Page:A Midsummer-Nights Dream (Rackham).djvu/91

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This is he, my master said,

Despised the Athenian maid;

And here the maiden, sleeping sound,

On the dank and dirty ground.

Pretty soul! she durst not lie

Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.

Churl, upon thy eyes I throw

All the power this charm doth owe.

When thou wakest, let love forbid

Sleep his seat on thy eyelid:

So awake when I am gone;

For I must now to Oberon.

Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.

I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.

O, wilt thou darkling leave me? do not so.

Stay, on thy peril: I alone will go.

O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!

The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.