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A mortal?

Who could be so madly rash?

Give me command, and I will punish him—

I'll fetch the Ignis-fatuus from the marsh,

And sting him with its blue unholy flame.

I'll search the wood, and sharpest thistles stick

Under his clothes, to vex his flesh profane:

I'll make his bold cheek tingle red with shame,

For daring on our mystic rites to gaze.

Stay!——look! oh look!—it is a lovely Boy;

How peacefully he sleeps, while on his face

The moonbeams play—sure some enchanting dream,

All full of sunshine, holds him captive now,

For see, he smiles—how softly! Oberon,

It was but yesternight, we joyful held