LYSANDER     She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there,

And never mayst thou come Lysander near.

For as a surfeit of the sweetest things

The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,

Or 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;

And all my powers, address your love and might

To honour Helen, and to be her knight. (Exit.)       (2.2.139-148)

She sees not Hermia: Helena’s exited in an extremely confused and angry state, without noticing her friend asleep on the ground. Good, thinks Lysander, Hermia, sleep thou there, and never mayst thou come Lysander near. Slumber on, and from now on, stay away from me! (This speech is harder, and nastier, than the protestations of love to Helena, I think.) For as a surfeit of the sweetest things the deepest loathing to the stomach brings—I’m sick of you, as if I’ve gorged on chocolate and now can’t stand the sight of it—it’s like I’ve had a religious conversion, from a false faith to a true, or as the heresies that men do leave are hated most of those they did deceive—I’ve seen the light, and I have the zeal of a convert! I utterly repudiate my former love!—so thou, my surfeit and my heresy, of all be hated, but the most of me. I’ve had enough of you, I can’t believe I wasted my time with you, I can’t stand to be with you a moment longer, and I can’t understand why anyone else would want to be with you either. No, from now on, all my powers, every fibre of my being, every ounce of my strength, address your love and might to honour Helen, and to be her knight. She’s my new saint, my only focus, my obsession. I’d do ANYTHING for Helena! I must follow her! and so off he goes…