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| FAIRY |
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 Over hill, over dale, |
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| Thorough bush, thorough brier, |
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| Over park, over pale, |
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| Thorough flood, thorough fire, |
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| I do wander everywhere, |
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| Swifter than the moon's sphere; |
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| And I serve the fairy queen, |
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| To dew her orbs upon the green. |
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| The cowslips tall her pensioners be: |
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| In their gold coats spots you see; |
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| Those be rubies, fairy favours, |
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| In those freckles live their savours; |
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| I must go seek some dew-drops here, |
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| And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. |
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| Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone: |
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| Our queen and all her elves come here anon. |
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| PUCK |
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| The king doth keep his revels here to-night; |
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| Take heed theqQueen come not within his sight. |
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| For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, |
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| Because that she, as her attendant, hath |
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| A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king; |
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| She never had so sweet a changeling: |
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| And jealous Oberon would have the child |
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| Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild: |
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| But she perforce withholds the loved boy, |
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| Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy: |
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| And now they never meet in grove or green, |
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| By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, |
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| But they do square; that all their elves for fear |
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| Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. |
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| FAIRY |
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| Either I mistake your shape and making quite, |
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| Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite |
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| Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you he |
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| That frights the maidens of the villagery; |
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| Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern, |
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| And bootless make the breathless housewife churn; |
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| And sometime make the drink to bear no barm; |
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| Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? |
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| Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, |
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| You do their work, and they shall have good luck: |
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| Are not you he? |
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| PUCK |
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| Thou speak'st aright; |
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| I am that merry wanderer of the night. |
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| I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, |
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| When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, |
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| Neighing in likeness of a filly foal; |
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| And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, |
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| In very likeness of a roasted crab; |
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| And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, |
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| And on her withered dewlap pour the ale. |
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| The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, |
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| Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; |
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| Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, |
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| And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough; |
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| And then the whole quire hold their hips and loffe, |
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| And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear |
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| A merrier hour was never wasted there.— |
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| But room, fairy, here comes Oberon. |
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| TITANIA |
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| Then I must be thy lady; but I know |
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| When thou hast stol'n away from fairy-land, |
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| And in the shape of Corin sat all day, |
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| Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love |
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| To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, |
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| Come from the farthest steep of India, |
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| But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, |
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| Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love, |
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| To Theseus must be wedded; and you come |
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| To give their bed joy and prosperity. |
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| TITANIA |
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| These are the forgeries of jealousy: |
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| And never, since the middle summer's spring, |
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| Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, |
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| By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, |
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| Or on the beached margent of the sea, |
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| To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, |
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| But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. |
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| Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, |
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| As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea |
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| Contagious fogs; which, falling in the land, |
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| Hath every pelting river made so proud |
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| That they have overborne their continents: |
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| The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, |
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| The ploughman lost his sweat; and the green corn |
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| Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard: |
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| The fold stands empty in the drowned field, |
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| And crows are fatted with the murrion flock; |
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| The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud; |
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| And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, |
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| For lack of tread, are undistinguishable: |
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| The human mortals want their winter here; |
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| No night is now with hymn or carol blest:— |
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| Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, |
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| Pale in her anger, washes all the air, |
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| That rheumatic diseases do abound: |
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| And thorough this distemperature we see |
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| The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts |
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| Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; |
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| And on old Hyem's chin and icy crown |
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| An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds |
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| Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer, |
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| The childing autumn, angry winter, change |
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| Their wonted liveries; and the maz'd world, |
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| By their increase, now knows not which is which: |
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| And this same progeny of evils comes |
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| From our debate, from our dissension: |
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| We are their parents and original. |
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| TITANIA |
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| Set your heart at rest; |
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| The fairy-land buys not the child of me. |
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| His mother was a vot'ress of my order: |
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| And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, |
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| Full often hath she gossip'd by my side; |
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| And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, |
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| Marking the embarked traders on the flood; |
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| When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive, |
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| And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind; |
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| Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait |
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| Following,—her womb then rich with my young squire,— |
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| Would imitate; and sail upon the land, |
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| To fetch me trifles, and return again, |
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| As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. |
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| But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; |
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| And for her sake do I rear up her boy: |
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| And for her sake I will not part with him. |
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| OBERON |
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| Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove |
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| Till I torment thee for this injury.— |
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| My gentle Puck, come hither: thou remember'st |
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| Since once I sat upon a promontory, |
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| And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, |
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| Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, |
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| That the rude sea grew civil at her song, |
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| And certain stars shot madly from their spheres |
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| To hear the sea-maid's music. |
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| OBERON |
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| That very time I saw,—but thou couldst not,— |
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| Flying between the cold moon and the earth, |
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| Cupid, all arm'd: a certain aim he took |
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| At a fair vestal, throned by the west; |
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| And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, |
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| As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts; |
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| But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft |
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| Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon; |
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| And the imperial votaress passed on, |
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| In maiden meditation, fancy-free. |
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| Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: |
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| It fell upon a little western flower,— |
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| Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,— |
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| And maidens call it love-in-idleness. |
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| Fetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once: |
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| The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid |
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| Will make or man or woman madly dote |
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| Upon the next live creature that it sees. |
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| Fetch me this herb: and be thou here again |
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| Ere the leviathan can swim a league. |
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| OBERON |
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| Having once this juice, |
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| I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, |
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| And drop the liquor of it in her eyes: |
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| The next thing then she waking looks upon,— |
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| Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, |
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| On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,— |
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| She shall pursue it with the soul of love. |
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| And ere I take this charm from off her sight,— |
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| As I can take it with another herb, |
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| I'll make her render up her page to me. |
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| But who comes here? I am invisible; |
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| And I will overhear their conference. |
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| HELENA |
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| And even for that do I love you the more. |
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| I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, |
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| The more you beat me, I will fawn on you: |
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| Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, |
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| Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, |
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| Unworthy as I am, to follow you. |
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| What worser place can I beg in your love, |
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| And yet a place of high respect with me,— |
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| Than to be used as you use your dog? |
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| HELENA |
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| Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, |
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| You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! |
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| Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: |
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| We cannot fight for love as men may do: |
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| We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. |
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| I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, |
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| To die upon the hand I love so well. |
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| OBERON |
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| I pray thee give it me. |
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| I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, |
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| Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows; |
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| Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, |
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| With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine: |
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| There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, |
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| Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight; |
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| And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, |
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| Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in: |
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| And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, |
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| And make her full of hateful fantasies. |
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| Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove: |
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| A sweet Athenian lady is in love |
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| With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes; |
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| But do it when the next thing he espies |
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| May be the lady: thou shalt know the man |
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| By the Athenian garments he hath on. |
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| Effect it with some care, that he may prove |
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| More fond on her than she upon her love: |
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| And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. |
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