Her. Little againe? Nothing but low and little?
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
Let me come to her
Lys. Get you gone you dwarfe,
You minimus, of hindring knot-grasse made,
You bead, you acorne
Dem. You are too officious,
In her behalfe that scornes your seruices.
Let her alone, speake not of Helena,
Take not her part. For if thou dost intend
Neuer so little shew of loue to her,
Thou shalt abide it
Lys. Now she holds me not,
Now follow if thou dar'st, to try whose right,
Of thine or mine is most in Helena
Dem. Follow? Nay, Ile goe with thee cheeke by
iowle.
Exit Lysander and Demetrius.
Her. You Mistris, all this coyle is long of you.
Nay, goe not backe
Hel. I will not trust you I,
Nor longer stay in your curst companie.
Your hands then mine, are quicker for a fray,
My legs are longer though to runne away.
Enter Oberon and Pucke.
Ob. This is thy negligence, still thou mistak'st,
Or else committ'st thy knaueries willingly
Puck. Beleeue me, King of shadowes, I mistooke,
Did not you tell me, I should know the man,
By the Athenian garments he hath on?
And so farre blamelesse proues my enterprize,
That I haue nointed an Athenians eies,
And so farre am I glad, it so did sort,
As this their iangling I esteeme a sport