Mab, when about to retire, bestows a jewel on the Queen, and concludes with,
Utter not, we you implore,
Who did give it, nor wherefore.
And whenever you restore
Yourself to us you shall have more.
Highest, happiest queen, farewell,
But, beware you do not tell.
The splendid Masque of Oberon, presented in 1610, introduces the Fays in union with the Satyrs, Sylvans, and the rural deities of classic antiquity; but the Fay is here, as one of them says, not
The coarse and country fairy,
That doth haunt the hearth and dairy;
it is Oberon, the prince of Fairy-land, who, at the crowing of the cock, advances in a magnificent chariot drawn by white bears, attended by Knights and Fays. As the car advances, the Satyrs begin to leap and jump, and a Sylvan thus speaks:—
Give place, and silence; you were rude too late—
This is a night of greatness and of state;
Not to be mixed with light and skipping sport—
A night of homage to the British court,
And ceremony due to Arthur's chair,
From our bright master, Oberon the Fair,
Who with these knights, attendants here preserved
In Fairy-land, for good they have deserved
Of yond' high throne, are come of right to pay
Their annual vows, and all their glories lay
At 's feet.
Another Sylvan says,
Stand forth, bright faies and elves, and tune your lay
Unto his name; then let your nimble feet
Tread subtile circles, that may always meet
In point to him.
In the Sad Shepherd, Alken says,
There in the stocks of trees white fays[403] do dwell,
And span-long elves that dance about a pool,
With each a little changeling in their arms!