THESEUS Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace. Four happy days bring in Another moon. But oh, methinks how slow This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires, Like to a stepdame or a dowager Long withering out a young man’s revenue.
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THESEUS Now, beautiful Hippolyta, the hour of our wedding is speeding closer. In four joyful days there will be a new crescent moon, and we will marry. But oh! The old moon seems to me to shrink away so slowly! It delays me from getting what I desire, just like an old rich widow will force her stepson to wait forever to receive his inheritance.
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Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword And won thy love doing thee injuries. But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph, and with reveling.
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Hippolyta, I wooed with you by fighting against you, and won your love by injuring you. But I’ll marry you in a different way—with splendid ceremonies, public festivities, and celebration.
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EGEUS Full of vexation come I with complaint Against my child, my daughter Hermia. Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, This man hath my consent to marry her. Stand forth, Lysander. And my gracious duke, This man hath bewitched the bosom of my child. Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, And interchanged love tokens with my child. Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung With feigning voice verses of feigning love, And stol'n the impression of her fantasy With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats—messengers Of strong prevailment in unhardened youth. With cunning hast thou filched my daughter’s heart, Turned her obedience (which is due to me) To stubborn harshness. And, my gracious duke, Be it so she will not here before your grace Consent to marry with Demetrius, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens. As she is mine, I may dispose of her— Which shall be either to this gentleman Or to her death—according to our law Immediately provided in that case.
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EGEUS I’ve come to you full of anger, to protest against the actions of my daughter, Hermia. Step forward, Demetrius. My noble lord Theseus, this man, Demetrius, has my blessing to marry her. Step forward, Lysander. Yet, my gracious duke, this man, Lysander, has put a spell on my daughter’s heart. You, you, Lysander, you have given her poems, and exchanged tokens of love with my daughter. You’ve come beneath her window in the moonlight and pretended to love her with your fake love songs. And you’ve stolen her fancy by giving her locks of your hair, rings, toys, trinkets, knickknacks, little presents, flowers, and candies—all of which will powerfully influence an innocent child. You’ve sneaked and schemed to steal my daughter’s heart, transforming the obedience which she owes me into harsh stubbornness. My gracious duke, if Hermia, standing here in front of you, won’t agree to marry Demetrius, then I demand my traditional rights as a father in Athens. Since she belongs to me, I can do what I want with her, as the law expressly states for just such a case as this: either she marries Demetrius, or she dies.
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THESEUS What say you, Hermia? Be advised, fair maid: To you your father should be as a god, One that composed your beauties, yea, and one To whom you are but as a form in wax, By him imprinted and within his power To leave the figure or disfigure it. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.
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THESEUS And what do you say, Hermia? Take this advice, pretty girl: you should see your father as a god, since he’s the one who created your beauty. To him, you’re like a figure that he sculpted out of wax, giving him the power to leave it as it is or to destroy it. Demetrius is a good man.
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