A stump doth trip him in his pace;
Down comes poor Hob upon his face,
And lamentably tore his case,
Amongst the briars and brambles.
"A plague upon Queen Mab!" quoth he,
"And all her maids where'er they be:
I think the devil guided me,
To seek her so provoked!"
Where stumbling at a piece of wood,
He fell into a ditch of mud,