She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes in shape no bigger than an agate stone on the forefinger of an alderman, Drawm with a team of little atomi, Over men's noses as they lie asleep. Her wagon 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 wagoner a small gray-coated gnat, not half so big as a round little worm pricked from the lazy finger of a maid. Her chariot is an empty hazelnut, made by the joiner sqirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; on courtiers' knees, that dream on cur'sies straight; O'er lawyer's fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, and then he dreams of smelling out a suit. And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep; Then he dreams of another benefice. Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, and then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, of healths five fathom deep, and then anon drums in his ear, at which he stars and wakes and, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two and sleeps again. This is that very Mab that plats the manes of horses in the night and bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, which once untangled much misfortune bodes. This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, that presses them and learns them first to bear, making them women of good cairrage. This is she-

When you eat dirt for the first time and leave your family to build a shack in the woods