The Lovers' Quarrel

Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears. Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears.

You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! These vows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh.

I had no judgment when to her I swore.

Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.

Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none: If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd, And now to Helen is it home return'd, There to remain.

Helen, it is not so.

Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.

Lo, she is one of this confederacy! Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three To fashion this false sport, in spite of me.