But listen, and I shall you tell
  A chance in Fairy that befell,
  Which certainly may please some well
      In love and arms delighting,
  Of Oberon that jealous grew
  Of one of his own Fairy crew,
  Too well, he feared, his Queen that knew
      His love but ill requiting.

  Pigwiggen[4] was this Fairy Knight,
  One wondrous gracious in the sight
  Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night
      He amorously observed;
  Which made King Oberon suspect
  His service took too good effect,
  His sauciness and often checkt,
      And could have wished him starved[5].

  Pigwiggen gladly would commend
  Some token to Queen Mab to send,
  If sea or land him aught could lend
      Were worthy of her wearing;
  At length this lover doth devise
  A bracelet made of emmets’ eyes,
  A thing he thought that she would prize,
      No whit her state impairing.

  And to the Queen a letter writes,
  Which he most curiously indites,
  Conjuring her by all the rites
      Of love, she would be pleased
  To meet him, her true servant, where
  They might, without suspect or fear,
  Themselves to one another clear
      And have their poor hearts eased.

  “At midnight the appointed hour,
  And for the Queen a fitting bower,”
  Quoth he, “is that fair cowslip flower
      On Hipcut hill that bloweth;
  In all your train there’s not a fay
  That ever went to gather may
  But she hath made it, in her way;
      The tallest there that groweth.”

  When by Tom Thumb, a Fairy Page,
  He sent it, and doth him engage
  By promise of a mighty wage
      It secretly to carry;
  Which done, the Queen her maids doth call,
  And bids them to be ready all: 
  She would go see her summer hall,
      She could no longer tarry.

  Her chariot ready straight is made,
  Each thing therein is fitting laid,
  That she by nothing might be stayed,
      For naught must be her letting;
  Four nimble gnats the horses were,
  Their harnesses of gossamere,
  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 abode 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.