She mounts her chariot with a trice,
Nor would she stay, for no advice,
Until her maids that were so nice
To wait on her were fitted;
But ran herself away alone,
Which when they heard, there was not one
But hasted after to be gone,
As he had been diswitted.
Hop and Mop and Drop so clear,
Pip and Trip and Skip that were
To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear,
Her special maids of honour;
Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin,
Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin,
Tit and Nit and Wap and Win,
The train that wait upon her.
Upon a grasshopper they got
And, what with amble, what with trot,
For hedge and ditch they sparéd not,
But after her they hie them;
A cobweb over them they throw,
To shield the wind if it should blow,
Themselves they wisely could bestow
Lest any should espy them.
But let us leave Queen Mab awhile,
Through many a gate, o’er many a stile,
That now had gotten by this wile,
Her dear Pigwiggin kissing;
And tell how Oberon doth fare,
Who grew as mad as any hare
When he had sought each place with care,
And found his Queen was missing.
By grisly Pluto he doth swear,
He rent his clothes and tore his hair,
And as he runneth here and there
An acorn cup he greeteth,
Which soon he taketh by the stalk,
About his head he lets it walk,
Nor doth he any creature balk,
But lays on all he meeteth.
The Tuscan Poet doth advance,
The frantic Paladin of France,
And those more ancient do enhance
Alcides in his fury,
And others Aiax Telamon,
But to this time there hath been none
So Bedlam as our Oberon,
Of which I dare assure ye.
And first encountering with a Wasp,
He in his arms the fly doth clasp
As though his breath he forth would grasp,
Him for Pigwiggin taking:
“Where is my wife, thou rogue?” quoth be;
“Pigwiggin, she is come to thee;
Restore her, or thou diest by me!”
Whereat the poor Wasp quaking
Cries, “Oberon, great Fairy King,
Content thee, I am no such thing:
I am a Wasp, behold my sting!”
At which the Fairy started;
When soon away the Wasp doth go,
Poor wretch, was never frighted so;
He thought his wings were much too slow,
O’erjoyed they so were parted.
He next upon a Glow-worm light,
You must suppose it now was night,
Which, for her hinder part was bright,
He took to be a devil,
And furiously doth her assail
For carrying fire in her tail;
He thrashed her rough coat with his flail;
The mad King feared no evil.
“Oh!” quoth the Glow-worm, “hold thy hand,
Thou puissant King of Fairy-land!
Thy mighty strokes who may withstand?
Hold, or of life despair I!”
Together then herself doth roll,
And tumbling down into a hole
She seemed as black as any coal;
Which vext away the Fairy.