Moth. And I.

Must. And I. Where shall we go?

Queen. Be kind and courteous to this Gentleman;
Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricots and dewberries;
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
The honey-bags steal from the humble bees,
And for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs,
And light them at the fiery glow-worms eyes,
To have my love to-bed, and to arise:
Nod to him, Elves, and do him courtesies.

Pease. Hail, mortal, hail!

Cob. Hail!

Moth. Hail!

Queen. Come, wait upon him, lead him to my bow'r.
The moon, methinks, looks with a watry eye,
And when she weeps, weep ev'ry little flower,
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. [Exeunt.