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A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM
11
Hermia.
I give him curses, yet he gives me love.
Helena.
O that my prayers could such affection move!
Hermia.
The more I hate, the more he follows me.
Helena.
The more I love, the more he hateth me.
Hermia.
His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.
Helena.
None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!
Hermia.
Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;
Lysander and myself will fly this place.
Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seem’d Athens as a paradise to me:
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn’d a heaven unto a hell!
Lysander.
Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
