Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE and Lords.

HIPPOLYTA    ’Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.

THESEUS        More strange than true. I never may believe

These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend

More than cool reason ever comprehends. (5.1.1-6)

It would be appropriate for Hippolyta and Theseus to enter arm in arm—even hand in hand—because one little pronoun suggests that they’re OK, united by more than just the formalities: ’tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. My Theseus. It’s also an acknowledgement that they’re very much the grownups in the room still: what have these kids been up to? Theseus is skeptical: more strange than true. It’s a story they’ve cooked up, surely? I think we can all guess what they were doing out in the forest. I never may believe these antique fables, nor these fairy toys. No, I am an entirely rational legendary man! No time at all for this fairy stuff! (This line is mostly there, surely, to underscore the doubling of Theseus and Hippolyta and Oberon and Titania: it should get a laugh, even if Theseus doesn’t play it with a knowing smile.) Lovers and madmen have such seething brains—as mad as each other, boiling away, minds going at top speed—such shaping fantasies, that apprehend more than cool reason ever comprehends. They see things, dream things, make things, understand more than the sane, the rational, the grown-up. Theseus’s conclusion is interestingly ambiguous; he’s not in fact outright rejecting the possibility of such wonders, it seems. There are more things in heaven and earth, it seems, and a bit of madness on a midsummer night, well, it might just be a portal…