Oh, I am out of breath in this fond chase.
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. (II.ii.)
Happy is Hermia, whereso’er she lies,
For she hath blessèd and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright? (II.ii.96–98)
Oh, that a lady of one man refused
Should of another therefore be abused! (II.ii.)
As the heresies that men do leave
Are hated most of those they did deceive,
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
Of all be hated, but the most of me. (II.ii.)
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