You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him!
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
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.
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
None can cure their harms by wailing them.
Wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.