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Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,

To take from thence all error with his might,

And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.

When they next wake, all this derision

Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision,

And back to Athens shall the lovers wend

With league whose date till death shall never end.

Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,

I’ll to my queen and beg her Indian boy;

And then I will her charmed eye release

From monster’s view, and all things shall be peace.

Puck.

My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,

For Night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,

And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger,

At whose approach, ghosts, wand’ring here and there,

Troop home to churchyards. Damned spirits all,

That in crossways and floods have burial,

Already to their wormy beds are gone.

For fear lest day should look their shames upon,

They willfully themselves exile from light,

And must for aye consort with black-brow’d Night.

Obe.

But we are spirits of another sort.

I with the Morning’s love have oft made sport,