Lys. Keepe promise loue: looke here comes Helena.
Enter Helena.
Her. God speede faire Helena, whither away?
Hel. Cal you me faire? that faire againe vnsay,
Demetrius loues you faire: O happie faire!
Your eyes are loadstarres, and your tongues sweete ayre
More tuneable then Larke to shepheards eare,
When wheate is greene, when hauthorne buds appeare,
Sicknesse is catching: O were fauor so,
Your words I catch, faire Hermia ere I go,
My eare should catch your voice, my eye, your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongues sweete melodie,
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest Ile giue to be to you translated.
O teach me how you looke, and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius hart
Her. I frowne vpon him, yet he loues me still
Hel. O that your frownes would teach my smiles such skil
Her. I giue him curses, yet he giues me loue
Hel. O that my prayers could such affection mooue
Her. The more I hate, the more he followes me
Hel. The more I loue, the more he hateth me
Her. His folly Helena is none of mine
Hel. None but your beauty, wold that fault wer mine
Her. Take comfort: he no more shall see my face,
Lysander and my selfe will flie this place.
Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seem'd Athens like a Paradise to mee.
O then, what graces in my Loue do dwell,
That he hath turn'd a heauen into hell