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Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace. Four happy days bring in Another moon.

Now, beautiful Hippolyta , the hour of our wedding is speeding closer. In four joyful days there will be a new crescent moon, and we will marry.

But oh, methinks how slow This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires, Like to a stepdame or a dowager Long withering out a young man’s revenue.

But oh! The old moon seems to me to shrink away so slowly! It delays me from getting what I desire, just like an old rich widow will force her stepson to wait forever to receive his inheritance.

Four days will quickly steep themselves in night. Four nights will quickly dream away the time.

Four days will quickly pass and turn to night. And each night, we will dream away the time.

And then the moon, like to a silver bow New bent in heaven, shall behold the night Of our solemnities.

And soon the moon—like a silver bow newly bent into a curve in the sky—will look down on the night of our wedding celebration.

Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments.

Go, Philostrate, get the young people of Athens in the mood to celebrate.

Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth.

Wake up the lively and swift spirit of fun.

Turn melancholy forth to funerals. The pale companion is not for our pomp.

Send sadness out to funerals—that pale emotion has no place at our festivities.

Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword And won thy love doing thee injuries.

Hippolyta, I wooed with you by fighting against you, and won your love by injuring you.

But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph, and with reveling.

But I’ll marry you in a different way—with splendid ceremonies, public festivities, and celebration.

Happy be Theseus, our renownèd duke.

Joy to you, Theseus—our famous and distinguished duke!