The ousel-cock, so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle, with his note so true,
The wren with little quill.
Queen. What angel wakes me from my flow'ry bed?
Bot. (Sings.) The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain-song cuckow grey,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer nay.
Queen. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again,
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape,
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.
Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that; and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days. The more the pity, that some honest neighbours will not make them friends. Nay I can gleek upon occasion.
Queen. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
Bot. Not so neither: But if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.
Queen. Out of this wood do not desire to go;
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no,
I am a spirit of no common rate;
The summer still doth tend upon my state,
And I do love thee; therefore go with me,
I'll give thee Fairies to attend on thee;
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing, while thou on pressed flow'rs doth sleep;
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,
That thou shalt like an airy Spirit go.
Peaseblossom, Cob, Moth, Mustardseed!
Enter Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed, Four Fairies.
Pease. Ready.