Apples (Oberon Modern Plays)
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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.
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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.
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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? 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?
Apple Of My Eye
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. 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.
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. I will not stay thy questions. Let me go. Or if thou follow me, do not believe But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.
Let me go by myself. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex. We cannot fight for love as men may do. We should be wooed and were not made to woo. Well, you've already done bad things to me in the church, in the town, and in the fields. Curse you, Demetrius! Your bad behavior is an insult to all women. We can't fight for love as men can. We should be pursued.
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Fare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave this grove, Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love. Goodbye, nymph. Ay, there it is. Hast thou the flower there?