Hermia
What’s this to my Lysander? where is he?
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?
Demetrius.
I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.
Hermia
Out, dog! out, cur! thou drivest me past the bounds
Of maiden’s patience. Hast thou slain him, then?
Henceforth be never number’d among men!
O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake!
Durst thou have look’d upon him being awake,
And hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch!
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?
An adder did it; for with doubler tongue
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.
Demetrius.
You spend your passion on a misprised mood:
I am not guilty of Lysander’s blood;
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.
Hermia
I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.
Demetrius.
An if I could, what should I get therefore?
