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But listen, and I shall you tell
A chance in Fairy that befell,
Which certainly may please some well,

In love and arms delighting :
Of Oberon, that jealous grew
Of one of his own fairy crew,
Too well (he fear'd) his queen, that knew,

His love but ill requiting.
Pigwiggen was this fairy knight,
One wond'rous gracious in the sight
Of fair queen Mab, which day and night

He amorously observed :
Which made king Oberon suspect
His service took too good effect,
His sauciness he often check’d,

And could have wish'd him starv'd.
Pigwiggen gladly would commend
Some token to queen Mab to send,
If sea or land him aught could lend,

Were worthy of her wearing;
At length this lover doth devise,
A bracelet made of emmets' eyes,
A thing he thought that she would prize,

No whit her state impairing. And to the queen a letter writes, Which he most curiously indites, Conjuring her, by all the rites

Of love, she would be pleased To meet him her true servant, where They might without suspect or fear Themselves to one another clear,

And have their poor hearts eased.

* At midnight the appointed hour, And for the queen a fitting bow'r," Quoth he,“ is that fair cowslip flow'r,

On Hipcut-hill that groweth:
In all your train there's not a fay,
That ever went to gather May,
But she hath made it in her

The tallest there that groweth.”!
When by Tom Thum a fairy page
He sent it, and doth him engage,
By promise of a mighty wage,

It secretly to carry:
Which done, the queen her maids doth call,
And bids them to be ready all,
She would go see her summer hall,

She could no longer tarry.
Her chariot ready straight is made,
Each thing therein is fitting laid,
That she by nothing might be stay'd,

For nought must her be letting:
Four nimble gnats the horses were,
Their harnesses of gossamere,
Fly Cranion, her charioteer,

Upon the coach-box getting.
Her chariot of a snail's fine shell,
Which for the colours did excell ;
The fair queen Mab becoming well,

So lively was the limning :
The seat the soft wool of the bee,
The cover (gallantly to see)
The wing of a py'd butterflee,

I trow, 'twas simple trimming.


The wheels compos'd of crickets' bones,
And daintily made for the 'nonce,
For fear of rattling on the stones,

With thistle-down they shod it:
For all her maidens much did fear,
If Oberon had chanc'd to hear,
That Mab his queen should have been there,

He would not have abode it. She mounts her chariot with a trice, Nor would she stay for no advice, Until her maids, that were so nice,

To wait on her were fitted, But ran herselfe away alone; Which when they heard, there was not one But hasted after to be gone,

As she had been diswitted. Hop, and Mop, and Drap so clear, Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were To Mab their sovereign dear,

Her special maids of honour;
Fib, and Tib, and Pinck, and Pin,
Tick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin,
Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win,

The train that wait upon her.
Upon a grass-hopper they got,
And what with amble and with trot,
For hedge nor ditch they spared not,

But after her they hie them,
A cobweb over them they throw,
To shield the wind if it should blow,
Themselves they wisely could bestow,

Lest any should espy them.

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But let us leave queen Mab a while,
Through many a gate, o’er many a style,
That now had gotten by this while,

Her dear Pigwiggen kissing ;
And tell how Oberon doth fare,
Who grew as mad as any hare,
When he had sought each place with care,

And found his queen was missing
By grisly Pluto he doth swear,
He rent his clothes, and tore his hair,
And as he runneth here and there,

An acorn cup he getteth;
Which soon he taketh by the stalk,
About his head he lets it walk,
Nor doth he any creature balk,

But lays on all he meeteth.
The Tuscan poet doth advance
The frantic Paladine of France,
And those more ancient do inhance

Alcides in his fury,
And others Ajax Telamon :
But to this time there hath been none
So bedlam as our Oberon,

Of which I dare assure ye.
And first encount'ring with a wasp,
He in his arms the fly doth clasp,
As tho' his breath he forth would grasp,

Him for Pigwiggen taking: “ Where is my wife, thou rogue?" (quoth he)

Pigwiggen she is come to thee; Restore her, or thou dy'st by me,”

Whereat the poor wasp, quaking,


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Cries, “ Oberon, great fairy king,
Content thee, I am no such thing;
I am a wasp, behold my sting!"

At which the fairy started.
When soon away the wasp doth go,
Poor wretch was never frighted so,
He thought his wings were much too slow,

O’erjoy'd they so were parted.
He next upon a glow worm light,
(You must suppose it now was night)
Which, for her hinder part was bright,

He took to be a devil,
And furiously doth her assail
For carrying fire in her tail;
He thrash'd her rough coat with his flail,

The mad king fear'd no evil.
“ Oh !" (quoth the glow worm) “ hold thy hand,
Thou puissant king of Fairy-land,
Thy mighty strokes who may withstand ?

Hold, or of life despair I.”
Together then herself doth roll,
And tumbling down into a hole,
She seem'd as black as any coal,

Which vext away the fairy.
From thence he ran into a hive,
Amongst the bees he letteth drive,
And down their combs begins to rive,

All likely to have spoiled;
Which with their wax his face besmear'd,
And with their honey daub'd his beard ;
It would have made a man affear'd,

To see how he was moiled.

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