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But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.

Hel.

Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,

You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!

Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex.

We cannot fight for love, as men may do.

We should be woo’d, and were not made to woo.

[Exit Demetrius.]

I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,

To die upon the hand I love so well.

[Exit.]

Obe.

Fare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave this grove,

Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.

Enter Puck.

Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.

Puck.

Ay, there it is.

Obe.

I pray thee give it me.

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine;

There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,

Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;

And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,

Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in;

And with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes,

And make her full of hateful fantasies.