140 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,
[145] And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep:
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
[148] Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!