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To you your father should be as a god;

One that compos’d your beauties; yea, and one

To whom you are but as a form in wax,

By him imprinted, and within his power,

To leave the figure, or disfigure it.

Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

Her.

So is Lysander.

The.

In himself he is;

But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice,

The other must be held the worthier.

Her.

I would my father look’d but with my eyes.

The.

Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

Her.

I do entreat your Grace to pardon me.

I know not by what power I am made bold,

Nor how it may concern my modesty,

In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;

But I beseech your Grace that I may know

The worst that may befall me in this case,

If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

The.

Either to die the death, or to abjure

For ever the society of men.

Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,

Know of your youth, examine well your blood,

Whether (if you yield not to your father’s choice)

You can endure the livery of a nun,