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What, are you jealous, Oberon? Tarry, rash wanton. Am not I thy lord? Then I must be thy lady. But I know When thou hast stolen away from Fairyland, And in the shape of Corin sat all day, Playing on pipes of corn and versing love To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, Come from the farthest steep of India? But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, Your buskined mistress and your warrior love, To Theseus must be wedded, and you come To give their bed joy and prosperity. If you were, then I would have to be your lady and wife, to whom you are faithful. But I know that you snuck away from Fairyland disguised as a shepherd , and spent all day playing music and reciting love poems to an infatuated shepherdess.

Why have you come here, all the way from the furthest mountains of India? How canst thou thus for shame, Titania, Knowing I know thy love to Theseus? How can you shamelessly make insinuations about my relationship with Hippolyta, when you know that I know about your love for Theseus? Didn't you entice him through the glimmering night away from Perigouna, whom he had just abducted and raped?

And didn't you make him be unfaithful to Aegles, Ariadne, and Antiopa? These are the forgeries of jealousy. Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, As in revenge, have sucked up from the sea Contagious fogs, which falling in the land Have every pelting river made so proud That they have overborne their continents. The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn Hath rotted ere his youth attained a beard.

The human mortals want their winter here. No night is now with hymn or carol blessed.

Meget brugbar Grounded (Oberon Modern Plays) (Paperback) by Brant George ejL9ygNH

Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger, washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound. And thorough this distemperature we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. And this same progeny of evils comes From our debate, from our dissension. We are their parents and original. These are lies that emerge from your jealousy. Not once, since the beginning of midsummer—whether on a hill, in a valley, a forest, or a meadow, by a pebbly spring or rushing brook, or on a beach next to the ocean—have my fairies and I been able to meet and perform our ring dances to honor the whistling wind without you showing up with your shouting to interrupt our fun.

Because of that, the winds have gotten angry at our lack of response to their calls. In revenge the winds have made nasty fogs rise up from the sea, and make rain fall upon the land so that rivers have grown so large they flood the land around them. All the work done by farmers' and their oxen has been ruined, and the corn has rotted before it could grow ripe.

Animal pens stand empty in flooded fields, and the crows are fat from eating the bodies of sheep and cattle killed by disease. The village greens where men play games together are filled with mud, and the maze-like paths people have made through the high-grown grass have faded away because no one walks on them.

The humans have not gotten the winter they should have, and the nights to not receive the blessings of the hymns or carols of that season. As a result the moon, who controls the tides, is pale with anger, and moistens the air so that colds and flu spread everywhere. Because of this disturbance in the normal natural order, the seasons have changed: bitter frosts descend upon red roses.

And Old Man Winter wears an icy crown decorated with sweet summer flower buds, like some kind of cruel prank. The spring, summer, fruitful autumn, and angry winter have all changed out of their normal clothes, and now the confused world can't tell one from the other. And all of these bad outcomes are the result of our argument. We are the cause of this. Do you amend it then. It lies in you. Why should Titania cross her Oberon?

I do but beg a little changeling boy, To be my henchman. So fix it, then. You have the power to do that. Why would Titania want to argue with her Oberon? Set your heart at rest. The Fairyland buys not the child of me. But she, being mortal, of that boy did die. And for her sake do I rear up her boy, And for her sake I will not part with him. Calm your little heart.

I wouldn't trade the child for all of Fairyland. His mother was one of my priestesses, and we often used to gossip together in the spiced night air in India, or sit on the beach by the ocean watching merchant ships sail by on the water. We'd laugh when we saw the wind fill up the sails, as if that amorous wind had made them pregnant and big-bellied. She would imitate the ships—she was pregnant at the time with the little boy— and she would pretend to sail over the land to get me little presents, and then come back carrying gifts like she was a trading ship returning from a voyage, rich with cargo.

But she was a mortal, and she died giving birth to the boy. For her sake I will not give him up. How long within this wood intend you stay? Perchance till after Theseus' wedding day. If you will patiently dance in our round And see our moonlight revels, go with us.

If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. If you will join us in our circle dance and moonlight celebrations without causing trouble, then come with us. Give me that boy and I will go with thee. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away! We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. Not for your entire fairy kingdom.

Well, go thy way. Thou shalt not from this grove Till I torment thee for this injury. Well, then go on your way. I remember. That very time I saw but thou couldst not Flying between the cold moon and the Earth, Cupid all armed. Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell. The herb I showed thee once. The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

On that night, I saw Cupid even though you couldn't ; Cupid with all his arrows, flying from the cold moon to the earth.

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He aimed at a beautiful virgin who sat upon a throne in the western end of the world, and he shot his love arrow hard enough to pierce a hundred thousand hearts. It fell on a little western flower, which used to be as white as milk but turned purple when it was wounded by the arrow of love. I showed the plant to you once. If the juice of that flower is dropped on the eyelids of a sleeping person, that man or woman will then fall madly in love with the next living creature he or she sees.

Bring me this plant, and return here before Leviathan can swim three miles. The next thing then she waking looks upon— Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, On meddling monkey or on busy ape— She shall pursue it with the soul of love. But who comes here? I am invisible. And I will overhear their conference. The first thing she sees when she wakes up—whether it's a lion, bear, wolf, bull, monkey, or an ape—she'll fall deeply and madly in love with. I've made myself invisible and listen in on their conversation.

I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? And here am I, and wood within this wood, Because I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. Where are Lysander and beautiful Hermia?

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I want to kill Lysander, but Hermia kills me with her beauty. You told me they snuck into this forest. And here I am, going crazy in the middle of the woods because I cannot find my Hermia. Go away, get out of here, and stop following me. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant. But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.

You attract me to you, you heartless magnet! But you must not attract iron, because my heart is as true as steel. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair? Or rather, do I not in plainest truth Tell you I do not, nor I cannot, love you? Do I invite you to follow me? Do I speak to you kindly? And even for that do I love you the more. I am your spaniel. And, Demetrius, The more you beat me, I will fawn on you.

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Use me but as your spaniel—spurn me, strike me, Neglect me, lose me. Only give me leave, Unworthy as I am, to follow you. And for that I love you even more. Treat me like a dog—kick me, hit me, ignore me, try to lose me. Just allow me to follow you, even though I'm not good enough for you. Is there a worse position I could ask to be held in your heart than to be treated as you would treat a dog? And yet I would consider it a place of honor. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit. For I am sick when I do look on thee. It makes me sick just to look at you.

Flies (Oberon Modern Plays)

And I am sick when I look not on you. You do impeach your modesty too much, To leave the city and commit yourself Into the hands of one that loves you not, To trust the opportunity of night And the ill counsel of a desert place With the rich worth of your virginity. Your virtue is my privilege. For that It is not night when I do see your face. Therefore I think I am not in the night.

Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world. Then how can it be said I am alone When all the world is here to look on me? Your goodness will protect me. And, anyway, the beauty of your face shines, so it doesn't seem like nighttime to me. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed. Apollo flies and Daphne holds the chase. The dove pursues the griffin. The mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger —bootless speed, When cowardice pursues and valor flies.

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Not even the wildest animal is as vicious as you. Run whenever you want to. The old story of the lustful god Apollo chasing the virginal nymph Daphne will be flipped: Apollo will run, and Daphne will pursue him. The dove will chase the griffin. The gentle deer will race to catch the tiger. Speed is useless when the cowardly person is chasing the brave one.

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