LYSANDER. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there, And never mayst thou come Lysander near! For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; Or as the heresies that men do leave Are hated most of those they did deceive; So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, Of all be hated, but the most of me! And, all my powers, address your love and might To honour Helen, and to be her knight! [_Exit._] HERMIA. [_Starting._] Help me, Lysander, help me! Do thy best To pluck this crawling serp…