HELENA.
Ay, do. Persever, counterfeit sad looks,
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back,
Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up.
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
You would not make me such an argument.
But fare ye well. ’Tis partly my own fault,
Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.
LYSANDER.
Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!
HELENA.
O excellent!
HERMIA.
Sweet, do not scorn her so.
DEMETRIUS.
If she cannot entreat, I can compel.
LYSANDER.
Thou canst compel no more than she entreat;
Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.
Helen, I love thee, by my life I do;
I swear by that which I will lose for thee
To prove him false that says I love thee not.
DEMETRIUS.
I say I love thee more than he can do.
LYSANDER.
If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.
DEMETRIUS.
Quick, come.
HERMIA.
Lysander, whereto tends all this?