FATA: Spirit, ha! tell me 'where are you going?
Elf: On mountains and valleys, among the thorns and leaves, on parks and fences, to flames, wave, vague, every hour, more that the sphere of the moon, vol slight, to serve the queen, with the dew, from the grass, the rings of his footsteps sprayed.
Scortan she sat in golden appendage as the flowers, the jewels are their spots, freckles are fragrant, expensive gifts of the fairies.
The drops of dew I want to search for the headset to the ears of dewy.
FATA: Goodbye, raucous spirit, I go away:
Take elves are my queen.
Oberon anger is almost crazy, because you, as a page has a beautiful boy who was kidnapped in an Indian prince, and his most favorite sweet. She holds a force ii youth, the garlanded with flowers, and every pleasure has placed in him that makes her heart happy.
And now no longer in the woods or on the lawn, or no longer clear at drinking fountains, light or the brightest of stars, this incontransi 'senz'aspre two shores the waves their elves, all frightened, domes of acorns nimble go to curl up, and there are hidden.
FATA: Or I travedo you in shape and appearance, or you are the crafty and malicious imp called Bertino Brother Lustig.
's not you who perhaps cause for concern among the daughters of the village, sometimes toiling in the grinding machine, the milk by the housewife span of breath stirring the churn is in vain, nor let the beer ferment, and at night the pilgrims misleading, for laugh then those petty?
If you call a "Bertin, dear elf," his work for yourself you put in Paro, and shall always be lucky.
Tell me are you him?
Elf: You have guessed correctly that I am a night owl that joker.
I the fool for my king Oberon, and he laughs, if well-fed stallions bean deception, imitating the whinny of the mare. By m'acquatto mugs, apple cooked in a manner, at times, and shot in the mouth to the nurse, when he drinks, and she has to spill beer on the withered dewlap. Very terrible story goes, wise aunt takes me sometimes to a perch: Below, behold, the escapes, she falls suddenly, and "rascal" shrieks between coughing; tengonsi sides, breaking into big laughter, then, and gongolan onlookers, and sneezed, and giuran all those who have never spent more beautiful hour.
Hey, broad: it comes my prince, fairy!
FATA: And here is my sovereign well.
Or heaven forbid he go away!
W. Shakespeare's "Dream of a Midsummer Night"
0 comments:
Post a Comment