“How now, spirit! whither wander you?FAIRY Over hill, over dale,Through bush, through brier,Over park, over pale,Through flood, through fire,I do wander everywhere,Swifter than the moon's sphere;And I serve the fairy queen,To dew her orbs upon the green.The cowslips tall her pensioners be:In their gold coats spots you see;Those be rubies, fairy favours,In those freckles live their savours:I must go seek some dewdrops hereAnd hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:Our queen and all our elves come here anon.”

“Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.”

“O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. . . .She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comesIn shape no bigger than an agate stoneOn the forefinger of an alderman,Drawn with a team of little atomiAthwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.”

“The iron tongue of Midnight hathtold twelve lovers, to bed; 'tisalmost fairy time. I fear weshall outstep the coming mornas much as we this night over-watch'd.”

“He jests at scars that never felt a wound.But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,Who is already sick and pale with grief,That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.Be not her maid since she is envious.Her vestal livery is but sick and green,And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off!It is my lady. Oh, it is my love.Oh, that she knew she were!She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?Her eye discourses. I will answer it.—I am too bold. 'Tis not to me she speaks.Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,Having some business, do entreat her eyesTo twinkle in their spheres till they return.What if her eyes were there, they in her head?The brightness of her cheek would shame those starsAs daylight doth a lamp. Her eye in heavenWould through the airy region stream so brightThat birds would sing and think it were not night.See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.Oh, that I were a glove upon that handThat I might touch that cheek!”

“Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,You do their work, and they shall have good luck:Are not you he?''Thou speak'st aright;I am that merry wanderer of the night.”

“Put on what weary negligence you please,You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question:If he dislike it, let him to our sister,Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man,That still would manage those authoritiesThat he hath given away! Now, by my life,Old fools are babes again; and must be usedWith cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused.Remember what I tell you.”