; And then the moon, like a silver bow Newly bent in the sky, will witness the night Of our celebrations.
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.
Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to celebrations; Wake up the lively and cheerful spirit of joy; Send sadness off to funerals; The pale companion is not for our festivity.
Hippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword, And won thy love, doing thee injuries; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.
Hippolyta, I won your love with my sword, And earned your love by doing you harm; But I will marry you in a different way, With ceremony, with triumph, and with celebration.
Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!
Long live Theseus, our famous duke!
Thanks, good Egeus: what’s the news with thee?
Thank you, good Egeus: what’s the matter with you?
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 hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child; Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, And interchanged love-tokens with my child: Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, With feigning voice verses of feigning love, And stolen the impression of her fantasy With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers Of strong prevailment in unharden’d youth: With cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart, Turn’d her obedience, which is due to me, To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke, Be it so she; will not here before your grace Consent to marry with Demetrius, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, As she is mine, I may dispose of her: Which shall be either to this gentleman Or to her death, according to our law Immediately provided in that case.
I am full of worry and come with a complaint Against my daughter, Hermia. Step forward, Demetrius. My noble lord, This man has my permission to marry her. Step forward, Lysander: and my gracious duke, This man has enchanted my daughter’s heart; You, Lysander, you have written her poems, And exchanged love tokens with my daughter: You have sung to her by moonlight at her window, With a fake voice, fake love poems, And stolen her heart’s affection With gifts like your hair tied into bracelets, rings, trinkets, little presents, Flowers, sweets, love notes, All powerful things to win over a young heart: With trickery, you’ve stolen my daughter’s love, Turned her respect, which she owes me, Into stubborn disobedience: and, my gracious duke, If she refuses to marry Demetrius here before you, I ask for the ancient law of Athens, As she is mine, I should be able to decide for her: Which will either be to this gentleman Or to her death, according to our law Already in place for such cases.
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.
What do you say, Hermia? think carefully, fair girl: Your father should be like a god to you; The one who shaped your beauty, yes, and the one To whom you are like a figure in wax, Shaped by him, and within his control To keep that form or change it. Demetrius is a noble gentleman.
So is Lysander.
So is Lysander.
In himself he is; But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice, The other must be held the worthier.
He is, yes. But since he doesn’t have your father’s approval, The other one must be considered the better choice.
I would my father look’d but with my eyes.
I wish my father could see things through my eyes.
Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.
No, it’s better if your eyes see things through his judgment.
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 that I may know The worst that may befall me in this case, If I refuse to wed Demetrius.
Please, sir, forgive me. I don’t know what gives me the courage Or how it’s proper for me to speak my mind In front of everyone like this, But I beg you to tell me What the worst punishment would be for me in this situation, If I refuse to marry Demetrius.
Either to die the death or to abjure For ever 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, You can endure the livery of a nun, For aye to be in shady cloister mew’d, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood, To undergo such maiden pilgrimage; But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d, Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.
Either you’ll die for disobeying, or you’ll give up The company of men forever. So, fair Hermia, think about what you really want; Think about your youth, and consider your heart, Whether, if you don’t agree with your father, You can bear living as a nun, Forever locked away in a dark convent, Living a barren life, all alone, Singing sad hymns to the cold, fruitless moon. They are truly blessed who can control their desires And go through life as a devoted virgin; But the rose that is picked and enjoyed Is happier than the one that dies alone, untouched, Growing, living, and dying in a life of solitary purity.
So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, Ere I will my virgin patent up Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke My soul consents not to give sovereignty.
I’ll live and die as I choose, my lord, Before I give up my virginity To someone I don’t want to marry, Whose unwanted control I will not accept.
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, Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would; Or on Diana’s altar to protest For aye austerity and single life.
Take some time to think about it; and by the next full moon, The day that marks my marriage with Hippolyta, You’ll need to decide: either prepare to die For disobeying your father’s wishes, Or marry Demetrius, as he wants; Or, if you prefer, go to Diana’s altar And swear to live a life of strict chastity.
Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right.
Please, sweet Hermia, give in: Lysander, Give up your claim to her, since I have the right.
You have her father’s love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia’s: do you marry him.
You have her father’s love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia’s: you marry him.
Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love, And what is mine my love shall render him. And she is mine, and all my right of her I do estate unto Demetrius.
Scornful Lysander! True, he has my love, And what is mine, my love will give to him. And she is mine, and all my rights to her I now give to Demetrius.
I am, my lord, as well derived as he, As well possess’d; my love is more than his; My fortunes every way as fairly rank’d, If not with vantage, as Demetrius’; And, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am beloved of beauteous Hermia: Why should not I then prosecute my right? Demetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head, Made love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena, And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes, Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, Upon this spotted and inconstant man.
I am as noble as he is, my lord, I have as much to offer; my love is stronger than his; My wealth is just as good, if not better, than Demetrius’s; And, more than all these boasts, I am loved by beautiful Hermia. So why should I not pursue my right? Demetrius, I’ll say it to his face, Loved Helena, Nedar’s daughter, And won her heart; and she, sweet lady, is in love with him, She adores him, she worships him, Though he’s unfaithful and fickle.
I must confess that I have heard so much, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; But, being over-full of self-affairs, My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come; And come, Egeus; you shall go with me, I have some private schooling for you both. For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father’s will; Or else the law of Athens yields you up-- Which by no means we may extenuate-- To death, or to a vow of single life. Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love? Demetrius and Egeus, go along: I must employ you in some business Against our nuptial and confer with you Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.
I’ve heard about this, I must admit, And I was going to speak to Demetrius about it; But I got too caught up in my own business, And it slipped my mind. But, Demetrius, come; And you too, Egeus; follow me, I have something private to discuss with both of you. Hermia, you’d better get ready To align your desires with your father’s wishes; Or else, the law of Athens says we must Turn you over to death, or force you to live a life of celibacy. Come, Hippolyta: how are you, my love? Demetrius and Egeus, come with us; I have some things to tell you, Things that concern you both personally.
With duty and desire we follow you.
We will follow you, with duty and desire.
How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
What’s wrong, my love? Why are you so pale? Why do the roses on your cheek seem to fade so quickly?
Belike for want of rain, which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.
Probably because of a lack of rain, which I could easily Provide for them from the storm of my tears.
Ay 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,--
Oh no! From anything I’ve ever read, Or heard in stories or history, The path of true love has never been easy; But sometimes it was messed up by differences in family,
O cross! too high to be enthrall’d to low.
Oh, the pain! Too high a status to be tied to someone so low.
Or else misgraffed in respect of years,--
Or it was ruined by differences in age,
O spite! too old to be engaged to young.
Oh, the bitterness! Too old to be with someone too young.
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,--
Or maybe it was about the opinion of friends,
O hell! to choose love by another’s eyes.
Oh, hell! Choosing love based on someone else’s opinion.
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say ’Behold!’ The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion.
Or, if there was some connection in the choice, War, death, or sickness would attack it, Making it as short-lived as a sound, Quick as a shadow, brief as any dream; As brief as lightning in a dark night, Which, in a moment, can reveal both heaven and earth, And before anyone can say "Look!" Darkness swallows it up: So fast, bright things get messed up.
If then true lovers have been ever cross’d, It stands as an edict in destiny: Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross, As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, Wishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers.
If true lovers have always been tested like this, It must be part of fate: So let’s learn patience in our trials, Because this struggle is as common as love itself, Just as normal as thoughts, dreams, and sighs, Wishes and tears, poor fantasy’s followers.
A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia. I have a widow aunt, a dowager Of great revenue, and she hath no child: From Athens is her house remote seven leagues; And she respects me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee; And to that place the sharp Athenian law Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then, Steal forth thy father’s house to-morrow night; And in the wood, a league without the town, Where I did meet thee once with Helena, To do observance to a morn of May, There will I stay for thee.
Good point: so listen to me, Hermia. I have an aunt who is a widow, a rich one, And she has no children: Her house is seven miles from Athens; And she treats me like her only son. There, sweet Hermia, I could marry you; And in that place, the harsh Athenian law Can’t reach us. If you love me, then, Sneak out of your father’s house tomorrow night; And in the woods, a mile outside the town, Where I once met you with Helena, To celebrate May Day, I will wait for you there.
My good Lysander! I swear to thee, by Cupid’s strongest bow, By his best arrow with the golden head, By the simplicity of Venus’ doves, By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, And by that fire which burn’d the Carthage queen, When the false Troyan under sail was seen, By all the vows that ever men have broke, In number more than ever women spoke, In that same place thou hast appointed me, To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.
My dear Lysander! I swear to you, by Cupid’s strongest bow, By his best arrow with the golden tip, By the simplicity of Venus’ doves, By the force that binds souls and strengthens love, And by the fire that burned the Queen of Carthage, When the false Trojan was seen sailing away, By all the vows men have broken, More than the vows women have ever spoken, In the same place you’ve arranged for me, Tomorrow I will truly meet you there.
Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.
Keep your promise, my love. Look, here comes Helena.
God speed fair Helena! whither away?
Good luck, fair Helena! Where are you going?
Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue’s sweet air More tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear, When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. Sickness is catching: O, were favour so, Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody. Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest I’d give to be to you translated. O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart.
You call me fair? Then take it back. Demetrius loves your beauty: oh, happy beauty! Your eyes are stars, and your voice is sweeter Than a lark’s song to a shepherd’s ear, When the wheat is green, and hawthorn buds are blooming. Sickness is contagious: oh, if beauty were so, I would catch yours, fair Hermia, before I leave; My ear would catch your voice, my eye your gaze, My tongue would catch the melody of your speech. If the world were mine, Demetrius gone, I’d give everything just to be with you. Oh, teach me how you look, and with what skill You win Demetrius’ heart.
I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
I frown at him, but he still loves me.
O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!
I wish your frowns could teach my smiles how to work!
I give him curses, yet he gives me love.
I curse him, but he still gives me love.
O that my prayers could such affection move!
I wish my prayers could make him feel the same love!
The more I hate, the more he follows me.
The more I hate him, the more he follows me.
The more I love, the more he hateth me.
The more I love him, the more he hates me.
His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.
His foolishness, Helena, isn’t my fault.
None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!
It’s not your fault, but your beauty: I wish that fault were mine!
Take comfort: he no more shall see my face; Lysander and myself will fly this place. Before the time I did Lysander see, Seem’d Athens as a paradise to me: O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn’d a heaven unto a hell!
Don’t worry: he won’t see my face anymore; Lysander and I will leave this place. Before I met Lysander, Athens seemed like paradise to me: Oh, then, what a wonderful love I had, That he turned a heaven into a hell!
Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold Her silver visage in the watery glass, Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal, Through Athens’ gates have we devised to steal.
Helena, we’ll tell you our plan: Tomorrow night, when the moon comes up, And its silver face shines in the water, Lighting up the grass with dew, A time when lovers secretly meet, We’ll sneak out of Athens.
And in the wood, where often you and I Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, There my Lysander and myself shall meet; And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, To seek new friends and stranger companies. Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us; And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius! Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight From lovers’ food till morrow deep midnight.
And in the forest, where you and I Used to lie on the soft primrose beds, Sharing sweet thoughts with each other, There my Lysander and I will meet; And then, we’ll leave Athens behind, To find new friends and new company. Goodbye, my sweet friend: pray for us; And good luck with Demetrius! Keep your promise, Lysander: we must stay away from each other Until midnight tomorrow.
I will, my Hermia.
I will, my Hermia.
Helena, adieu: As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!
Goodbye, Helena: May Demetrius love you as much as you love him!
How happy some o’er other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know: And as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes, So I, admiring of his qualities: Things base and vile, folding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity: Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind: Nor hath Love’s mind of any judgement taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is Love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguiled. As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, So the boy Love is perjured every where: For ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne, He hail’d down oaths that he was only mine; And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt. I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight: Then to the wood will he to-morrow night Pursue her; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expense: But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither and back again.
How happy some people can be, while others are not! In Athens, they think I’m as beautiful as she is. But what difference does it make? Demetrius doesn’t think so; He doesn’t care what everyone else sees: And just as he’s wrong, loving Hermia’s eyes, So I, admiring his qualities: Love can take the worst things and turn them into something wonderful: Love doesn’t look with the eyes, but with the heart; And that’s why Cupid is drawn blind: Love doesn’t have good judgment; It acts quickly, without thinking: And that’s why love is called a child, Because it’s so often deceived. Just like mischievous boys who break promises in games, Love lies everywhere: Before Demetrius looked into Hermia’s eyes, He swore he was only mine; And when he saw some warmth in Hermia’s eyes, He changed, and all those promises melted away. I’ll go tell him that Hermia has fled: Then he’ll go after her tomorrow night And for this, if I get any thanks, it will cost me dearly: But I plan to make my pain worth it, By bringing him here and back again.