Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed; For I upon this bank will rest my head.

One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth.

Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear, Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.

O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence! Love takes the meaning in love’s conference. I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit So that but one heart we can make of it; Two bosoms interchained with an oath; So then two bosoms and a single troth. Then by your side no bedroom me deny; For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.