HERMIA         I understand not what you mean by this.

HELENA         I do. Persevere, counterfeit sad looks,

Make mouths upon me when I turn my back,

Wink each at other, hold the sweet jest up.

This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.

If you have any pity, grace or manners,

You would not make me such an argument.

But fare ye well. ’Tis partly my own fault,

Which death or absence soon shall remedy.          (3.2.236-244)

I really don’t get it, responds (perhaps retorts) Hermia; I understand not what you mean by this, I’m so confused. Oh, oh, I do (definitely) retorts Helena. I’ve got your number, I can see what you’re up to. Persevere—keep going, why don’t you—counterfeit sad looks, make mouths upon me when I turn my back, wink each at other, hold the sweet jest up. Keep pretending to be serious, even upset but pull faces when I’m not looking, SO AMUSING you all are with your CLEVER JOKE, HA HA HA, how hilarious to be in on it. How great to be one of the gang. This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled: what a famous prank, deserves to be famous, set down in the history books! If you have any pity, grace or manners, you would not make me such an argument; you wouldn’t be making me the butt of the joke, the source of all this tumult and commotion if you had any shred of politeness, kindness, even just basic human decency left in you. EVIDENTLY NOT. But fare ye well. I’m OUT of here, I’ve had ENOUGH. ’Tis partly my own fault—for trusting? hoping? loving? following them into the woods in the first place and tipping off Demetrius? that bit, yes, actually—but if I’ve got to take some of the blame, that death or absence soon shall remedy. I’ll go away. Maybe I’ll DIE.