Poetry Archives

  Come, follow, follow me—
  You, fairy elves that be,
  Which circle on the green—
  Come, follow Mab, your queen!
Hand in hand let’s dance around,
For this place is fairy ground.

  When mortals are at rest,
  And snoring in their nest,
  Unheard and unespied,
  Through keyholes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.

  And if the house be foul
  With platter, dish, or bowl,
  Upstairs we nimbly creep,
  And find the sluts asleep;
There we pinch their arms and thighs—
None escapes, nor none espies.

  But if the house be swept,
  And from uncleanness kept,
  We praise the household maid,
  And duly she is paid;
For we use, before we go,
To drop a tester in her shoe.

  Upon a mushroom’s head
  Our tablecloth we spread;
  A grain of rye or wheat
  Is manchet, which we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink,
In acorn cups, fil’d to the brink.

  The brains of nightingales,
  With unctuous fat of snails,
  Between two cockles stew’d,
  Is meat that’s easily chew’d;
Tails of worms, and marrow of mice,
Do make a dish that’s wondrous nice.

  The grasshopper, gnat, and fly,
  Serve us for our minstrelsy;
  Grace said, we dance a while,
  And so the time beguile;
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lights us home to bed.

  On tops of dewy grass
  So nimbly do we pass,
  The young and tender stalk
  Ne’er bends when we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.