NYMPHIDIA.
98
Cries, Oberon, great Fairy king,Content thee, I am no such thing;I am a wasp, behold my sting! At which the fairy started.When soon away the wasp doth go,Poor wretch was never frighted so,He thought his wings were much too slow, O'erjoy'd they so were parted.
He next upon a glow-worm light,(You must suppose it now was night)Which, for her hinder part was bright, He took to be a devil;And furiously doth her assailFor carrying fire in her tail;He thrash'd her rough coat with his flail, The mad king fear'd no evil.
Oh! (quoth the glow-worm) hold thy hand,Thou puissant king of Fairy-land,Thy mighty strokes who may withstand? Hold, or of life despair I.Together then herself doth roll,And tumbling down into a hole,She seem'd as black as any coal, Which vext away the fairy.
