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so yeah, this is what I'm memorizing for English! Just thought I'd post it^_^
O, I see Queen Mab hath been with you!
She is the faeries midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than agate stone
On the forfinger of an alderman
Drawn by a team of little atomies
Athwarts mens noses as they sleep
Her wagon spokes, made of long spinners legs
Her covers of the wings of grasshoppers
Her traces of the smallest spiders' web
Her collars of moonshines wat'ry beams
Her whip, of crickets bone, the lash, of film
her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat
Not half so big as a small round worm
pricked from the finger of a lazy maid
Her chariot, an empty hazelnut
made by a joiner squirrel or grub
time out o' mind the faeries coachmakers
and in this state she rides night by night
through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love
O'er courtiers' knees, then dream on curtsies 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,
Because their breaths with smeetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtiers nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit,
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldiers neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spainesh blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And thus being frighted, swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plaits the manes of horses in the night
And bakes elflock in foul sluttish hairs,
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-
Peace, Peace, Mercutio, Peace!
Thou talkst of nothing.
True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as think of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the North
And, being angered, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping South.
 Bewitchedh · Tue Jan 24, 2006 @ 02:17am · 0 Comments |
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