Chapter 71

AT THE COURT OF FAIRYLAND

ThisisMab, the mistress Fairy,That doth nightly rob the dairy,And can hurt or help the churning(As she please) without discerning.She that pinches country wenches,If they rub not clean their benches,And with sharper nails remembersWhen they rake not up their embers.But, if so they chance to feast her,In a shoe she drops a tester.Ben Jonson

ThisisMab, the mistress Fairy,

That doth nightly rob the dairy,

And can hurt or help the churning

(As she please) without discerning.

She that pinches country wenches,

If they rub not clean their benches,

And with sharper nails remembers

When they rake not up their embers.

But, if so they chance to feast her,

In a shoe she drops a tester.

Ben Jonson

Herchariot 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 gossamer,Fly Cranion, her charioteer,Upon the coach-box getting.Her chariot of a snail’s fine shell,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 butterflee;I trow ’twas simple trimming.The wheels composed of crickets’ 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 abade 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 she had been diswitted.Michael Drayton

Herchariot 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 gossamer,

Fly Cranion, her charioteer,

Upon the coach-box getting.

Her chariot of a snail’s fine shell,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 butterflee;I trow ’twas simple trimming.

Her chariot of a snail’s fine shell,

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 butterflee;

I trow ’twas simple trimming.

The wheels composed of crickets’ 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 abade it.

The wheels composed of crickets’ 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 abade 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 she had been diswitted.

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 she had been diswitted.

Michael Drayton

Hop,and Mop, and Drop so clear,Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that wereTo Mab their sovereign ever dear,Her special maids of honour.Fib, and Tib, and Pinck, and Pin,Tick, and Quick, and Jil, and Jin,Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win,The train that wait upon her.Upon a grasshopper they got,And, what with amble and with trot,For hedge nor ditch they spared not,But after her they hie them.A cobweb over them they throw,To shield the wind, if it should blow,Themselves they wisely could bestow,Lest any should espy them.Michael Drayton

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 Pinck, and Pin,

Tick, and Quick, and Jil, and Jin,

Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win,

The train that wait upon her.

Upon a grasshopper they got,And, what with amble and with trot,For hedge nor ditch they spared not,But after her they hie them.A cobweb over them they throw,To shield the wind, if it should blow,Themselves they wisely could bestow,Lest any should espy them.

Upon a grasshopper they got,

And, what with amble and with trot,

For hedge nor ditch they spared not,

But after her they hie them.

A cobweb over them they throw,

To shield the wind, if it should blow,

Themselves they wisely could bestow,

Lest any should espy them.

Michael Drayton

Thispalace standeth in the air,By necromancy placed there,That it no tempests needs to fear,Which way so e’er it blow it:And somewhat southward toward the noonWhence lies a way up to the Moon,And thence the Fairy can as soonPass 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 slats,Is covered with the skins of bats,With moonshine that are gilded.Michael Drayton

Thispalace standeth in the air,

By necromancy placed there,

That it no tempests needs to fear,

Which way so e’er it blow it:

And somewhat southward toward 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 slats,Is covered with the skins of bats,With moonshine that are gilded.

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 slats,

Is covered with the skins of bats,

With moonshine that are gilded.

Michael Drayton

I spiedKing Oberon and his beauteous QueenAttended by a nimble-footed trainOf Fairies tripping o’er the meadow’s green,And to mewards (methought) they came amain.I couched myself behind a bush to spy,What would betide the noble company.It ’gan to rain, the King and Queen they runUnder a mushroom, fretted overhead,With glow-worms artificially done,Resembling much the canopy of a bedOf cloth of silver: and such glimmering lightIt gave, as stars do in a frosty night.Old Poem

I spiedKing Oberon and his beauteous Queen

Attended by a nimble-footed train

Of Fairies tripping o’er the meadow’s green,

And to mewards (methought) they came amain.

I couched myself behind a bush to spy,

What would betide the noble company.

It ’gan to rain, the King and Queen they runUnder a mushroom, fretted overhead,With glow-worms artificially done,Resembling much the canopy of a bedOf cloth of silver: and such glimmering lightIt gave, as stars do in a frosty night.

It ’gan to rain, the King and Queen they run

Under a mushroom, fretted overhead,

With glow-worms artificially done,

Resembling much the canopy of a bed

Of cloth of silver: and such glimmering light

It gave, as stars do in a frosty night.

Old Poem

Heput his acorn helmet on;It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down;The corslet-plate that guarded his breastWas once the wild bee’s golden vest;His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,Was formed of the wings of butterflies;His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,Studs of gold on a ground of green;And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue;He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,And away like a glance of thought he flew,To skim the heavens, and follow farThe fiery trail of the rocket-star.Joseph Rodman Drake

Heput his acorn helmet on;

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down;

The corslet-plate that guarded his breast

Was once the wild bee’s golden vest;

His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,

Was formed of the wings of butterflies;

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,

Studs of gold on a ground of green;

And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,

Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.

Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;

He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue;

He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,

And away like a glance of thought he flew,

To skim the heavens, and follow far

The fiery trail of the rocket-star.

Joseph Rodman Drake

Come,follow, follow me,You Fairy Elves that be,Which circle on the green,Come, follow Mab your Queen.Hand in hand let’s dance around,For this place is Fairy ground.When mortals are at restAnd snoring in their nest,Unheard and unespied,Through keyholes we do glide;Over tables, stools, and shelves,We trip it with our Fairy Elves.And if the house be foulWith platter, dish, or bowl,Upstairs we nimbly creep,And find the maids asleep:There we pinch their arms and thighs;None escapes, nor none espies.But if the house be sweptAnd from uncleanness kept,We praise the household maid,And duly she is paid;For we use before we goTo drop a tester in her shoe.Upon a mushroom’s headOur table-cloth we spread;A grain of rye or wheatIs manchet which we eat;Pearly drops of dew we drinkIn acorn cups filled to the brink.The brains of nightingales,With unctuous fat of snails,Between two cockles stewed,Is meat that’s easily chewed;Tails of worms and marrow of miceDo make a dish that’s wondrous nice.The grasshopper, gnat, and flyServe for our minstrelsy;Grace said, we dance awhile,And so the time beguile:And if the moon doth hide her head,The glow-worm lights us home to bed.On tops of dewy grassSo nimbly do we pass,The young and tender stalkNe’er bends when we do walk;Yet in the morning may be seenWhere we the night before have been.Old Ballad

Come,follow, follow me,You Fairy Elves that be,Which circle on the green,Come, follow Mab your Queen.Hand in hand let’s dance around,For this place is Fairy ground.

Come,follow, follow me,

You Fairy Elves that be,

Which circle on the green,

Come, follow Mab your Queen.

Hand in hand let’s dance around,

For this place is Fairy ground.

When mortals are at restAnd snoring in their nest,Unheard and unespied,Through keyholes we do glide;Over tables, stools, and shelves,We trip it with our Fairy Elves.

When mortals are at rest

And snoring in their nest,

Unheard and unespied,

Through keyholes we do glide;

Over tables, stools, and shelves,

We trip it with our Fairy Elves.

And if the house be foulWith platter, dish, or bowl,Upstairs we nimbly creep,And find the maids asleep:There we pinch their arms and thighs;None escapes, nor none espies.

And if the house be foul

With platter, dish, or bowl,

Upstairs we nimbly creep,

And find the maids asleep:

There we pinch their arms and thighs;

None escapes, nor none espies.

But if the house be sweptAnd from uncleanness kept,We praise the household maid,And duly she is paid;For we use before we goTo drop a tester in her shoe.

But if the house be swept

And from uncleanness kept,

We praise the household maid,

And duly she is paid;

For we use before we go

To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushroom’s headOur table-cloth we spread;A grain of rye or wheatIs manchet which we eat;Pearly drops of dew we drinkIn acorn cups filled to the brink.

Upon a mushroom’s head

Our table-cloth we spread;

A grain of rye or wheat

Is manchet which we eat;

Pearly drops of dew we drink

In acorn cups filled to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,With unctuous fat of snails,Between two cockles stewed,Is meat that’s easily chewed;Tails of worms and marrow of miceDo make a dish that’s wondrous nice.

The brains of nightingales,

With unctuous fat of snails,

Between two cockles stewed,

Is meat that’s easily chewed;

Tails of worms and marrow of mice

Do make a dish that’s wondrous nice.

The grasshopper, gnat, and flyServe for our minstrelsy;Grace said, we dance awhile,And so the time beguile:And if the moon doth hide her head,The glow-worm lights us home to bed.

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly

Serve for our minstrelsy;

Grace said, we dance awhile,

And so the time beguile:

And if the moon doth hide her head,

The glow-worm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewy grassSo nimbly do we pass,The young and tender stalkNe’er bends when we do walk;Yet in the morning may be seenWhere we the night before have been.

On tops of dewy grass

So nimbly do we pass,

The young and tender stalk

Ne’er bends when we do walk;

Yet in the morning may be seen

Where we the night before have been.

Old Ballad

Wherethe bee sucks, there suck I:In a cowslip’s bell I lie;There I couch, when owls do cry:On the bat’s back I do flyAfter summer merrily.Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,Under the blossom that hangs on the bough!Shakespeare

Wherethe bee sucks, there suck I:

In a cowslip’s bell I lie;

There I couch, when owls do cry:

On the bat’s back I do fly

After summer merrily.

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough!

Shakespeare

FromOberon in Fairyland,The King of ghosts and shadows there,Mad Robin, I, at his command,Am sent to view the night-sports here.What revel routIs kept about,In every corner where I go,I will o’ersee, and merry be,And make good sport, with ho! ho! ho!More swift than lightning can I flyAbout this airy welkin soon,And in a minute’s space descryEach thing that’s done below the moon.There’s not a hagOr ghost shall wag,Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;But Robin, I, their feats will spy,And send them home with ho! ho! ho!By wells and rills, in meadows green,We nightly dance our hey-day guise,And to our Fairy King and QueenWe chant our moonlight minstrelsies.When larks ’gin sing,Away we fling,And babes new-born steal as we go,And Elf in bed we leave instead,And wend us laughing, ho! ho! ho!Old Ballad(Condensed)

FromOberon in Fairyland,

The King of ghosts and shadows there,

Mad Robin, I, at his command,

Am sent to view the night-sports here.

What revel rout

Is kept about,

In every corner where I go,

I will o’ersee, and merry be,

And make good sport, with ho! ho! ho!

More swift than lightning can I flyAbout this airy welkin soon,And in a minute’s space descryEach thing that’s done below the moon.There’s not a hagOr ghost shall wag,Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;But Robin, I, their feats will spy,And send them home with ho! ho! ho!

More swift than lightning can I fly

About this airy welkin soon,

And in a minute’s space descry

Each thing that’s done below the moon.

There’s not a hag

Or ghost shall wag,

Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;

But Robin, I, their feats will spy,

And send them home with ho! ho! ho!

By wells and rills, in meadows green,We nightly dance our hey-day guise,And to our Fairy King and QueenWe chant our moonlight minstrelsies.When larks ’gin sing,Away we fling,And babes new-born steal as we go,And Elf in bed we leave instead,And wend us laughing, ho! ho! ho!

By wells and rills, in meadows green,

We nightly dance our hey-day guise,

And to our Fairy King and Queen

We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.

When larks ’gin sing,

Away we fling,

And babes new-born steal as we go,

And Elf in bed we leave instead,

And wend us laughing, ho! ho! ho!

Old Ballad(Condensed)

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