A Midsummer Night's Dream

by William Shakespeare

The course of true love never did run smooth;

The more I love, the more he hateth me.

We cannot fight for love, as men may do; We should be wood and were not made to woo.

Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated.

Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days;

Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,

And pluck the wings from Painted butterflies To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:

Titania waked and straightway loved an ass.