A/N: Don't worry, Ghilanna is still alive! After weeks of fighting the dreadful disease of writer's block, I have returned to write my third chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own this play, these songs, and all that jazz. Though I wish I did!
Chapter 3
'Over park, Over pale..'
By the time Moth and I reached the spring, we were incredibly tired out. And we hadn't even filled our buckets yet. Trudging through forestlands in a gossamer gown does that to one. If you laugh at me, I suggest you try it sometime. That would shut your mouth as quick as a Flytrap of Venus!
The silver chariot of Selene was rising as we dipped the buckets in the water. The spring was deliciously cool on our feet as we rested. Moth and I simply stood there, enjoying the beautiful night. We had not a care in the world at that moment, and we were grateful for the interlude. The Fairy Palace had been in turmoil from the awful rows of Oberon and Titania, and we were more than thankful to get away from the screeching.
Suddenly, I felt a snatch at my basket-yoke. Then another. Then I felt one so strong that the entire thing slid off my shoulder and landed in the spring. I looked up with a snarl of annoyance.
Only to find that my assailant was the one and only Puck.
He smiled mischievously at me. "How now, spirit? Whither wander you?"
I tried to wrestle back my yoke and buckets from him, which I found was of little or no avail. He hung on like a leech, and we each fell in the spring a couple times while I told him of my most recent activities;
"Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dewdrops here
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:
Our queen and all our elves come here anon."
He suddenly let go of my bucket-yoke, causing me to fall backwards into the cold spring. I came up sputtering, and snapped;
"Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you he
That frights the maidens of the villagery;
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good luck;
Are not you he?"
And in another long speech, which I did not record, he answered me that he was indeed the personage I had thought him to be. Then it was his turn to be surprised as I let go of the yoke and he, in his turn, collapsed into the freezing waters of the spring. I easily pried the yoke from his stunned fingers.
It was then I heard Oberon's voice.
"Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania!"
My face turned as pallid as the beams of the moon. Moth was frightened too, as I could tell. Placing the yokes over our shoulders, we quickly climbed out of the waters of the spring and onto dry land.
"What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence:
I have forsworn his bed and company."
Oh, Diana save us all! Moth and I practically flew through the many clearings to the earthly castle of the Fairy Royals. We dumped our buckets in the cistern, along with other fairies that did likewise. Puck had to remain at Oberon's side, as most of the Fairy King's train was at his otherworldly palace and the others were here at the cistern.
One thing was certain; we were in for a rough night.
A/N: Even as I fight it, it comes back! Noooooo! –is dragged under by a wave of writer's block-