Death Where Is Thy Sting? Love, Where

They Are Hare-brain'd Slaves.

Demetrius Relent, Sweet Hermia: And, Lysander, Yield Thy Crazed Title To My Certain Right. Lysander You Have Her Father's Love, Demetrius; Let Me Have Hermia's: Do You Marry Him.

O Braggart Vile And Damned Furious Wight!

To Bed, To Bed; Sleep Kill Those Pretty Eyes, And Give As Soft Attachment To Thy Senses, As Infants Empty Of All Thought.

Small To Greater Matters Must Give Way.