Tarry, rash wanton: am not I thy lord?
Then I must be thy lady: but I know
When thou hast stolen away from fairy land,
And in the shape of Corin
sat all day,
Playing on pipes of corn and versing love
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,
the farthest Steppe of India?
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
Your buskin'd mistress and your
To Theseus must be wedded, and you come
To give their bed joy and prosperity.
How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,
Knowing I know thy love to
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night
From Perigenia, whom he ravished?
make him with fair AEgle break his faith,
With Ariadne and Antiopa?
These are the forgeries of jealousy:
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, in dale,
forest or mead,
By paved fountain or by rushy brook,
Or in the beached margent of the sea,
To dance our
ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
Therefore the winds, piping
to us in vain,
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
Contagious fogs; which falling in the land
every pelting river made so proud
That they have overborne their continents:
The ox hath therefore stretch'd
his yoke in vain,
The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a
The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;
men's morris is fill'd up with mud,
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green
For lack of tread are undistinguishable:
human mortals want their winter here;
No night is now with hymn or carol blest:
Therefore the moon,
the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound:
thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Far in the fresh lap of the
And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in
mockery, set: the spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries,
and the mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is which:
And this same progeny of evils
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.
Do you amend it then; it lies in you:
Why should Titania cross her Oberon?
I do but beg a little changeling
To be my henchman.
Set your heart at rest:
The fairy land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a votaress of my order:
in the spiced Indian air, by night,
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side,
And sat with me on Neptune's
Marking the embarked traders on the flood,
When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive
grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait
Following, her womb
then rich with my young squire,
Would imitate, and sail upon the land,
To fetch me trifles, and return again,
from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;
And for her sake do I
rear up her boy,
And for her sake I will not part with him.
How long within this wood intend you stay?