Midsummernights Dream

The course of true love never did run smooth.
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night.
So quick bright things come to confusion.
Masters, spread yourselves.
This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein.
Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.
I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you, as 'twere any nightingale.
A sweet-face man; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day.
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere.