She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.

Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd the moon with splinters: here I clip The anvil of my sword, and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, I loved the maid I married; never man Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold.

Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?

And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.

Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.

You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him!

Muster your wits; stand in your own defence.