making a jest of her. "Oh!" said she, "why was I born to
be mocked and scorned by every one? Is it not enough, is it not
enough, young man, that I can never get a sweet look or a kind word
from Demetrius; but you, sir, must pretend in this disdainful manner
to court me? I thought, Lysander, you were a lord of more true
gentleness." Saying these words in great anger, she ran away; and
Lysander followed her, quite forgetful of his own Hermia, who was
still asleep.

When Hermia awoke, she was in a sad fright at finding herself alone.
She wandered about the wood, not knowing what was become of Lysander,
or which way to go to seek for him. In the meantime Demetrius not
being able to find Hermia and his rival Lysander, and fatigued with
his fruitless search, was observed by Oberon fast asleep. Oberon had
learnt by some questions he had asked of Puck, that he had applied the
love-charm to the wrong person's eyes; and now having found the person
first intended, he touched the eyelids of the sleeping Demetrius with
the love-juice, and he instantly awoke; and the first thing he saw
being Helena, he, as Lysander had done before, began to address
love-speeches to her; and just as that moment Lysander, followed by
Hermia (for through Puck's unlucky mistake it was now become Hermia's
turn to run after her lover), made his appearance; and then Lysander
and Demetrius, both speaking together, made love to Helena, they being
each one under the influence of the same potent charm.

The astonished Helena thought that Demetrius, Lysander, and her once
dear friend Hermia, were all in a plot together to make a jest of her.

Hermia was as much surprised as Helena: she knew not why Lysander and
Demetrius, who both before loved her, were now become the lovers of
Helena; and to Hermia the matter seemed to be no jest.

The ladies, who before had always been the dearest of friends, now
fell to high words together.

"Unkind Hermia," said Helena, "it is you who have set Lysander to vex
me with mock praises; and your other lover Demetrius, who used almost
to spurn me with his foot, have you not bid him call me Goddess,
Nymph, rare, precious, and celestial? He would not speak thus to me,
whom he hates, if you did not set him on to make a jest of me. Unkind
Hermia, to join with men in scorning your poor friend. Have you forgot
our school-day friendship? How often, Hermia, have we two, sitting on
one cushion, both singing one song, with our needles w