Puck.
Then will two at once woo one;
That must needs be sport alone;
And those things do best please me
That befal preposterously.
Enter Lysander and Helena.
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?
Helena.
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:
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.
Lysander.
I had no judgement when to her I swore.
Helena.
