Poems, and fancies written by the Right Honourable, the Lady Margaret Newcastle.

The Pastime, and Recreation of the Queen of Fairies in Fairy-land, the Center of the Earth.

WHere this Queen Mab, and all her Fairy fry, Are dancing on a pleasant mole-bill high; With fine small stram-pipes sweet Musicks pleasure, By which they do keep just time and measure. All hand in hand, a round, a round, They dance upon this Fairy ground. And when the Queen leaves off to dance, She calls for all her Attendants, Her to wait on unto a Bower, Where she doth sit under a flower, To shade her from the Moon-shine bright, Where Gnats do sing for her delight. Some high, some low, some Tenour strain, Making a Consort very plain. The whilst the Bat doth flye about, To keep in order all the rout; And with her wings she strikes them hard, Because no noise there should be heard. She on a dewy leafe doth bathe, And as she sits, the lease doth wave. There, like a new-fallen flake of snow, Doth her white limbes in beauty shew. Her garments faire her maid, put on, Made of the pure light from the Sun; From whence such colours she inshades, In every object she invades. Then to her dinner she goes stroight, Where every one in order wait; And on a Mushroom there is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 A cover fine of Spiders web. And for her stood a Thistle-down, And for her cup an Acorns crown; Wherein strong Nectar there is fill'd,

That from sweet flowers is distill'd. Flyes of all sorts both fat, and good, Partridge, Snipes, Quailes, and Poult, her food. 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Larks, Cocks, or any kinde, Both wilde, and tame, you may there finde. Amelets made of Ants-egs new, Of these high meats she eats but few. Her milk comes from the Dormouse udder, Making fresh Cheese, Creame, and Butter. This milk doth make many a fine knack, When they fresh Ants-egs therein crack. Both Pudding, Custards, and Seed-cake, As her skill'd Cook knows how to make. To sweeten them, the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 doth bring Pure honey, gathered by her sting: But for her guard serves grosser meat, On stall-fed Dormouse they do cat. When din'd, she calls to take the aire, In Coach, which is a Nutshel faire: Lin'd soft it is, and rich within, Made of a glistering Adders skin. And there six Crickets draw her fast, And she a journey takes in haste; Or else two serves to pase a round, And trample on the Fairy ground. To hawke sometimes she takes delight, Which is a Hornet swift for flight; Whose horns do serve for Talons strong, To gripe the Partridge Flye among. But if she will a hunting go, Then she the Lizzard makes the Doe. They are so swift, and fleet in chase, As her slow Coach can never pase. Then on Grashopper doth she ride, Who gallops far in forrest wide. Her Bow is of a willow branch, To shoot the Lizzard on the haunch. Her arrow sharp, much like a blade Of a Rosemary leafe is made.

Then home shee's called by the Cock, Who gives her warning what's a Clock. And when the Moon doth hide her head, Their day is done, so goeth to bed. Meteors do serve, when they are bright, As Torches do, to give her light. Glow-worms for candles are light up, Set on her table, while she sup. And in her chamber they are plac'd, Not fearing how the Tallow wast. But women, that inconstant are by kind, Can never in one place content their mind. For she her Charriot cals, and will away, To upper Earth, impatient is of stay.