Part 12 (1/2)
Another sort there be, that will Be talking of the Fairies still, For never can they have their fill, As they were wedded to them; No tales of them their thirst can slake, So much delight therein they take, And some strange thing they fain would make, Knew they the way to do them.
Then since no Muse hath been so bold, Or of the later, or the old, Those elvish secrets to unfold, Which lie from others' reading; My active Muse to light shall bring The court of that proud Fairy King, And tell there of the revelling.
Jove prosper my proceeding!
And thou, Nymphidia, gentle Fay, Which, meeting me upon the way, These secrets didst to me bewray, Which now I am in telling; My pretty, light, fantastic maid, I here invoke thee to my aid, That I may speak what thou hast said, In numbers smoothly swelling.
This palace standeth in the air, By necromancy placed there, That it no tempest needs to fear, Which way soe'er it blow it.
And somewhat southward tow'rds the noon, Whence lies a way up to the moon, And thence the Fairy can as soon Pa.s.s to the earth below it.
The walls of spiders' legs are made Well mortised and finely laid; It was the master of his trade It curiously that builded; The windows of the eyes of cats, And for the roof, instead of slats, Is covered with the skins of bats, With moons.h.i.+ne that are gilded.
Hence Oberon him sport to make, Their rest when weary mortals take, And none but only fairies wake, Descendeth for his pleasure; And Mab, his merry Queen, by night Bestrides young folks that lie upright, (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-nigh consumed be, There dancing hays by two and three, {98} Just as their fancy casts them.
These make our girls their s.l.u.ttery rue, By pinching them both black and blue, And put a penny in their shoe The house for cleanly sweeping; And in their courses make that round In meadows and in marshes found, Of them so called the Fairy Ground, Of which they have the keeping.
These when a child haps to be got Which after proves an idiot When folk perceive it thriveth not, The fault therein to smother, Some silly, doting, brainless calf That understands things by the half, Say that the Fairy left this oaf And took away the other.
But listen, and I shall you tell A chance in Faery that befell, Which certainly may please some well, In love and arms delighting, Of Oberon that jealous grew Of one of his own Fairy crew, Too well, he feared, his Queen that knew, His love but ill requiting.
Pigwiggin was this Fairy Knight, One wondrous gracious in the sight Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night He amorously observed; Which made King Oberon suspect His service took too good effect, His sauciness had often checkt, And could have wished him sterved.
Pigwiggin gladly would commend Some token to Queen Mab to send, If sea or land him aught could lend Were worthy of her wearing; At length this lover doth devise A bracelet made of emmets' eyes, A thing he thought that she would prize, No whit her state impairing.
And to the Queen a letter writes, Which he most curiously indites, Conjuring her by all the rites Of love, she would be pleased To meet him, her true servant, where They might, without suspect or fear, Themselves to one another clear And have their poor hearts eased.
At midnight, the appointed hour; ”And for the Queen a fitting bower,”
Quoth he, ”is that fair cowslip flower On Hient Hill that bloweth; {100} In all your train there's not a fay That ever went to gather may But she hath made it, in her way, The tallest there that groweth.”
When by Tom Thumb, a Fairy Page, He sent it, and doth him engage By promise of a mighty wage It secretly to carry; Which done, the Queen her maids doth call, And bids them to be ready all: She would go see her summer hall, She could no longer tarry.
Her chariot ready straight is made, Each thing therein is fitting laid, That she by nothing might be stayed, For nought must be her letting; Four nimble gnats the horses were, Their harnesses of gossamere, Fly Cranion the charioteer Upon the coach-box getting.
Her chariot of a snail's fine sh.e.l.l, Which for the colours did excel, The fair Queen Mab becoming well, So lively was the limning; The seat the soft wool of the bee, The cover, gallantly to see, The wing of a pied b.u.t.terfly; I trow 'twas simple tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.
The wheels composed of cricket's bones, And daintily made for the nonce, For fear of rattling on the stones With thistle-down they shod it; For all her maidens much did fear If Oberon had chanced to hear That Mab his Queen should have been there, He would not have abode it.
She mounts her chariot with a trice, Nor would she stay, for no advice, Until her maids that were so nice To wait on her were fitted; But ran herself away alone, Which when they heard, there was not one But hasted after to be gone, As he had been diswitted.
Hop and Mop and Drop so clear, Pip and Trip and Skip that were To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear, Her special maids of honour; Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin, Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin, t.i.t and Nit and Wap and Win, The train that wait upon her.
Upon a gra.s.shopper they got And, what with amble, what with trot, For hedge and ditch they spared not, But after her they hie them; A cobweb over them they throw, To s.h.i.+eld 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 Pigwiggin kissing; And tell how Oberon doth fare, Who grew as mad as any hare When he had sought each place with care, And found his Queen was missing.
By grisly Pluto he doth swear, He rent his clothes and tore his hair, And as he runneth here and there An acorn cup he greeteth, Which soon he taketh by the stalk, About his head he lets it walk, Nor doth he any creature balk, But lays on all he meeteth.
The Tuscan Poet doth advance, The frantic Paladin of France, And those more ancient do enhance Alcides in his fury, And others Aiax Telamon, But to this time there hath been none So Bedlam as our Oberon, Of which I dare a.s.sure ye.
And first encountering with a Wasp, He in his arms the fly doth clasp As though his breath he forth would grasp, Him for Pigwiggin taking: ”Where is my wife, thou rogue?” quoth be; ”Pigwiggin, she is come to thee; Restore her, or thou diest by me!”