QUEEN MAB'S VISIT TO PIGWIGGEN

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From NYMPHIDIA: THE COURT OF FAIRY

MICHAEL DRAYTON

[ER chariot ready straight is made
Each thing therein is fitting laid,
That she by nothing might be staid,
For nought 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 butterfly;

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 in 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 begone,

As she had been diswitted.

Hop and Mop and Drab, so clear,
Pip and Trip and Skip that were
To Mab, their sovereign, dear,

Her special maids of honour;
Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin,
Tick and Quick and Jill and Fin,
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 or 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.

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SWEET SUFFOLK OWL

THOMAS VAUTOR

WEET Suffolk owl, so trimly dight With feathers, like a lady bright, Thou sing'st alone, sitting by night, Te whit, te whoo!

Thy note that forth so freely rolls,
With shrill command the mouse controls,

And sings a dirge for dying souls,

Te whit, te whoo!

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SPRING

THOMAS NASH

PRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;

Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pee-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and May make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day;
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pee-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pee-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! the sweet Spring!

THE NOBLE NATURE

BEN JONSON

T is not growing like a tree

In bulk, doth make man better be;

Or standing long an oak three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere;
A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night

It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauty see; And in short measures life may perfect be.

A WISH

From THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED

BEN JONSON

THE fairy beam upon you,

The stars to glisten on you;
A moon of light

In the noon of night,

Till the fire drake hath o'ergone you!
The wheel of fortune guide you,

The boy with the bow beside you

Run aye in the way,

Till the bird of day

And the luckier lot betide you!