And Mab, his merry Queen, by night
Bestrides young folks that lie upright[[1]]
(In elder times, the mare that hight),
Which plagues them out of measure.
Hence shadows, seeming idle shapes,
Of little frisking elves and apes
To earth do make their wanton scapes,
As hope of pastime hastes them:
Which maids think on the hearth they see
When fires well-near consumed be,