But once the Circle got within,
The Charmes to worke doe straight begin,
And he was caught as in a Gin;
For as he thus was busie,
A paine he in his Head-peece feeles,
Against a stubbed Tree he reeles,
And vp went poore Hobgoblins heeles,
Alas his braine was dizzie.
At length vpon his feete he gets,
450Hobgoblin fumes, Hobgoblin frets,
And as againe he forward sets,
And through the Bushes scrambles;
A Stump doth trip him in his pace,
Down comes poore Hob vpon his face,
And lamentably tore his case,
Amongst the Bryers and Brambles.
A plague vpon Queene Mab, quoth hee,
And all her Maydes where ere they be,
I thinke the Deuill guided me,
460To seeke her so prouoked.
Where stumbling at a piece of Wood,
He fell into a dich of mudd,
Where to the very Chin he stood,
In danger to be choked.
Now worse than e're he was before:
Poore Puck doth yell, poore Puck doth rore;
That wak'd Queene Mab who doubted sore
Some Treason had been wrought her:
Vntill Nimphidia told the Queene
470What she had done, what she had seene,
Who then had well-neere crack'd her spleene
With very extreame laughter.
But leaue we Hob to clamber out:
Queene Mab and all her Fayrie rout,
And come againe to haue about
With Oberon yet madding:
And with Pigwiggen now distrought,
Who much was troubled in his thought,
That he so long the Queene had sought,
480And through the Fields was gadding.
And as he runnes he still doth crie,
King Oberon I thee defie,
And dare thee here in Armes to trie,
For my deare Ladies honour:
For that she is a Queene right good,
In whose defence Ile shed my blood,
And that thou in this iealous mood
Hast lay'd this slander on her.
And quickly Armes him for the Field,
490A little Cockle-shell his Shield,
Which he could very brauely wield:
Yet could it not be pierced:
His Speare a Bent both stiffe and strong,
And well-neere of two Inches long;
The Pyle was of a Horse-flyes tongue,
Whose sharpnesse nought reuersed.
And puts him on a coate of Male,
Which was of a Fishes scale,
That when his Foe should him assaile,
500No poynt should be preuayling:
His Rapier was a Hornets sting,
It was a very dangerous thing:
For if he chanc'd to hurt the King,
It would be long in healing.
His Helmet was a Bettles head,
Most horrible and full of dread,
That able was to strike one dead,
Yet did it well become him:
And for a plume, a horses hayre,
510Which being tossed with the ayre,
Had force to strike his Foe with feare,
And turne his weapon from him.
Himselfe he on an Earewig set,
Yet scarce he on his back could get,
So oft and high he did coruet,
Ere he himselfe could settle:
He made him turne, and stop, and bound,
To gallop, and to trot the Round,
He scarce could stand on any ground,
520He was so full of mettle.