- Ah, Shakespeare
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azazel2040
- March 23rd, 2005
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 by a team of little atomies over men's noses as they lie asleep.
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners legs, the cover of the wings of grasshoppers. Her traces of the smallest spider web, the wip of crickets bone; the lash of film.
Her wagoner is a small grey coated gnat, not half so big as a round little worm pricked from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot, 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, through lover's brains and then they dream of love, o'er courtier's knees who dream on curtsies straight, and o'er lawyers fingers who straight dream on fees,
or o'er ladies lips, who straight on kisses dream, which oft the angry Mab with blisters plague, because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a courtiers nose, and then dreams he of smelling out a suit.
And then comes she with a tithe-pigs tail, tickling a parson's nose as he lie asleep, then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a soldiers neck, and dreams he of cutting foreign throats, of breaches, ambuscadoes, spanish blades, of health five fathom deep; and then anon drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, and being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two and sleeps again. This is the Mab that platts the manes of horses in the night, and bakes the elflocks and fowl sluttish hairs, which once untangled much misfortune boads. This is the hag, that when maids lie on there backs, and presses them and learns them first to bear, making them women of good carriage. This is she!