Queen Mab And Her Fats Poem by Charlotte Dacre

Transforming themselves into Flies.
LITTLE queen of elves and fays,
Fancy's wand thy charm betrays,
To her musing eye reveal'd,
Tho' in form of fly conceal'd.

The little fairies in thy train
Punctually their parts sustain,
Now they linger in the rear,
A secret scarcely breath'd to hear.

Buzzing nigh the mourning lover,
Soon his hidden grief discover;
Then by dreams inform the fair
Of his long conceal'd despair.

From the love-sick maiden's lip,
Accents scarcely form'd they sip;
From her melting tell-tale eyes
Snatch the wishes as they rise.

Skimming now the studied hays
In the sun's declining rays,
Joining now in wavy ring
On the zephyr's balmy wing.

Little faith would mortals give,
Art in form of fly could live,
Or their figur'd mazy dance
Boast consistence but by chance.

Laden now with precious fare,
To their queen they swift repair;
And, from vapours of the earth,
Bid their slaves, the dreams, come forth.

Now the lover clasps his maid,
Wishes by a vision paid;
Now the maiden yields her charms
To the lover's anxious arms:

Now the grave gives up its prey,
Friends arise, but swift away;
Dreams disperse, delusions fly,
And shew of sleep the mockery.

Thus, thou little wily queen,
Mortal secrets dost thou glean,
To serve thee for thy gay disport,
In thy small and viewless court.