The Walls of Spiders legs are made,
Well mortized and finely layd,
He was the master of his Trade
It curiously that builded:
The Windowes of the eyes of Cats,
And for the Roofe, instead of Slats,
Is couer'd with the skinns of Batts,
With Mooneshine that are guilded.
Hence Oberon him sport to make,
50(Their rest when weary mortalls take)
And none but onely Fayries wake,
Desendeth for his pleasure.
And Mab his meerry Queene by night
Bestrids young Folks that lye vpright,
(In elder Times the Mare that hight)
Which plagues them out of measure.
Hence Shaddowes, seeming Idle shapes,
Of little frisking Elues and Apes,
To Earth doe make their wanton skapes,
60As hope of pastime hasts them:
Which maydes think on the Hearth they see,
When Fyers well nere consumed be,
Their daunsing Hayes by two and three,
Iust as their Fancy casts them.
These make our Girles their sluttery rue,
By pinching them both blacke and blew,
And put a penny in their shue,
The house for cleanely sweeping:
And in their courses make that Round,
70In Meadowes, and in Marshes found,
Of them so call'd the Fayrie ground,
Of which they haue the keeping.
Thus when a Childe haps to be gott,
Which after prooues an Ideott,
When Folke perceiue it thriueth not,
The fault therein to smother:
Some silly doting brainlesse Calfe,
That vnderstands things by the halfe,
Say that the Fayrie left this Aulfe,
80And tooke away the other.
But listen and I shall you tell,
A chance in Fayrie that befell,
Which certainly may please some well;
In Loue and Armes delighting:
Of Oberon that Iealous grewe,
Of one of his owne Fayrie crue,
Too well (he fear'd) his Queene that knew,
His loue but ill requiting.
Pigwiggen was this Fayrie knight,
90One wondrous gratious in the sight
Of faire Queene Mab, which day and night,
He amorously obserued;
Which made king Oberon suspect,
His Seruice tooke too good effect,
His saucinesse, and often checkt,
And could have wisht him starued.
Pigwiggen gladly would commend,
Some token to queene Mab to send,
If Sea, or Land, him ought could lend,
100Were worthy of her wearing:
At length this Louer doth deuise,
A Bracelett made of Emmotts eyes,
A thing he thought that shee would prize,
No whitt her state impayring.
And to the Queene a Letter writes,
Which he most curiously endites,
Coniuring her by all the rites
Of loue, she would be pleased,
To meete him her true Seruant, where
110They might without suspect or feare,
Themselues to one another cleare,
And haue their poore hearts eased.
At mid-night the appointed hower,
And for the Queene a fitting bower,
(Quoth he) is that faire Cowslip flower,
On Hipcut hill that groweth,
In all your Trayne there's not a Fay,
That euer went to gather May,
But she hath made it in her way,
120The tallest there that groweth.