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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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

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Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth.

Wake up the lively and swift spirit of fun.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Happy be Theseus, our renownèd duke.

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

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

Thank you, dear Egeus. What’s going on with you?

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Full of vexation come I with complaint Against my child, my daughter Hermia.

I’ve come to you full of anger, to protest against the actions of my daughter, Hermia.

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Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, This man hath my consent to marry her.

Step forward, Demetrius. My noble lord Theseus, this man, Demetrius, has my blessing to marry her.

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Stand forth, Lysander. And my gracious duke, This man hath bewitched the bosom of my child. Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, And interchanged love tokens with my child.

Step forward, Lysander. Yet, my gracious duke, this man, Lysander, has put a spell on my daughter’s heart. You, you, Lysander, you have given her poems, and exchanged tokens of love with my daughter.

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Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung With feigning voice verses of feigning love, And stol'n the impression of her fantasy With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats—messengers Of strong prevailment in unhardened youth.

You’ve come beneath her window in the moonlight and pretended to love her with your fake love songs. And you’ve stolen her fancy by giving her locks of your hair, rings, toys, trinkets, knickknacks, little presents, flowers, and candies—all of which will powerfully influence an innocent child.

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With cunning hast thou filched my daughter’s heart, Turned her obedience (which is due to me) To stubborn harshness.

You’ve sneaked and schemed to steal my daughter’s heart, transforming the obedience which she owes me into harsh stubbornness.

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And, my gracious duke, Be it so she will not here before your grace Consent to marry with Demetrius, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens.

My gracious duke, if Hermia, standing here in front of you, won’t agree to marry Demetrius, then I demand my traditional rights as a father in Athens .

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As she is mine, I may dispose of her— Which shall be either to this gentleman Or to her death—according to our law Immediately provided in that case.

Since she belongs to me, I can do what I want with her, as the law expressly states for just such a case as this: either she marries Demetrius, or she dies.

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What say you, Hermia? Be advised, fair maid:

And what do you say, Hermia? Take this advice, pretty girl:

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To you your father should be as a god, One that composed your beauties,

you should see your father as a god, since he’s the one who created your beauty.

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To whom you are but as a form in wax, By him imprinted and within his power To leave the figure or disfigure it. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

To him, you’re like a figure that he sculpted out of wax, giving him the power to leave it as it is or to destroy it. Demetrius is a good man.

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So is Lysander.

So is Lysander.

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In himself he is. But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice, The other must be held the worthier.

Yes he is. But in this situation, because he lacks your father's support, you must consider Demetrius to be better.

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I would my father looked but with my eyes.

I wish my father could look at them through my eyes.

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Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

Instead, your view of them must be influenced by your father's wishes.

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I do entreat your grace to pardon me. I know not by what power I am made bold Nor how it may concern my modesty In such a presence here to plead my thoughts,

I beg your Grace to forgive me. I don’t know what is making me bold enough to do this, or even how speaking my thoughts to such an important person as you might harm my reputation for modesty.

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But I beseech your grace that I may know The worst that may befall me in this case, If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

But I beg you to explain to me the worst thing that could happen to me in this situation if I refuse to marry Demetrius.

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Either to die the death or to abjure Forever the society of men. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires.

You’ll either be sentenced to death or to never again interact with another man. Therefore, beautiful Hermia, really think about what you want.

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Know of your youth. Examine well your blood—

Think about how young you are, and explore your feelings

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Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice, You can endure the livery of a nun, For aye to be in shady cloister mewed, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold, fruitless moon.

—if you do not give in to your father's wishes, will you be able to tolerate life wearing the robes of a nun, shut up in a dark convent, living your whole life without husband or children, chanting quietly to Diana .

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Thrice-blessèd they that master so their blood To undergo such maiden pilgrimage.

Those who can control their passions and remain virgins their whole lives are three times as blessed.

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But earthlier happy is the rose distilled Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.

But a married woman lives happier in this world than a virgin, who achieves the blessing of chastity but grows, lives, and withers to death as a flower on the stem.

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So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, Ere I will yield my virgin patent up Unto his lordship,

That is how I will grow, live, and die, my lord. I will not give up the ownership of my virginity to my lord father.

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whose unwishèd yoke My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

My soul refuses to let him command me into the yoke of a marriage I do not want. 

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Take time to pause, and by the next new moon— The sealing day betwixt my love and me For everlasting bond of fellowship—

Take some time to consider. By the next new moon—the day when my beloved and I will be joined in marriage

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Upon that day either prepare to die For disobedience to your father’s will, Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would,

—be ready either to die for disobeying your father's desires, to marry Demetrius, as your father wishes.

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Or on Diana’s altar to protest For aye austerity and single life.

 Or else, you can go to the temple of Diana and vow to spend the rest of your life as a virgin priestess.

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Relent, sweet Hermia And, Lysander, yield Thy crazèd title to my certain right.

Give in, sweet Hermia. And, Lysander, give up your crazy claim to possession of what is mine.

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You have her father’s love, Demetrius. Let me have Hermia’s. Do you marry him.

Her father loves you, Demetrius. Let me have Hermia, and you can marry him.

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Scornful Lysander, true, he hath my love,

Rude Lysander, it's true, I do love him.

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And what is mine my love shall render him.

And because I love him, I will give to him what is mine.

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And she is mine, and all my right of her I do estate unto Demetrius.

Hermia is  mine, and I’m giving my rights to her to Demetrius.

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I am, my lord, as well derived as he, As well possessed. My love is more than his.

My lord, I’m as noble as Demetrius, and as rich. I love Hermia more than he does.

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My fortunes every way as fairly ranked, (If not with vantage) as Demetrius'. And—which is more than all these boasts can be— I am beloved of beauteous Hermia.

My prospects are in every way as good as Demetrius', if not better. And, more importantly than all of those things I just boasted about, beautiful Hermia loves me.

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Why should not I then prosecute my right? Demetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head, Made love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena, And won her soul.

Why shouldn’t I be able to pursue my rights marry her? Demetrius—and I’ll declare this to his face—wooed Nedar’s daughter, Helena, and won her love.

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And she, sweet lady, dotes, Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

Now Helena, that sweet lady, obsesses, deeply obsesses, obsesses over this stained and unfaithful man, idolizing him as if he were a god.

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I must confess that I have heard so much And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof,

I must admit I’ve heard that too, and meant to speak about it with Demetrius.

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But being overfull of self-affairs, My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come. And come, Egeus. You shall go with me. I have some private schooling for you both.

But because I was too busy with my own concerns, I forget about it. But now, Demetrius and Egeus, come with me. I have some advice for you both that I want to give in private.

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For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father’s will, Or else the law of Athens yields you up (Which by no means we may extenuate) To death, or to a vow of single life.

As for you, beautiful Hermia, prepare yourself to shape your desires to match what your father wants, or else the law of Athens—which I can’t modify or lessen in any way—demands that you either die or take a vow of chastity and never marry.

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Come, my Hippolyta. What cheer, my love? Demetrius and Egeus, go along. I must employ you in some business Against our nuptial and confer with you Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

Come along, Hippolyta. How are you, my love? Demetrius and Egeus, come with us. I have some work I need you to do regarding our wedding, and there's something that concerns the two of you that I want to discuss.

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With duty and desire we follow you.

We follow you because it is our duty, and because we want to.

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How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

How are you, my love? Why are your cheeks so pale? How is it that the roses in them have faded so quickly?

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Belike for want of rain, which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

Probably because they lacked rain, which I could easily give them from the tears in my eyes.

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Ay me! For aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth.

Oh dear! In every book that I have ever read, whether  a story or a history, the path of true love is never smooth or easy.

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But either it was different in blood—

Perhaps the lovers are of different social classes—

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O cross! Too high to be enthralled to low.

Oh, what an obstacle! Being a person of high rank in love with someone of low stature.

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Or else misgraffèd in respect of years—

Or else they were very different ages—

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O spite! Too old to be engaged to young.

Oh, vicious fate! Being too old to marry someone young.

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Or else it stood upon the choice of friends—

Or else their ability to choose depended on the wishes of their relatives—

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O hell, to choose love by another’s eyes!

Oh, what a hell, to have someone else's wishes determine who you can love!

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Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,

Or—even if two people loved each other and could choose to marry—war, death, or sickness might intervene, so that their love lasts no longer than a sound, is as fleeting as a shadow, short as a dream.

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Brief as the lightning in the collied night; That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and Earth, And ere a man hath power to say “Behold!”

Or it's as brief as a bolt of lightning that—like a flash of passion—lights up heaven and Earth but then disappears into darkness before you can even say "Look!"

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The jaws of darkness do devour it up. So quick bright things come to confusion.

That’s how bright things that are full of life are destroyed.

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If then true lovers have been ever crossed, It stands as an edict in destiny.

If true lovers are always thwarted, then it proves that destiny is saying that our thwarted love must be true.

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Then let us teach our trial patience,

So let’s make sure to approach our problem with patience.

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Because it is a customary cross, As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, Wishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers.

Since all true love must be thwarted, then being thwarted is as much a part of love as dreams, sighs, wishes, and tears are.

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A good persuasion.

That's the right way to think about it.

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Therefore, hear me, Hermia. I have a widow aunt, a dowager Of great revenue, and she hath no child.

So, listen, Hermia. I have an aunt who is a widow, who has property and great wealth, and doesn’t have any children.

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From Athens is her house remote seven leagues, And she respects me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee. And to that place the sharp Athenian law Cannot pursue us.

Her house is about twenty miles from Athens, and she thinks of me as a son.  Dear Hermia, I could marry you there, where the harsh laws of Athens can’t follow us.

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If thou lovest me then, Steal forth thy father’s house tomorrow night.

So if you love me, sneak out of your father’s house tomorrow night.

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And in the wood, a league without the town— Where I did meet thee once with Helena To do observance to a morn of May— There will I stay for thee.

I will wait for you in the woods, three miles out of town, at the spot where I once met you with Helena to celebrate May Day.

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My good Lysander! I swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow, By his best arrow with the golden head, By the simplicity of Venus' doves,

My noble Lysander! I swear to you—by Cupid's strongest bow, by his best gold-tipped arrow; by the innocent doves that drive Venus ' chariot;

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By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, And by that fire which burned the Carthage queen When the false Troyan under sail was seen,

by everything that binds souls together and makes love grow; by the bonfire upon which Queen Dido of Carthage burned herself to death when she saw that her lover Aeneas had secretly sailed away from her;

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By all the vows that ever men have broke (In number more than ever women spoke),

and by all the promises that men have ever broken (which outnumber all the promises women have ever made).

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In that same place thou hast appointed me, Tomorrow truly will I meet with thee.

I will meet you tomorrow at the spot you have asked me to go to.

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Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

Keep your promise, my love. Look, here comes Helena.

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Godspeed, fair Helena! Whither away?

Welcome, beautiful Helena! Where are you going?

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Call you me “fair?” That “fair” again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair. O happy fair!

Did you call me “beautiful?” Take it back. Your beauty is what Demetrius loves. Oh, lucky beauty!

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Your eyes are lodestars, and your tongue’s sweet air More tunable than lark to shepherd’s ear When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.

Your eyes are like stars, and your sweet voice is more melodic than a lark’s song is to a shepherd in the springtime, when the wheat is green and hawthorn buds appear.

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Sickness is catching. Oh, were favor so, Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go.

Sickness is contagious. Oh, I wish beauty was also. I would catch yours, beautiful Hermia, before I left.

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My ear should catch your voice. My eye, your eye. My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody. Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest I’d give to be to you translated.

My ear would be infected by your voice, my eye by your eye, and my tongue would catch your tongue's musical voice. If I owned the world, I’d give it all up—with the exception of Demetrius—to be transformed into you.

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O, teach me how you look and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

Oh, teach me how you look at Demetrius, and the tricks you use to make him fall in love with you.

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I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

I frown at him, but he still loves me.

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Oh, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

Oh, if only your frowns could teach my smiles to have that same ability!

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I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

I curse him, but he responds with love.

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Oh, that my prayers could such affection move!

Oh, if only my prayers could arouse that kind of affection!

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The more I hate, the more he follows me.

The more I hate him, the more he follows me.

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The more I love, the more he hateth me.

The more I love him, the more he hates me.

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His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

Helena, his foolishness is not my fault.

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None, but your beauty. Would that fault were mine!

It’s only your beauty’s fault. I wish I had that fault!

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Take comfort. He no more shall see my face. Lysander and myself will fly this place.

Don’t worry. He'll never see my face again. Lysander and I are running away from here.

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Before the time I did Lysander see Seemed Athens as a paradise to me.

Before the first time I saw Lysander, Athens seemed like paradise to me.

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Oh, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turned a heaven unto a hell!

But Lysander is so beautiful and graceful that, by comparison, he’s turned what I thought was heaven into hell!

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Helen, to you our minds we will unfold.

Helena, we’ll let you in on our plan.

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Tomorrow night when Phoebe doth behold Her silver visage in the watery glass, Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass

Tomorrow night—when Phoebe is reflected on the water and decorates the grass with beads of pearly light

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(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal), Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal.

(the time of night that always hides lovers on the run—we plan to sneak out through the gates of Athens.

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And in the wood where often you and I Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie, Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, There my Lysander and myself shall meet.

  In the woods where you and I used to laze around on the pale primroses, sharing all of the sweet secrets of our hearts—that’s where Lysander and I will meet.

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And thence from Athens turn away our eyes To seek new friends and stranger companies. Farewell, sweet playfellow. Pray thou for us. And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!

Then we’ll turn away from Athens and  look for new friends and the company of strangers. Goodbye, sweet friend of my youth. Pray for us, and may fate give you Demetrius!

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Keep word, Lysander. We must starve our sight From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight.

Keep your promise, Lysander. We must refrain from the pleasure of seeing each other until tomorrow at midnight.

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I will, my Hermia.

I will, my Hermia.