Men talk of the adventures strange Of Don Quishot, and of their change, Through which he armèd oft did range, Of Sancha Panza’s travel: But should a man tell everything Done by this frantic Fairy King, And them in lofty numbers sing, It well his wits might gravel. Scarce set on shore, but therewithal He meeteth Puck, which most men call Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall With words from phrenzy spoken: “Hoh, hoh,” quoth Hob, “God save thy grace, Who drest thee in this piteous case? He thus that spoil’d my sovereign’s face, I would his neck were broken.” This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt, Still walking like a ragged colt, And oft out of a bush doth bolt, Of purpose to deceive us; And leading us makes us to stray Long winter nights out of the way, And when we stroll in mire and clay, He doth with laughter leave us. “Dear Puck,” quoth he, “my wife is gone; As e’er thou lov’st King Oberon, Let everything but this alone, With vengeance and pursue her: Bring her home alive or dead; Or that vile thief Pigwiggen’s head; That villain hath defiled my bed, He to this folly drew her.” Quoth Puck, “My liege, I’ll never lin, But I will thorough thick and thin, Until at length I bring her in, My dearest lord, ne’er doubt it.” Thorough brake, thorough brier, Thorough mud, thorough mier, Thorough water, thorough fier, And thus Puck goes about it. This thing Nymphidia overheard, That on this mad king had a guard, Not doubting of a great reward, For first this bus’ness broaching: And through the air away doth go Swift as an arrow from the bow, To let her sovereign Mab to know What peril was approaching. The queen, bound with love’s powerful charm, Sate with Pigwiggen arm in arm; Her merry maids, that thought no harm, About the room were skipping: A humble-bee their minstrel, play’d Upon his haut-bois, every maid Fit for this revel was array’d, The hornpipe neatly tripping. In comes Nymphidia, and doth cry, “My sovereign, for your safety fly, For there is danger but too nigh, I posted to forewarn you: The king hath sent Hobgoblin out, To seek you all the fields about, And of your safety you may doubt, If he but once discern you.” When like an uproar in a town, Before them everything went down; Some tore a ruff, and some a gown, ’Gainst one another jostling: They flew about like chaff i’ th’ wind; For haste some left their masks behind, Some could not stay their gloves to find; There never was such bustling. Forth ran they by a secret way, Into a brake that near them lay, Yet much they doubted there to stay, Lest Hob should hap to find them: He had a sharp and piercing sight, All one to him the day and night, And therefore were resolv’d by flight To leave this place behind them.