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Nay, blame not him;

He lost his way in the wild wood, and Chance

Led him to rest too near this haunted ground;

And must he suffer for the trick of Fate?

No—let us, kindly spirits, give him cause

To-morrow morn, to bless that wanton Fate.

Oberon! this is the first prayer of thy Queen,

Of thy so lately reconciled love;

Thou wilt not—canst not—sternly say her nay!

Be it then, as thou wishest.—But, what gifts

Would'st thou bestow on him?

Not riches—no,

The base desire of little minds.—Go, Fays,

Fetch me Forget-me-nots and Violets,

That so I may endow him worthily.—

But pluck no flower that has not first to-night