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[Lies down and sleeps.]

Enter Helena.

Hel.

O weary night, O long and tedious night,

Abate thy hours! Shine, comforts, from the east,

That I may back to Athens by daylight,

From these that my poor company detest.

And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye,

Steal me a while from mine own company.

Sleep.

Puck.

Yet but three? Come one more;

Two of both kinds makes up four.

[Enter Hermia.]

Here she comes, curst and sad.

Cupid is a knavish lad,

Thus to make poor females mad.

Her.

Never so weary, never so in woe,

Bedabbled with the dew and torn with briers,

I can no further crawl, no further go;

My legs can keep no pace with my desires.

Here will I rest me till the break of day.

Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!

[Lies down and sleeps.]

Puck.

On the ground,

Sleep sound;

I’ll apply,

[To] your eye,

Gentle lover, remedy.

[Squeezing the juice on Lysander’s eyes.]

When thou wak’st,

Thou tak’st

True delight

In the sight

Of thy former lady’s eye;

And the country proverb known,