Oberon Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer. Robin (Puck) Ay, there it is. Oberon I pray thee give it me. I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine. There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight; And there the snake throws her enamelled skin, Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in. And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes And make her full of hateful fantasies. [Oberon gives some of the flowers to Robin] Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove. A sweet Athenian lady is in love With a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes, But do it when the next thing he espies May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man By the Athenian garments he hath on. Effect it with some care, that he may prove More fond on her than she upon her love. And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. Robin Fear not, my lord. Your servant shall do so. [Exit Robin and Oberon separately] Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "anoint"
Oberon Fare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave this grove Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "nymph"
Helena I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well. Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "make a heaven of hell"
Demetrius I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes, And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. Helena The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed When cowardice pursues and valor flies. Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "Apollo flies..."
Demetrius You do impeach your modesty too much, To leave the city and commit yourself Into the hands of one that loves you not, To trust the opportunity of night And the ill counsel of a desert place With the rich worth of your virginity. Helena Your virtue is my privilege, for that It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you, in my respect, are all the world. Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me? Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "It is not night"
Helena You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant, But yet you draw not iron for my heart Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you. Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "adamant"
Demetrius I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. Thou told'st me they were stol’n unto this wood, And here am I, and wood within this wood Because I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "wood within this wood"
Oberon But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quenched in the chaste beams of the wat’ry moon, Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "wat'ry moon"
Titania These are the forgeries of jealousy. And never since the middle summer's spring Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By pavèd fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beachèd margent of the sea To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport. Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, As in revenge have sucked up from the sea Contagious fogs, which, falling in the land, Hath every pelting river made so proud That they have overborne their continents. The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn Hath rotted ere his youth attained a beard. Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "attained a beard"
Titania These are the forgeries of jealousy. And never since the middle summer's spring Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By pavèd fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beachèd margent of the sea To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport. Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, As in revenge have sucked up from the sea Contagious fogs, which, falling in the land, Hath every pelting river made so proud That they have overborne their continents. The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn Hath rotted ere his youth attained a beard. The fold stands empty in the drownèd field, And crows are fatted with the murrain flock. The nine men's morris is filled up with mud, And the quaint mazes in the wanton green For lack of tread are undistinguishable. Read more about Act 2, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "contagious fogs"