Quaffing a cup of sack with rare old Ben?
Ay, Shakespeare might have watched his vast creations
Loom through its smoke,—the spectre-haunted Thane,
The Sisters at their ghostly invocations,
The jealous Moor, and melancholy Dane.
Round its orbed haze and through its mazy ringlets,
Titania may have led her elfin rout,
Or Ariel fanned it with his gauzy winglets,
Or Puck danced in the bowl to put it out.
Vain are all fancies,—questions bring no answer;