When by Tom Thum a Fayrie Page,
He sent it, and doth him engage,
By promise of a mighty wage,
It secretly to carrie:
Which done, the Queene her maydes doth call,
And bids them to be ready all,
She would goe see her Summer Hall,
She could no longer tarrie.
Her Chariot ready straight is made,
130Each thing therein is fitting layde,
That she by nothing might be stayde,
For naught must be her letting,
Foure nimble Gnats the Horses were,
Their Harnasses of Gossamere,
Flye Cranion her Chariottere,
Vpon the Coach-box getting.
Her Chariot of a Snayles fine shell,
Which for the colours did excell:
The faire Queene Mab, becomming well,
140So liuely was the limming:
The seate the soft wooll of the Bee;
The couer, (gallantly to see)
The wing of a pyde Butterflee,
I trowe t'was simple trimming.
The wheeles compos'd of Crickets bones,
And daintily made for the nonce,
For feare of ratling on the stones,
With Thistle-downe they shod it;
For all her Maydens much did feare,
150If Oberon had chanc'd to heare,
That Mab his Queene should haue bin there,
He would not haue aboad it.
She mounts her Chariot with a trice,
Nor would she stay for no advice,
Vntill her Maydes that were so nice,
To wayte on her were fitted,
But ranne her selfe away alone;
Which when they heard there was not one,
But hasted after to be gone,
160As she had beene diswitted.
Hop, and Mop, and Drop so cleare,
Pip, and Trip, and Skip that were,
To Mab their Soueraigne euer deare:
Her speciall Maydes of Honour;
Fib, and Tib, and Pinck, and Pin,
Tick, and Quick, and Iill, and Iin,
Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win,
The Trayne that wayte vpon her.
Vpon a Grashopper they got,
170And what with Amble, and with Trot,
For hedge nor ditch they spared not,
But after her they hie them.
A Cobweb ouer them they throw,
To shield the winde if it should blowe,
Themselues they wisely could bestowe,
Lest any should espie them.
But let vs leaue Queene Mab a while,
Through many a gate, o'r many a stile,
That now had gotten by this wile,
180Her deare Pigwiggin 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 Queene was missing.
By grisly Pluto he doth sweare,
He rent his cloths, and tore his haire,
And as he runneth, here and there,
An Acorne cup he greeteth;
Which soone he taketh by the stalke
190About his head he lets it walke,
Nor doth he any creature balke,
But lays on all he meeteth.
The Thuskan Poet doth aduance,
The franticke Paladine of France,
And those more ancient doe inhaunce,
Alcides in his fury.
And others Aiax Telamon,
But to this time there hath bin non,
So Bedlam as our Oberon,
200Of which I dare assure you.