And to speak troth, I have forgot our way:
We’ll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,
[038] And tarry for the comfort of the day.
[039] Her. Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed;
040 For I upon this bank will rest my head.
Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;
One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.
Her. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.
[045] Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!