Oberon's Feast

Shapcot! to thee the fairy stateI, with discretion, dedicate.Because thou prizest things that areCurious and unfamiliar.Take first the feast; these dishes gone,We'll see the Fairy Court anon.A little mushroom table spread,After short prayers, they set on bread;A moon-parch'd grain of purest wheat,With some small glittering grit to eat

His choice bits with; then in a triceThey make a feast less great than nice.But all this while his eye is serv'd,We must not think his ear was sterv'd;But that there was in place to stirHis spleen, the chirring grasshopper,The merry cricket, puling fly,The piping gnat for minstrelsy.And now we must imagine first,The elves present, to quench his thirst,A pure seed-pearl of infant dewBrought and besweetened in a blueAnd pregnant violet, which done,His kitling eyes begin to runQuite through the table, where he spiesThe horns of papery butterflies:Of which he eats, and tastes a littleOf that we call the cuckoo's spittle.A little fuzz-ball pudding standsBy, yet not blessed by his hands;That was too coarse: but then forthwithHe ventures boldly on the pithOf sugar'd rush, and eats the saggAnd well-bestrutted bee's sweet bag:Gladding his palate with some storeOf emmets' eggs; what would he more?But beards of mice, a newt's stewed thigh,A bloated earwig and a fly;

With the red-capp'd worm that's shutWithin the concave of a nut,Brown as his tooth. A little mothLate fatten'd in a piece of cloth:With withered cherries, mandrakes' ears,Moles' eyes; to these the slain stag's tearsThe unctuous dewlaps of a snail,The broke-heart of a nightingaleO'ercome in music; with a wineNe'er ravish'd from the flattering vine,But gently press'd from the soft sideOf the most sweet and dainty bride,Brought in a dainty daisy, whichHe fully quaffs up to bewitchHis blood to height; this done, commendedGrace by his priest; the feast is ended.