Now, whilft he gaz'd, a gallant, dreft
In flaunting robes above the rest
With awful accent cry'd,

What mortal, of a wretched mind,
Whofe fighs infect the balmy wind,
Has here prefum'd to hide ?

At this the fwain, whofe vent'rous foul
No fears of magic art controul,
Advanc'd in open fight;

"Nor have I caufe of dreed, he said,
Who view, by no prefumption led,
Your revels of the night.

'Twas grief, for fcorn of faithful love,
Which made my fteps unweeting rove
Amid the nightly dew."

'Tis well, the gallant cries again,
We fairies never injure men
Who dare to tell us true.

Exalt thy love-dejected heart;

Be mine the task, or ere we part,

To make thee grief resign ;

Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce;
Whilft I with Mab, my partner, daunce,
Be little Mable thine.

He spoke, and, all a fudden, there
Light mufic floats in wanton air;

The Monarch leads the Queen:
The reft their fairie partners found:
And Mable trimly tript the ground,

With Edwin of the green.

The dauncing paft, the board was laid,
And fiker fuch a feaft was made

As heart and lip defire,
Withouten hands the dishes fly,
The glaffes with a wish come nigh,
And with a wish retire.

But now, to please the fairie king,
Full ev'ry deal they laugh and fing,
And antic feats devife;

Some wind and tumble like an ape,
And other-fome tranfmute their shape
In Edwin's wond'ring eyes.

Till one, at last, that Robin hight,
Renown'd for pinching maids by night,
Has hent him up aloof;

And full against the beam he flung,.
Where, by the back, the youth he hung,
To fprawl unneath the roof,

From thence, "Reverse my charm, he crys,
And let it fairly now fuffice

The gambol has been shown."
But Oberon anfwers with a smile,
Content thee, Edwin, for a while,
The vantage is thine own.
Here ended all the phantom play;
They fmelt the fresh approach of day,
And heard a cock to crow;

The whirling wind that bore the crowd,
Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud,

To warn them all to go.

Then,

Then, fcreaming all at once, they fly,
And, all at once, the tapers dye;

Poor Edwin falls to floor;
Forlorn his ftate, and dark the place,
Was never wight in fuch a cafe

Thro' all the land before.

But, foon as dan Apollo rofe,
Full jolly creature home he goes,
He feels his back the lefs;
His honeft tongue and steady mind
Had rid him of the lump behind,

Which made him want fuccefs.

With lufty livelyhed he talks,
He feems a dauncing as he walks;
His story foon took wind;

And beauteous Edith fees the youth
Endow'd with courage, fenfe, and truth,
Without a bunch behind.

The ftory told, Sir Topaz mov'd,
The youth of Edith erst approv'd,
To fee the revel scene:

At clofe of eve he leaves his home,
And wends to find the ruin'd dome
All on the gloomy plain.

As there he bides, it fo befell,
The wind came ruftling down a dell,
A fhaking feiz'd the wall:

Up fprung the tapers as before,
The fairies bragly foot the floor,

And mufic fills the hall.

But, certes, forely funk with woe
Sir Topaz fees the Elphin show,
His fpirits in him dy:
When Oberon crys, "A man is near;
A mortal paffion, cleeped fear,
Hangs flagging in the sky."
With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth !
In accents falt'ring, ay for ruth,
Intreats them pity graunt,

For als he been a mister wight
Betray'd by wand'ring in the night
To tread the circled haunt;
"Ah Lofell vile, at once they roar ;
And little fkill'd of fairie lore,

Thy cause to come we know:
Now has thy keftrell courage fell;
And fairies, fince a lye you tell,
Are free to work thee woe."

Then Will, who bears the wifpy fire
To trail the fwains among the mire,
The captive upward flung:

There, like a tortoise in a shop,
He dangled from the chamber-top,
Where, whilom, Edwin hung.

The revel now proceeds apace,
Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,

They fit, they drink, and eat;

The time with frolic mirth beguile,
And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while,

Till all the rout retreat,

By

By this the ftars began to wink,
They fhriek, they fly, the tapers fink,
And down ydrops the knight :
For never spell by fairie laid

With strong enchantment, bound a glade,
Beyond the length of night.
Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
Till up the welkin rofe the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er:

But wot ye well his harder lot;
His feely back the bunch had got
Which Edwin loft afore.

This tale a Sybil-nure ared;

She foftly ftroak'd my youngling head;
And, when the tale was done,
"Thus fome are born, my son, she cries,
With bafe impediments, to rife,

And fome are born with none.

But virtue can itself advance

To what the fav'rite fools of chance
By Fortune feem'd defign'd;

Virtue can gain the odds of fate,
And from itself shake off the weight
Upon th' unworthy mind."