This palace standeth in the air, By necromancy placèd there. That it no tempests needs to fear, Which way soe’er it blow it: And somewhat southward tow’rd the noon, Whence lies a way up to the moon, And thence the Fairy can as soon Pass to the earth below it. The walls of spiders’ legs are made, Well morticed and finely laid, He was the master of his trade, It curiously that builded: The windows of the eyes of cats, And for the roof, instead of flats, Is cover’d with the skins of bats, With moonshine 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 pastures hastes them: Which maids think on the hearth they see, When fires well-near consumèd be, There dancing hayes by two and three, Just as their fancy casts them. These make our girls their flutt’ry 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 call’d 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, doating, brainless calf, That understands things by the half, Say, that the Fairy left this aulf, And took away the other. But listen, and I shall you tell A chance in Fairy that befel, Which certainly may please some well, In love and arms delighting: Of Oberon, that jealous grew Of one of his own Fairy crew, For well (he fear’d) his Queen that knew, His love but ill requiting. Pigwiggen 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 and often checkt, And could have wish’d him starved. Pigwiggen 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.