Making night hideous.

'Twas merry when You wagered on your angling, when your diver Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he With fervency drew up.

He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.

Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.

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.

An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.

We may outrun By violent swiftness And lose by over-running.