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Why then, you left me (O, the gods forbid!)

In earnest, shall I say?

Lys.

Ay, by my life;

And never did desire to see thee more.

Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;

Be certain! nothing truer; ’tis no jest

That I do hate thee, and love Helena.

Her.

O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom,

You thief of love! What, have you come by night

And stol’n my love’s heart from him?

Hel.

Fine, i’ faith!

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,

No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear

Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?

Fie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you!

Her.

“Puppet”? Why so? Ay, that way goes the game.

Now I perceive that she hath made compare

Between our statures: she hath urg’d her height,

And with her personage, her tall personage,

Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him.

And are you grown so high in his esteem,

Because I am so dwarfish and so low?

How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak!

How low am I? I am not yet so low

But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.