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Hel.

I pray you, though you mock me, [gentlemen],

Let her not hurt me. I was never curst;

I have no gift at all in shrewishness;

I am a right maid for my cowardice.

Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,

Because she is something lower than myself,

That I can match her.

Her.

“Lower”? hark again.

Hel.

Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.

I evermore did love you, Hermia,

Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong’d you;

Save that, in love unto Demetrius,

I told him of your stealth unto this wood.

He followed you; for love I followed him.

But he hath chid me hence, and threat’ned me

To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too.

And now, so you will let me quiet go,

To Athens will I bear my folly back,

And follow you no further. Let me go.

You see how simple and how fond I am.

Her.

Why, get you gone. Who is’t that hinders you?

Hel.

A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.

Her.

What, with Lysander?

Hel.

With Demetrius.

Lys.

Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.