AT THE COURT OF FAIRYLAND

I
QUEEN MAB
This is Mab, 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
II
QUEEN MAB’S CHARIOT
Her chariot 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

III
MAB’S ELFIN MAIDS OF HONOUR
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.
Michael Drayton
IV
KING OBERON’S PALACE
This palace 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.
Michael Drayton
V
THE FAIRIES’ UMBRELLA
I spied King 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 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
VI
A FAIRY’S ARMOUR
He put 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

VII
FAIRY REVELS
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 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 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 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 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 mice
Do make a dish that’s wondrous nice.
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 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

VIII
FAIRY SONGS
Where the 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
From Oberon 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 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 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)