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the moon, like to a silver bow

      [New] bent in heaven, shall behold the night

      Of our solemnities.

       The.

      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.

       [Exit Philostrate.]

      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.

       Enter Egeus and his daughter Hermia and Lysander and Demetrius.

       Ege.

      Happy be Theseus, our renowned Duke!

       The.

      Thanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?

       Ege.

      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 interchang’d love-tokens with my child;

      Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung

      With faining voice verses of faining love,

      And stol’n the impression of her fantasy

      With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,

      Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats—messengers

      Of strong prevailment in unhardened 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.

       The.

      What say you, Hermia? Be advis’d, fair maid.

      To you your father should be as a god;

      One that compos’d 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.

       Her.

      So is Lysander.

       The.

      In himself he is;

      But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice,

      The other must be held the worthier.

       Her.

      I would my father look’d but with my eyes.

       The.

      Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

       Her.

      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.

       The.

      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,

      Chaunting 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.

       Her.

      So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,

      Ere I will yield my virgin patent up

      Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke

      My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

       The.

      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.

       Dem.

      Relent, sweet Hermia, and, Lysander, yield

      Thy crazed title to my certain right.

       Lys.

      You have her father’s love, Demetrius,

      Let me have Hermia’s; do you marry him.

       Ege.

      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.

       Lys.

      I am, my lord, as well deriv’d as he,

      As well possess’d; my love is more than his;

      My fortunes

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