THESEUS        The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.
Lovers, to bed; ’tis almost fairy time.
I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn,
As much as we this night have overwatched.
This palpable gross play hath well beguiled
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels and new jollity. (Exeunt). (5.1.353-360)

Theseus demonstrates that, for all his snide snarky prose, he can still come up with the goods in verse, in these, his last lines in the play: the iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve, which makes it sound ominous, heavy, dark, a tolling bell—and then a contrast: lovers, to bed—which also sounds ominous, initially, and certainly uncompromising; ’tis almost fairy time. It’s as if the lights come on, a glimmering twinkle, not that these fairies don’t have their own darkness, but… (An early modern audience would expect a ritual putting to bed of the newly-weds, which is theatrically impractical—there’s no other guests, for instance—so there has to be something else spectacular, ceremonial—and there will be.) Then something a bit wry, a bit cheeky: I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn, as much as we this night have overwatched. We’ve stayed up a bit late, haven’t we? We’re not going to be leaping out of bed in the morning, are we? But, for all our reservations, this palpable gross play—so vulgar, coarse, just plain silly—hath well beguiled the heavy gait of night. It more than passed the time, didn’t it? time flew, rather than dragging; those unpromising actors made time dance and skip and race. So, sweet friends, to bed. Off we go! And, incidentally, a fortnight hold we this solemnity—the wedding celebrations are going to last another two weeks!—in nightly revels and new jollity. We’ll be partying every night, every night a new diversion. (Philostrate looks panicked.) But for now, it’s time for bed. And so they exit, all three pairs of newly-weds, Theseus and Hippolyta almost certainly to do one final quick change…