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NYMPHIDIA.
By griesly Pluto he doth swear,He rent his clothes, and tore his hair,And as he runneth here and there, An acron-cup he getteth;Which soon he taketh by the stalk,About his head he lets it walk,Nor doth he any creature baulk, But lays on all he meeteth.
The Tuscan poet doth advanceThe frantic Paladine of France,And those more ancient do inhance Alcides in his fury;And others Ajax Telamon:But to this time there hath been noneSo bedlam as our Oberon, Of which I dare assure ye.
And first encount'ring with a wasp,He in his arms the fly doth clasp,As tho' his breath he forth would grasp, Him for Pigwiggen taking:Where is my wife, thou rogue? (quoth he),Pigwiggen, she is come to thee;Restore her, or thou dy'st by me. Whereat the poor wasp quaking,
