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(Which by no means we may extenuate)

To death, or to a vow of single life.

Come, my Hippolyta; what cheer, my love?

Demetrius and Egeus, go along;

I must employ you in some business

Against our nuptial, and confer with you

Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

Ege.

With duty and desire we follow you.

Exeunt. [Manent Lysander and Hermia.]

Lys.

How now, my love? why is your cheek so pale?

How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

Her.

Belike for want of rain; which I could well

Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

Lys.

Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,

Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth;

But either it was different in blood—

Her.

O cross! too high to be enthrall’d to [low].

Lys.

Or else misgraffed in respect of years—

Her.

O spite! too old to be engag’d to young.

Lys.

Or else it stood upon the choice of friends—

Her.

O hell, to choose love by another’s eyes!

Lys.

Or if there were a sympathy in choice,