Demetrius

Philo
Nay, but this dotage of our general’s
O’erflows the measure. Those his goodly eyes,
That o’er the files and musters of the war
Have glowed like plated Mars, now bend, now turn
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front. His captain’s heart,
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
The buckles on his breast,
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Theseus
Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace. Four happy days bring in
Another moon. But, O, methinks how slow
This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires
Like to a stepdame or a dowager
Long withering out a young man’s revenue.
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Demetrius
I love thee not; therefore pursue me not.
Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?
The one I’ll stay; the other stayeth 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.
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Lysander
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.
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith to prove them true?

Weigh oath with oath and you will nothing weigh.
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Demetrius
My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
Of this their purpose hither to this wood,
And I in fury hither followed them,
Fair Helena in fancy following me.

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own and not mine own.

But, my good lord, I wot not by what power
(But by some power it is) my love to Hermia,
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Aaron, taking the baby  
Sooner this sword shall plow thy bowels up!
Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother?
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky
That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
He dies upon my scimitar’s sharp point
That touches this my firstborn son and heir.
I tell you,
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Flute, as Thisbe
O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans
For parting my fair Pyramus and me.
My cherry lips have often kissed thy stones,
Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.
Bottom, as Pyramus
I see a voice! Now will I to the chink
To spy an I can hear my Thisbe’s face.
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Snug, as Lion
You ladies, you whose gentle hearts do fear
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
May now perchance both quake and tremble here,
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know that I, as Snug the joiner, am
A lion fell, nor else no lion’s dam;
For if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place,
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Flute, as Thisbe
This is old Ninny’s tomb. Where is my love?
Snug, as Lion
O!
 The Lion roars.Thisbe runs off, dropping her mantle.
Demetrius
Well roared, Lion.
Theseus
Well run, Thisbe.

This passion, and the death of a dear friend,
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Hippolyta
How chance Moonshine is gone before
Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?
Theseus
She will find him by starlight.
  Enter Thisbe (Flute).
Here she comes, and her passion ends the play.
Hippolyta
Methinks she should not use a long one for
such a Pyramus. I hope she will be brief.
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