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 Where we'll present our Oberon, led Half-tipsy to the fairy bed, Where Mab he finds, who there doth lie, Not without mickle majesty. Which done, and thence remov'd the light, We'll wish both them and thee good-night.

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 lightning in his eyes; and flings Among the elves, if moved, the stings Of peltish wasps; well know his guard— Kings, though they're hated, will be fear'd. Wine lead[s] 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