His heart was drear, his hope was cross’d, ’Twas late, ’twas far, the path was lost That reach’d the neighbour town; With weary steps he quits the shades, Resolv’d, the darkling dome he treads, And drops his limbs adown. But scant he lays him on the floor When hollow winds remove the door, And trembling rocks the ground: And, well I ween to count aright, At once a hundred tapers light On all the walls around. Now sounding tongues assail his ear, Now sounding feet approachen near, And now the sounds increase; And from the corner where he lay He sees a train profusely gay Come prankling o’er the place. But (trust me, Gentles!) never yet Was dight a masquing half so neat, Or half so rich before; The country lent the sweet perfumes, The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes, The town its silken store. Now, whilst he gaz’d, a gallant drest In flaunting robes above the rest, With awful accent cry’d; “What mortal of a wretched mind, Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, Has here presum’d to hide?” At this the swain, whose venturous soul No fears of magic art controul, Advanc’d in open sight; “Nor have I cause of dread,” he said, “Who view, by no presumption led, Your revels of the night. “’Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, Which made my steps unweeting rove Amid the nightly dew.” “’Tis well,” the gallant cries again, “We fairies never injure men Who dare to tell us true. “Exalt thy love-dejected heart, Be mine the task, or ere we part, To make thee grief resign; Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce; Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce, Be little Mable thine.” He spoke, and all a sudden there Light music floats in wanton air; The monarch leads the queen: The rest their fairy partners found; And Mable trimly tript the ground With Edwin of the Green. The dauncing past, the board was laid, And siker such a feast was made, As heart and lip desire, Withouten hands the dishes fly, The glasses with a wish come nigh, And with a wish retire. But, now to please the fairy king, Full every deal they daunce and sing, And antic feats devise; Some wind and tumble like an ape, And other some transmute their shape In Edwin’s wondering eyes. Till one at last, that Robin hight, Renown’d for pinching maids by night, Has bent him up aloof; And full against the beam he flung, Where by the back the youth he hung To sprawl uneath the roof. From thence, “Reverse my charm,” he cries, “And let it fairly now suffice The gambol has been shewn.” But Oberon answers with a smile, “Content thee, Edwin, for awhile, The vantage is thine own.”