Lysander.
What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
Although I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.
Hermia.
What, can you do me greater harm than hate?
Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love!
Am not I Hermia? are not you Lysander?
I am as fair now as I was erewhile.
Since night you loved me; yet since night you left me:
Why, then you left me—O, the gods forbid!—
In earnest, shall I say?
Lysander.
In earnest, shall I say? Ay, by my life;
And never did desire to see thee more.
Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;
Be certain, nothing truer; ’tis no jest
That I do hate thee and love Helena.
Hermia.
O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom!
You thief of love! what, have you come by night
And stolen my love’s heart from him?
Helena.
And stolen my love’s heart from him? Fine, i’faith!
Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
