Identifier: shakespearescome00shak2 (find matches)
Title: Shakespeare's comedy of A midsummer-night's dream
Year: 1914 (1910s)
Authors: Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 Robinson, W. Heath (William Heath), 1872-1944, ill
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Publisher: New York : H. Holt
Contributing Library: New York Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Internet Archive

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be but thou hast murderd him ; So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. Demetrius. So should the murderd look ; and so should I, Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty :Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. Hermia. Whats this to my Lysander ? where is he ?Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? Demetrius. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds. Hermia. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou drivest me past the bounds Of maidens patience. Hast thou slain him, then ?Henceforth be never numberd among men !O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake !Durst thou have lookd upon him being awake,And hast thou killd him sleeping ? O brave touch ! Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ?An adder did it ; for with doubler tongueThan thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. Demetrius. You spend your passion on a misprised mood :I am not guilty of Lysanders blood ; ACT III. 94 Sc. II. Oberon. Yet markd I when the bolt of Cupid fell.
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I A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. Hermia. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. Demetrius. An if I could, what should I get therefore ? Hermia. A privilege, never to see me more.And from thy hated presence part I so :See me no more, whether he be dead or no. \Exit. Demetrius. There is no following her in this fierce vein : Here therefore for a while I will remain.So sorrows heaviness doth heavier growFor debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ;Which now in some slight measure it will pay,If for his tender here I make some stay. \JL,ies down and sleeps. Oberon. What hast thou done ? thou hast mistaken quite, And laid the love-juice on some true-loves sight :Of thy misprision must perforce ensueSome true love turnd, and not a false turnd true. Puck. Then fate oer-rules, that, one man holding troth,A million fail, confounding oath on oath. Oberon. About the wood go swifter than the wind.And Helena of Athens look thou find :All fancy-sick she is

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