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 Pigwiggen kissing;
And tell how Oberon doth fare,
Who grew as mad as any hare