LYSANDER     You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so,

For you love Hermia: this you know I know.

And here with all good will, with all my heart,

In Hermia’s love I yield you up my part;

And yours of Helena to me bequeath,

Whom I do love, and will do till my death.

HELENA         Never did mockers waste more idle breath.           (3.2.162-8)

Even more infuriatingly, Lysander isn’t even engaging with what Helena’s saying, he’s focusing on Demetrius: be reasonable, man, he says, we can sort this out, surely, although you’ve got to admit, you’re in the wrong, and I have the better claim: you are unkind, Demetrius; dude, not cool, everyone knows you can’t stand her, right? be not so, for you love Hermia: this you know I know. That’s why we’re all here, yeah? That’s the whole POINT? But it’s all good, we’ll make a deal: and here with all good will, with all my heart, in Hermia’s love I yield you up my part. You can have Hermia, that’s what you really want, isn’t it? And so, yeah, I can be the bigger person here: take her! (Whereer she is.) Quid pro quo, though, and yours of Helena to me bequeath—you give up any claim to Helena—whom I do love, and will do till my death. Simple. Just transfer possession to me and I’ll love her till I die! Romantic or what?

Helena could well do violence at this point, or look as if she might: they’re talking about her without her, over her, ignoring her. It’s all about them! And she has nothing but contempt for these extremely immature men who have written lots of sonnets but apparently don’t realise that women are people. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. Heck, Helena, cut your losses and head home for a nice cup of tea and some porridge…