“Bless thee, Bottom, bless thee; thou art translated,” cried Quince, looking at Winterbottom.
“Very well—very well, Mr Western. I don’t want to upset the wherry, and therefore you’re safe at present, but the reckoning will come—so I give you warning.”
“Slaves of my lamp, do my bidding. I will have no quarrelling here. You, Quince, shut your mouth; you, Winterbottom, draw in your lips, and I, your queen, will charm you with a song,” said Titania, waving her little hand. The fiddler ceased playing, and the voice of the fair actress rivetted all our attention.
“Wilt thou waken, bride of May,
While flowers are fresh, and sweet bells chime,
Listen and learn from my roundelay
How all life’s pilot boats sailed one day
A match with Time!
“Love sat on a lotus-leaf aloft,
And saw old Time in his loaded boat,
Slowly he crossed Life’s narrow tide,
While Love sat clapping his wings, and cried,
‘Who will pass Time?’
“Patience came first, but soon was gone,
With helm and sail to help Time on;
Care and Grief could not lend an oar,
And Prudence said (while he staid on shore),
‘I wait for Time.’
“Hope filled with flowers her cork-tree bark,
And lighted its helm with a glow-worm’s spark;
Then Love, when he saw his bark fly past,
Said, ‘Lingering Time will soon be passed,
Hope outspeeds time.’
“Wit went nearest Old Time to pass,
With his diamond oar and boat of glass
A feathery dart from his store he drew,
And shouted, while far and swift it flew,
‘O Mirth kills Time!’
“But Time sent the feathery arrow back,
Hope’s boat of Amaranthus miss’d its track;
Then Love bade its butterfly pilots move,
And laughing, said ‘They shall see how Love
Can conquer Time.’”
I need hardly say that the song was rapturously applauded, and most deservedly so. Several others were demanded from the ladies and gentlemen of the party, and given without hesitation; but I cannot now recall them to my memory. The bugle and flute played between whiles, and all was laughter and merriment.
“There’s a sweet place,” said Tinfoil, pointing to a villa on the Thames; “Now, with the fair Titania and ten thousand a-year, one could there live happy.”
“I’m afraid the fair Titania must go to market without the latter encumbrance,” replied the lady; “The gentleman must find the ten thousand a-year, and I must bring as my dowry—”
“Ten thousand charms,” interrupted Tinfoil—“that’s most true, and pity ’tis ’tis true. Did your fairyship ever hear my epigram on the subject?
“Let the lads of the East love the maids of Cash-meer,
Nor affection with interests clash;
Far other idolatry pleases us here,
We adore but the maids of Mere Cash.”
“Excellent, good Puck! Have you any more?”