HELENA         Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,

To follow me and praise my eyes and face?

And made your other love Demetrius,

Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,

To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,

Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this

To her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander

Deny your love, so rich within his soul,

And tender me, forsooth, affection,

But by your setting on, by your consent?

What though I be not so in grace as you,

So hung upon with love, so fortunate,

But miserable most, to love unloved?

This you should pity rather than despise.  (3.2.222-235)

So Helena sets it out, what she thinks has been happening and so the terms of her accusation towards Hermia: have not you set Lysander, as in scorn, to follow me and praise my eyes and face? You’ve put him up to it, haven’t you, this—thing—he’s doing, practically STALKING me, with all these compliments and flattery? (The random vagueness of eyes and face underscore the weirdness.) Even more, you’ve made your other love, Demetrius, who even but now did spurn me with his foot—he practically KICKED me not so long ago—to call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare, precious, celestial? You’ve put him up to it too, he’d do anything for you, obviously; he’s been saying such lovely things about me and I know he can’t mean them, because he doesn’t love me, not really, although I have exact recall of the precise words he’s just been using to praise me… but wherefore speaks he this to her he hates? Why else would he be doing it? And wherefore doth Lysander deny your love, so rich within his soul, and tender me, forsooth, affection, but by your setting on, by your consent? Why would Lysander be acting as if he didn’t love you anymore, as if he loved me instead, unless you’d asked him to do it, as part of some mad scheme between the three of you? I DON’T UNDERSTAND, that’s the ONLY possible explanation, isn’t it?

And it’s NOT FAIR: what though I be not so in grace as you—I KNOW that you’re the pretty, popular one and I’m the plain best friend—and though I’m not so hung upon with love, so fortunate, but miserable most, to love unloved? I KNOW that you’re the one that people fall in love with, not me, that I’m destined to be ‘unlucky in love’, always the bridesmaid, never the bride, always helplessly, hopelessly unrequited, and I know it’s STUPID but it’s becoming my whole personality… This you should pity rather than despise. Please? And again Helena’s being ridiculous—and she knows she’s being ridiculous—but it’s genuine pain and confusion; she already mostly hates herself, but now it seems like everyone else does too, including her best friend. Poor Helena.