HERMIA I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
HELENA O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!
HERMIA I give him curses, yet he gives me love.
HELENA O that my prayers could such affection move!
HERMIA The more I hate, the more he follows me.
HELENA The more I love, the more he hateth me.
HERMIA His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.
HELENA None but your beauty. Would that fault were mine! (1.1.194-201)
Hermia can sound frustrated—this is perhaps a conversation that they’ve had many times before—or at least she’s patiently explaining, yet again, that she has done nothing to encourage Demetrius. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. I’m not being nice to him at all, not the slightest smile or sign of pleasure at his attentions. But everything is grist to Helena’s self-pity and self-reproach: O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill! Your frowns are clearly better than my smiles, then. And I give him curses, yet he gives me love: I’ve actually been quite rude to him, admits Hermia. I’ve told him in no uncertain terms to leave me alone! O that my prayers could such affection move! laments Helena. I beg him, and he’s still horrid… The more I hate, the more he follows me. I can’t shake him off. Oh, the more I love, the more he hateth me, replies Helena. I have the opposite problem, completely. Part of the point here is the patterning of opposites, frowns and smiles, prayers and curses, love and hate, reinforced by the rhyme and the alternating lines; it’s another stichomythic exchange which is both intimate—and can even have a kind of erotic charge—and combative. (And the patterns and repetitions, the strong rhythms would make it easier to learn and remember for boy actors, and facilitate a speedy, sparkling repartee.) His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine, Hermia concludes, with a touch of asperity: look, I didn’t ask for any of this, it’s not my problem that you’re in love with a total idiot who can’t take even the most enormous hint. But Helena’s not giving up on her self-pity: oh, none but your beauty is your fault, ironically, that’s what’s to blame. And would that fault were mine! Maybe, just maybe, if I were pretty like you, Demetrius would love me back?
