Oberon’s Feast

Shapcot! to thee the Fairy State I with discretion dedicate: Because thou prizest things that are Curious 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-parched grain of purest wheat, With some small glitt’ring grit, to eat His choice bits with; then in a trice They make a feast less great than nice. But all this while his eye is served, We must not think his ear was sterved; But that there was in place to stir His 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 dew, Brought and besweetened in a blue And pregnant violet; which done, His kitling eyes begin to run Quite through the table, where he spies The horns of papery butterflies, Of which he eats; and tastes a little Of that we call the cuckoo’s spittle; A little fuz-ball pudding stands By, yet not blessèd by his hands, That was too coarse; but then forthwith He ventures boldly on the pith Of sugared rush, and eats the sagge And well-bestrutted bees’ sweet bag; Gladding his palate with some store Of emmet’s eggs; what would he more? But beards of mice, a newt’s stewed thigh, A bloated earwig, and a fly; With the red-capt worm, that ’s shut Within the concave of a nut, Brown as his tooth. A little moth, Late fattened in a piece of cloth; With withered cherries, mandrakes’ ears, Moles’ eyes: to these the slain stag’s tears; The unctuous dew-laps of a snail, The broke-heart of a nightingale O’ercome in music; with a wine Ne’er ravished from the flattering vine, But gently prest from the soft side Of the most sweet and dainty bride, Brought in a dainty daisy, which He fully quaffs up, to bewitch His blood to height; this done, commended Grace by his priest; The feast is ended.