A Midsummer Night's Dream

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

Though she be but little, she is fierce!

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

The course of true love never did run smooth.

And yet,to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.

My soul is in the sky.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumbered here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend: If you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call; So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.

Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.

I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends.

O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce.

Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.

So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet an union in partition, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem.

Thus I die. Thus, thus, thus. Now I am dead, Now I am fled, My soul is in the sky. Tongue, lose thy light. Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die.

I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.

And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.

For you, in my respect, are all the world. Then how can it be said I am alone When all the world is here to look on me?

Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.

Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

If we shadows have offended, Know but this and all is mended. That you have but slumbered here, While these visions did appear, And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding, but a dream.

O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!

Ay me! for aught that ever I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.

Up and down, up and down I will lead them up and down I am feared in field in town Goblin, lead them up and down

Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.