仲夏夜之梦（英文版）

LYSANDER: How now, my love! Why is your cheek so pale?

How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

HERMIA: Belike for want of rain, which I could well

Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes.

LYSANDER: 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—

HERMIA: O cross! Too high to be enthralled to low.

LYSANDER: Or else misgraffèd in respect of years—

HERMIA: O spite! Too old to be engaged to young.

LYSANDER: Or else it stood upon the choice of merit—

HERMIA: O hell! To choose love by another’s eyes.

LYSANDER: Or if there were a sympathy in choice,

War, death or sickness did lay siege to it,

Making it momentary 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.

HERMIA: If then true lovers have been ever crossed,

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.

LYSANDER: 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 removed 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 lov’st me, then

Steal forth thy father’s house tomorrow 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.

HERMIA: My good Lysander!

I swear to thee, by Cupid’s strongest bow,

By his best arrow with the golden head,

By the simplicity of Venus’ doves,

By that which knitteth souls and prospers love,

And by that fire which burned the Carthage queen,

When the false Troyan under sail was seen,

By all the vows that ever men have broke,

In number more than ever women spoke,

In that same place thou hast appointed me,

Tomorrow truly will I meet with thee.

LYSANDER: Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.