Part 2 — CXXXII

O then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the fore-finger of an alderman; Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: Her wagon spokes made of long spinner's legs: The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars of the moonshine's watery beams; Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash, of film; Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm, Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazel nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night, Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; On courtiers' knees that dream on court'sies straight; O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream.