HERMIA My good Lysander,
I swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head,
By the simplicity of Venus’ doves,
By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
And by that fire which burned the Carthage queen
When the false Trojan under sail was seen,
By all the vows that ever men have broke
(In number more than ever women spoke),
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
Tomorrow truly will I meet with thee. (1.1.168-178)
My good Lysander: finally the lovers share a line, as Hermia, full of impassioned excitement, agrees, SWEARS that she will run away with him. I swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow—fair enough—by his best arrow with the golden head—also fair, if a bit whimsically precise?—by the simplicity of Venus’ doves—slightly intrusive now? cooing away, fluttering; also, how exactly simple, innocent? more simple than other birds, for instance?—by that which knitteth souls and prospers love—this is now abstract, and mostly there for the rhyme (in fact this whole passage is driven at least as much by poetry as by passion)—and by that fire which burned the Carthage queen when the false Trojan under sail was seen—steady on, that’s a bit, well, tragic, invoking the fire into which Dido cast herself when Aeneas left?—by all the vows that ever men have broke (in number more than women ever spoke)—yes, by all those vows and promises, honoured and abandoned, in that same place thou hast appointed me, tomorrow truly will I meet with thee. Yes, I’ll be there! I’ll SO be there!
Hermia can deliver this as an impassioned, over-the-top vow, or as something knowingly parodic, even a shared joke. Vows are, of course, sworn to be broken, or at least strained, especially when they’re made in the very first scene. The most immediate comparison is with Romeo and Juliet, when it’s Romeo who starts to vow his love—before Juliet stops him; do not swear at all, she says. Or swear by yourself; put yourself on the line, your body, your life, not these second-hand words…
