On every seam there was a lace
Drawn by the unctuous snail's slow pace,
To which the finest, purest, silver thread
Compared, did look like dull pale lead.
His breeches of the Fleece was wrought,
Which from Colchos Jason brought:
Spun into so fine a yarn
No mortal wight might it discern,
Weaved by Arachne on her loom,
Just before she had her doom.
A rich Mantle he did wear,
Made of tinsel gossamer.
Deflowered over with a few
Diamond stars of morning dew:
Dyed crimson in a maiden's blush,
Lined with humble-bees' lost plush.
His cap was all of ladies' love,
So wondrous light, that it did move
If any humming gnat or fly
Buzzed the air in passing by,
About his neck a wreath of pearl,
Dropped from the eyes of some poor girl,
Pinched, because she had forgot
To leave clean water in the pot."
The next page is occupied by a woodcut, and then (pp. 5, misnumbered 4, and 6) comes the variation on Herrick's "Oberon's Feast":
A Description of his Diet.
"Now they, the Elves, within a trice,
Prepared a feast less great than nice,
Where you may imagine first,
