Mer. O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agot-stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomi Over men’s noses as they lie asleep. Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out a’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers. Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, Her traces of the smallest spider web, Her collars of the moonshine’s wat’ry beams, Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film, Her waggoner a small
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