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.
Lysander
Demetrius
Helena
Hermia
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
Theseus
Egeus
Pyramus
Puck
Asleep, my love? What, dead, my dove?
Thisbe
O me! you juggler, you canker-blossom! you thief of love;
Thy love! out, tawny Tartar, out! Out, loathed medicine! hatred potion, hence!
