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The.

Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour

Draws on apace. Four happy days bring in

Another moon; but O, methinks, how slow

This old moon [wanes]! She lingers my desires,

Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,

Long withering out a young man’s revenue.

Hip.

Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;

Four nights will quickly dream away the time;

And then the moon, like to a silver bow

[New] bent in heaven, shall behold the night

Of our solemnities.

The.

Go, Philostrate,

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments,

Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth,

Turn melancholy forth to funerals:

The pale companion is not for our pomp.

[Exit Philostrate.]

Hippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword,

And won thy love doing thee injuries;

But I will wed thee in another key,

With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.

Enter Egeus and his daughter Hermia and Lysander and Demetrius.

Ege.

Happy be Theseus, our renowned Duke!

The.

Thanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?

Ege.

Full of vexation come I, with complaint