First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

Through the forest have I gone. But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring love. Night and silence.--Who is here? Weeds of Athens he doth wear: This is he, my master said, Despised the Athenian maid; And here the maiden, sleeping sound, On the dank and dirty ground. Pretty soul! she durst not lie Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. Churl, upon thy eyes I throw All the power this charm doth owe. When thou wakest, let love forbid Sleep his seat on thy eyelid: So awake when I am gone; For I must now to Oberon.

To some kind of men their graces serve them but as enemies.

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.

The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.

Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.

Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.