We, the Fairies, blith and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonlight mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.
Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen be your apples.
When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time for orchard robbing;
Yet the fruit were scare worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing!
Oberon, descend, we pray Thee,
Lest a swift stick overlay Thee.
Dogs are on the watch, and barking;
Eyes of mortals anti-larking.
Since by Thee comes profanation,
Taste Thee lo: sacrification.
Thou shalt own that in a twinkling
Thou hast got a pretty crinkling.
Now for all this store of apples,
Laud we with the voice of chapels.
Elves, methinks, were ordained soley
To keep orchard robbing holy.
Hence, then, hence, and let's delight us
With the maids whose creams invite us;
Kissing them, with pretty grapples,
All midst junkets, wine, and apples.