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Dem.

No, sir; she shall not, though you take her part.

Hel.

O, when she is angry, she is keen and shrewd!

She was a vixen when she went to school;

And though she be but little, she is fierce.

Her.

“Little” again? Nothing but ‘low’ and ‘little’?

Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?

Let me come to her.

Lys.

Get you gone, you dwarf;

You minimus, of hind’ring knot-grass made;

You bead, you acorn.

Dem.

You are too officious

In her behalf that scorns your services.

Let her alone; speak not of Helena,

Take not her part. For if thou dost intend

Never so little show of love to her,

Thou shalt aby it.

Lys.

Now she holds me not;

Now follow, if thou dar’st, to try whose right,

Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.

Dem.

Follow? Nay; I’ll go with thee, cheek by jowl.

[Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius.]

Her.

You, mistress, all this coil is long of you.

Nay, go not back.

Hel.

I will not trust you, I,

Nor longer stay in your curst company.

Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray;