Old Chaucer doth of Thopas tell,
	Mad Rabelais of Pantagruel,
	A latter third of Dowsabell,
	With such poor trifles playing;
	Others the like have labored at
	Some of this thing, and some of that,
	And many of they know not what,
	But that they must be saying.
	
	Another sort there be that will
	Be talking of the Fairies still,
	Nor ever can they have their fill,
	As they were wedded to them;
	No tales of them their thirst can slake,
	So much delight therein they take,
	And some strange thing they fain would make,
	Knew they the way to do them.
	
	Then since no Muse hath been so bold,
	Or of the later, or the old,
	Those elvish secrets to unfold
	Which lie from others' reading,
	My active Muse to light shall bring
	The court of that proud Fairy King,
	And tell there of the reveling
	Jove prosper my proceeding.
	
	And thou, Nymphidia, gentle fay,
	Which meeting me upon the way
	These secrets didst to me bewray,
	Which I now am in telling;
	My pretty light fantastic maid,
	I here invoke thee to my aid,
	That I may speak what thou hast said,
	In numbers smoothly swelling.
	
	This palace standeth in the air,
	By necromancy placed there,
	That it no tempests needs to fear,
	Which way soe'er it blow it.
	And somewhat southward toward the noon,
	Whence lies a way up to the moon,
	And thence the Fairy can as soon
	Pass to the earth below it.
	
	The walls of spiders' legs are made,
	Well mortised and finely laid;
	He was the master of his trade
	It curiously builded;
	The windows of the eyes of cats,
	And for the roof, instead of slats,
	Is covered with the skins of bats,
	With moonshine that are gilded.
	
	Hence Oberon him sport to make
	(Their rest when weary mortals take,
	And none but only fairies wake)
	Descendeth for his pleasure.
	And Mab his merry queen by night
	Bestrides young folks that lie upright,
	In elder times the Mare that hight,
	Which plagues them out of measure.
	
	Hence shadows, seeming idle shapes
	Of little frisking elves and apes
	To earth do make their wanton 'scapes,
	As hope of pastime hastes them,
	Which maids think on the hearth they see
	When fires well-near consumed be,
	There dancing heys by two and three,
	Just as their fancy casts them.
	
	These make our girls their sluttery rue,
	By pinching them both black and blue,
	And put a penny in their shoe
	The house for cleanly sweeping;
	And in their courses make that round,
	In meadows and in marshes found,
	Of them so called the Fairy ground,
	Of which they have the keeping.
	
	These when a child haps to be got
	Which after proves an idiot,
	When folk perceive it thriveth not,
	The fault therein to smother
	Some silly doting brainless calf
	That understands things by the half
	Say that the fairy left this aufe
	And took away the other.
	
	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 feared, his queen that knew,
	His love but ill requiting.
	
	Pigwiggen was this Fairy knight,
	One wondrous graciousin the sight
	Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night
	He amorously observed;
	Which made King Oberon suspect
	His service took no good effect,
	His sauciness and often checked
	And could have wished him starved.
	
	Pigwiggen gladly would commend
	Some token to Queen Mab to send,
	If sea, or land, could aught him lend
	Were worthy of her wearing;
	At length this lover doth devise
	A bracelet made of emmet's 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 endites,
	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 bower"
	Quoth he, "is that fair cowslip flower
	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 way,
	The tallest there that groweth."
	
	When by Tom Thumb, 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 stayed,
	For naught must her be letting;
	Four nimble gnats the horses were,
	Their harnesses of gossamer,
	Fly Cranion her charioteer
	Upon the coach-box getting.
	
	Her chariot of a snail's fine shell
	Which for the colors did excel,
	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 pied butterfly,
	I trow 'twas simple trimming.
	
	The wheels composed of cricket's bones
	And daintily made for the nonce,
	For fear of rattling on the stones
	With thistledown they shod;
	For all her maidens much did fear
	If Oberon had chanced 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 herself 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 Drop so clear,
	Pip, and Trip, and Skip that were
	To Mab their sovereign ever dear,
	Her special maids of honor;
	Fib and Tib, and Pink and Pin,
	Tick and Quick, and Jill and Jin,
	Tit and Nit, and Wap and Win,
	The train that wait upon her.
	
	Upon a grasshopper 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.
	
	But let us leave Queen Mab a while,
	Through many a gate, o'er many a stile,
	That now had gotten by this wile,
	Her dear Pigwiggen kissing,
	And tell how Oberon doth fare,
	Who grew as mad as any hare
	When he 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 greeteth,
	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 paladin of France
	And those more ancient do enhance
	Alcides in his fury,
	And other Ajax Telamon;
	But to this time there hath been none
	So bedlam as our Oberon,
	Of which I dare assure you.
	
	And first encountering with a wasp,
	He in his arms the fly doth clasp
	As though 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 diest by me!"
	Whereat, the poor wasp quaking
	
	Cries, "Oberon, great Fairy King,
	Content thee, I am no such thing;
	I am a wasp, behold my sting!"
	At which the Fairy started;
	Whens oon away the wasp doth go;
	Poor wretch was never frighted so,
	He thought his wings were much too slow,
	O'erjoyed 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 her doth assail
	For carrying fire in her tail;
	He thrashed her coat with his flail;
	That mad king feared no evil.
	
	"Oh," quoth the glow-worm, "hold thy hand,
	Thou puissant king of Fairyland,
	Thy mighty strokes who may withstand;
	Hold, or of life despair I!"
	Together then herself doth roll,
	And tumbling down into a hole
	She seemed as black as any coal
	Which vexed 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 besmeared
	And with their honey daubed his beard;
	It would have made a man afeared
	To see how he was moiled.
	
	A new adventure him betides;
	He met an ant, which he bestrides
	And post thereon away he rides
	Which with his haste doth stumble
	And came full over on her snout;
	Her heels so threw the dirt about
	For she by no means could get out
	But over him doth tumble,
	
	And being in this piteous case
	And all beslurried, head and face,
	On runs he in this wild goose chase,
	As here and there he rambles,
	Half blind, against a molehill hit
	And for a mountain taking it
	For all he was out of his wit,
	Yet to the top he scrambles.
	
	And being gotten to the top
	Yet there himself he could not stop
	But down on th'other side doth chop,
	and to the foot came rumbling,
	So that the grubs therein that bred,
	Hearing such turmoil overhead,
	Thought surely they had all been dead,
	So fearful was the jumbling.
	
	And falling down into a lake
	Which him up to the neck doth take
	His fury somewhat it doth slake;
	He calleth for a ferry;
	Where you may some recovery note:
	What was his club he made his boat,
	And in his oaken cup doth float
	As safe as in a wherry.
	
	Men talk of the adventures strange
	Of Don Quixote, and of their change,
	Through which he armed oft did range,
	Of Sancho Panza's travel;
	But should a man tell every thning
	Done by this frantic Fairy King
	And them in lofty numbers sing,
	It well his wits might gravel.
	
	Scarce set on shore but therewithal
	He meeteth Puck, which most men call
	Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall
	With words from frenzy spoken.
	"Ho, Ho!" quoth Hob, "God save thy grace,
	Who dressed thee in this piteous case?
	He thus that spoiled my sovereign's face,
	I would his neck was broken."
	
	This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt,
	Still walking like a ragged colt,
	And oft out of a bush doth bolt
	Of purpose to deceive us,
	And leading us makes us to stray
	Long winter's night out of the way,
	And when we stick in mire and clay,
	Hob doth with laughter leave us.
	
	"Dear Puck," quoth he, "my wife isgone;
	As e'er thou lov'st King Oberon,
	Let everything but this alone,
	With vengeance and pursue her;
	Bring her to me, alive or dead,
	Or that vile their Pigwiggen's head;
	That villain hath defiled my bed;
	He to this folly drew her."
	
	Quoth Puck, "My liege, I'll never lin, 
	But I will thorough thick and thin,
	Until at length I bring her in;
	My dearest lord, ne'er doubt it;
	Thorough brake, thorough brier,
	Thorough much, thorough mire,
	Thorough water, thorough fire,
	And thus goes Puck about it."
	
	This thing Nymphidia overheard,
	That on this mad king has a guard,
	Not doubting of a great reward
	For first this business broaching;
	And through the air away doth go
	Swift as an arrow from the bow,
	To let her sovereign Mab to know
	What peril was approaching.
	
	The Queen, bound with love's powerful'st charm,
	Sat with Pigwiggen arm in arm;
	Her merry maids that thought no harm
	About the room were skipping;
	A humble-bee, their minstrel, played
	Upon his hautboy; every maid
	Fit for this revels was arrayed,
	The hornpipe neatly tripping.
	
	In comes Nymphidia and doth cry,
	"My sovereign, for your safety, fly,
	For there is danger but too night,
	I posted to forewarn you;
	The King hath sent Hobgoblin out
	To seek you all the fields about,
	And of your safety you may doubt,
	If he but once discern you!"

	When like an uproar in a town
	Before them everything went down,
	Some tore a ruff and some a gown,
	'Gainst one another justling;
	They flew about like chaff i'the wind;
	For haste some left their masks behind;
	Some could not stay their glovees to find;
	There never was such bustling.
	
	Forth ran they by a secret way
	Into a brake that near them lay;
	Yet much they doubted there to stay,
	Lest Hob should hap to find them;
	He had a sharp and piercing sight,
	All one to him the day and night,
	And therefore were resolved by flight
	To leave this place behind them.
	
[NOT FINISHED]

Cranion: daddy long-legs.

Tuscan poet: Ariosto.

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