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| Fair love, you faint with wand'ring in the wood; and to speak troth, I have fogot out way. We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, and tarry for the comfort of the day. | |
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| Be't so, Lysander. Find you out a bed; for I upon this bank will rest my head. | |
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| One turf shall serve as a pillow for us both, one heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. | |
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| Nay, good Lysander. For my sake, my dear, lie further off yet, do not lie so near. | |
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