To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the watery glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,--
A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,--
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal.

HERMIA
And in the wood where often you and I
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
There my Lysander and myself shall meet:
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us,
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!--
Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight.

LYSANDER
I will, my Hermia.

[Exit HERMIA.]

LYSANDER
Helena, adieu:
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

[Exit LYSANDER.]

HELENA