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Don't own it.
Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,
Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,
To make my small elves coats, and some keep back
The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;
Then to your offices and let me rest.

The fadas sing:
You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,
Come not near our queen.
Philomel, with melody
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:
Never harm,
Nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.
Weaving spiders, come not here;
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail, do no offence.
Philomel, with melody, & c.
Hence, away! now all is well:
One aloof stand sentinel.

Exit Fairies. BELLATRIX sleeps

Enter VOLDEMORT and squeezes the flor on BELLATRIX's eyes

What thou sees when thou do wake,
Do it for thy true-love take,
amor and languish for his sake:
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,
Pard, or javali with bristled hair,
In thy eye that shall appear
When thou wakest, it is thy dear:
Wake when some vile thing is near.



Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood;
And to speak truth, I have forgotten our way:
We'll rest us, Hermione, if you think it good,
And tarry for the comfort of the day.

Be it so, Ronald: find you out a bed;
For I upon this bank will rest my head.

One turf shall serve as travesseiro for us both;
One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth.

Nay, good Ronald; for my sake, my dear,
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.

O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!
amor takes the meaning in love's conference.
I mean, that my coração unto yours is knit
So that but one coração we can make of it;
Two bosoms interchained with an oath;
So then two bosoms and a single troth.
Then por your side no bed-room me deny;
For lying so, Hermione, I do not lie.

Ronald riddles very prettily:
Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,
If Hermione meant to say Ronald lied.
But, gentle friend, for amor and courtesy
Lie further off; in human modesty,
Such separation as may well be said
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,
So far be distant; and, good night, sweet friend:
Thy amor never alter till thy sweet life end!

Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I;
And then end life when I end loyalty!
Here is my bed: sleep give thee all his rest!

With half that wish the wisher's eyes be pressed!

{~They sleep~}


Through the forest have I gone.
But Englishman found I none,
On whose eyes I might approve
This flower's force in stirring love.
Night and silence.--Who is here?
Weeds of England he doth wear:
This is he, my master said,
Despised the English maid;
And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
On the dank and dirty ground.
Pretty soul! She durst not lie
Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe.
When thou wakes, let amor forbid
Sleep his assento on thy eyelid:
So awake when I am gone;
For I must now to Voldemort.


Enter DRACO and PANSY, running

Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Draco.

I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.

O, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so.

Stay, on thy peril: I alone will go.


O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!
The mais my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
Happy is Hermione, wheresoever she lies;
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears:
If so, my eyes are oftener washed than hers.
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear;
For beasts that meet me run away for fear:
Therefore no marvel though Draco
Do, as a monster fly my presence thus.
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
Made me compare with Hermione's sphery eyne?
But who is here? Ronald! On the ground!
Dead? Or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.
Ronald if you live, good sir, awake.

[Awaking] And run through fogo I will for thy sweet sake.
Transparent Pansy! Nature shows art,
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
Where is Draco? O, how fit a word
Is that vile name to perish on my sword!

Do not say so, Ronald; say not so
What though he amor your Hermione? Lord, what though?
Yet Hermione still loves you: then be content.

Content with Hermione! No; I do repent
The tedious minutos I with her have spent.
Not Hermione but Pansy I love:
Who will not change a raven for a dove?
The will of man is por his reason swayed;
And reason says you are the worthier maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their season
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;
And touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will
And leads me to your eyes, where I overlook
Love's stories written in love's richest book.

Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
Is it not enough, is it not enough, young man,
That I did never, no, nor never can,
Deserve a sweet look from Draco’s eye,
But you must flout my insufficiency?
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,
In such disdainful manner me to woo.
But fare you well: perforce I must confess
I thought you lord of mais true gentleness.
O, that a lady, of one man refused.
Should of another therefore be abused!


She sees not Hermione. Hermione, sleep thou there:
And never may thou come Ronald near!
For as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
Or as tie 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!
And, all my powers, address your amor and might
To honor Pansy and to be her knight!


[Awaking] Help me, Ronald, help me! Do thy best
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!
Ay me, for pity! What a dream was here!
Ronald, look how I do quake with fear:
I thought a serpent eat my coração away,
And you sat smiling at his cruel pray.
Ronald! What, removed? Ronald! lord!
What, out of hearing? Gone? No sound, no word?
Alack, where are you speak, an if you hear;
Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.
No? Then I well perceive you all not nigh
Either death or you I'll find immediately.