As Oberon, your jealous king,
I asked of you, my crafty Queen,
dispatch that impish Puck to me;

instead, you played upon my plight,
and, on this night, midsummer dreams
did kindle mischiefs in my head:

your starry stares do swear you fell
enamored with absurdity,
yet laughter runs to mercy's arms.

Amending this, my foolish fawn,
please stand with me, bless everyone,
and grant the shadows back their game,
awaken from what we became.