MER:
O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone(60)
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners’ legs,
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;(65)
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web;
Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm(70)
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night(75)
Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers’ knees, that dream on court'sies straight;
O'er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,(80)
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as a’ lies asleep,(85)
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon(90)
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,(95)
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is she—(100)
MER:
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little skeletons
From side to side of men's noses as they lie asleep.
Her wagon wheel spokes made of long spiders' legs;
The cover is made of the wings of grasshoppers;
The ropes are made of the smallest spider's web;
The collars are made of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip is made of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagon driver is a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Taken from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel nut,
Made by the carpenter squirrel or old grub,
From time immemorial, the fairies' are the coach makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
Over courtiers' knees, and they dream of making courtesies;
Over lawyers' fingers, who right away dream of their fees;
Over ladies' lips, who right away dream of kisses,
Which the angry Mab often leaves with blisters and plagues,
Because their breaths are tainted with candies;
Sometime she gallops over a courtier's nose,
And then he dreams of detecting a new petition;
And sometime comes she with tail of a pig that paid a church debt,
Tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep,
Then he dreams of another favor he can collect.
Sometime she drives over a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of infractions , sneak attacks, Spanish swords,
Of safety five fathoms deep in the sea; and then soon
He hears drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frightened, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That braids the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes tangled messes of hair into foul dirty hairs,
Which, once untangled, signals the beginning of much misfortune.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to give birth,
Making them women of good “carriage”;
This is she,