Titania. O I could list unto thy silver tongue
Till Time itself wax’d eld and perished.
Bottom. How say you, masters? Hath not mistress atomy a shrewd manner of observation an’ she singles me out from the company of my fellows thus compellingly?
Quince. O bully Bottom, you are, as I take it, the simple wonder of our age.
All. Right, master Quince. Nick Bottom is become a very marvel.
Titania. Fain would I hear thy heavenly note again.
Sing, wondrous mortal, while I link mine arms
About thy peerless form, or garlands twine
Of dewy flowers to hang about thy neck,
That neck, of all necks most incomparable.