both. For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father's will; Or else the law of Athens yields you up-- Which by no means we may extenuate-- To death, or to a vow of single life. Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love? Demetrius and Egeus, go along: I must employ you in some business Against our nuptial and confer with you Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. With duty and desire we follow you. How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast? Belike for want of rain, which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. Ay me! for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth; But, either it was different in blood,-- O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low. Or else misgraffed in respect of years,-- O spite! too old to be engaged to young. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,-- O hell! to choose love by another's eyes. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, It stands as an edict in destiny: Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross, As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers. A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia. I have a widow aunt, a dowager Of great revenue, and she hath no child: From Athens is her house remote seven leagues; And she respects me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee; And to that place the sharp Athenian law Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then, Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night; And in the wood, a league without the town, Where I did meet thee once with Helena, To do observance to a morn of May, There will I stay for thee. My good Lysander! I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow, By his best arrow with the golden head, By the simplicity