_Hop_, and _Mop_, and _Drop_ so cleare, _Pip_, and _Trip_, and _Skip_ that were, To _Mab_ their Soueraigne euer deare: Her speciall Maydes of Honour; _Fib_, and _Tib_, and _Pinck_, and _Pin_, _Tick_, and _Quick_, and _Iill_, and _Iin_, _Tit_, and _Nit_, and _Wap_, and _Win_, The Trayne that wayte vpon her. Vpon a Grashopper they got, And what with Amble, and with Trot, 170 For hedge nor ditch they spared not, But after her they hie them. A Cobweb ouer them they throw, To shield the winde if it should blowe, Themselues they wisely could bestowe, Lest any should espie them. But let vs leaue Queene _Mab_ a while, Through many a gate, o'r many a stile, That now had gotten by this wile, Her deare _Pigwiggin_ kissing, 180 And tell how _Oberon_ doth fare, Who grew as mad as any Hare, When he had sought each place with care, And found his Queene was missing. By grisly _Pluto_ he doth sweare, He rent his cloths, and tore his haire, And as he runneth, here and there, An Acorne cup he greeteth; Which soone he taketh by the stalke About his head he lets it walke, 190 Nor doth he any creature balke, But lays on all he meeteth. The _Thuskan_ Poet doth aduance, The franticke _Paladine_ of France, And those more ancient doe inhaunce, _Alcides_ in his fury. And others _Aiax Telamon_, But to this time there hath bin non, So Bedlam as our _Oberon_, Of which I dare assure you. 200 And first encountring with a waspe, He in his armes the Fly doth claspe As though his breath he forth would graspe, Him for Pigwiggen taking: Where is my wife thou Rogue, quoth he, _Pigwiggen_, she is come to thee, Restore her, or thou dy'st by me, Whereat the poore waspe quaking, Cryes, _Oberon_, great _Fayrie_ King, Content thee I am no such thing, 210 I am a Waspe behold my sting, At which the _Fayrie_ started: When soone away the Waspe doth goe, Poore wretch was neuer frighted so, He thought his wings were much to slow, O'rioyd, they so were parted. He next vpon a Glow-worme light, (You must suppose it now was night), Which for her hinder part was bright, He tooke to be a Deuill. 220 And furiously doth her assaile For carrying fier in her taile He thrasht her rough coat with his flayle, The mad King fear'd no euill.