Oberon’s Palace
Full as a bee with thyme, and red
As cherry harvest, now high fed
For lust and action! on he’ll go
To lie with Mab, though all say no.
Lust has no ears; he’s sharp as thorn,
And fretful, carries hay in ’s horn,
And light’ning in his eyes; and flings
Among the elves, if mov’d, the stings
Of pettish wasps; well know his guard,
Kings, though they’re hated, will be feared.
Wine led him on. Thus to a grove,
Sometimes devoted unto love,
Tinselled with twilight, he and they
Led by the shine of snails, a way
Beat with their num’rous feet, which by
Many a neat perplexity,
Many a turn, and many a cross-
Track, they redeem a bank of moss
Spongy and swelling, and far more
Soft then the finest Lemster ore:
Mildly disparkling, like those fires
Which break from the enjewelled tyres
Of curious brides; or like those mites
Of candied dew in moony nights.
Upon this convex, all the flowers
Nature begets by th’ sun and showers,
Are to a wild digestion brought,
As if Love’s sampler here was wrought;
Or Citherea’s ceston, which
All with temptation doth bewitch.
Sweet airs move here, and more divine
Made by the breath of great-eyed kine,
Who, as they low, empearl with milk
The fern-leav’d grass, or moss like silk.
The breath of monkeys met to mix
With musk-flies, are th’ aromatics
Which cense this arch; and here and there,
And farther off, and everywhere
Throughout that brave mosaic yard,
Those picks or diamonds in the card,
With pips of hearts, of club and spade,
Are here most neatly interlaid.
Many a counter, many a die,
Half rotten and without an eye,
Lies hereabouts; and for to pave
The excellency of this cave,
Squirrels’ and children’s teeth late shed,
Are neatly here enchequerèd,
With brownest toadstones, and the gum
That shines upon the bluer plum.
The nails fall’n off by whit-flows: Art’s
Wise hand enchasing here those warts
Which we to others (from ourselves)
Sell, and brought hither by the elves.
The tempting mole, stol’n from the neck
Of the shy virgin, seems to deck
The holy entrance; where within,
The room is hung with the blue skin
Of shifted snake; enfriezed throughout
With eyes of peacocks’ trains, and trout-
Flies’ curious wings; and these among
Those silver-pence, that cut the tongue
Of the red infant, neatly hung.
The glow-worm’s eyes, the shining scales
Of silv’ry fish, wheat-straws, the snail’s
Soft candle-light, the kitling’s eyne,
Corrupted wood, serve here for shine.
No glaring light of bold-faced day,
Or other over-radiant ray,
Ransacks this room; but what weak beams
Can make reflected from these gems,
And multiply; such is the light,
But ever doubtful, day or night.
By this quaint taper-light, he winds
His errors up; and now he finds
His moon-tanned Mab, as somewhat sick,
And, love knows, tender as a chick.
Upon six plump dandélions, high-
Reared, lies her elvish majesty,
Whose woolly bubbles seemed to drown
Her Mabship in obedient down;
For either sheet was spread the caul
That doth the infant’s face enthral,
When it is born, by some enstyled
The lucky omen of the child;
And next to these, two blankets o’er-
Cast of the finest gossamer;
And then a rug of carded wool,
Which, sponge-like, drinking in the dull
Light of the moon, seemed to comply,
Cloud-like, the dainty deity.
Thus soft she lies; and overhead
A spinner’s circle is bespread
With cobweb curtains, from the roof
So neatly sunk, as that no proof
Of any tackling can declare
What gives it hanging in the air.
The fringe about this, are those threads
Broke at the loss of maidenheads;
And all behung with these pure pearls
Dropt from the eyes of ravished girls
Or writhing brides, when panting they
Give unto love the straighter way.
In music now he has the cries
Of fainèd-lost virginities;
The which the elves make to excite
A more unconquered appetite.
The king’s undressed; and now upon
The gnat’s watchword the elves are gone.
And now the bed, and Mab possessed
Of this great-little kingly quest,
We’ll nobly think what’s to be done,
He’ll do no doubt. This flax is spun.
Robert Herrick.