Their locks of gold; the gentle faeries sate:
All in their watchet cloaks: were dainty mats
Spread under them, of dwarve-wives rushen work:
And primroses were strewed before their feet.
They at banquet sate, from dim of afternoon ...
(Enter more elves running.)
One of the new-come Elves.O Awn, O Howt!
Not past a league from hence, lies close-cropped plot,
Where purple milkworts blow, which conies haunt,