She never had so sweet a changeling23,
And jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace25 the forests wild.
But she perforce26 withholds the loved boy,
Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy.
And now they never meet in grove or green,
By fountain clear or spangled starlight sheen29,
But they do square30, that all their elves for fear
Creep into acorn cups and hide them there.
FAIRY Either I mistake your shape and making quite32,
Or else you are that shrewd33 and knavish sprite
Called Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he
That frights the maidens of the villagery35,
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern36,
And bootless37 make the breathless housewife churn,
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm38,
Mislead39 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?
ROBIN Thou speak'st aright;
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon and make him smile
When I a fat and bean-fed46 horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly47 foal,
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl48,
In very likeness of a roasted crab49,
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob
And on her withered dewlap51 pour the ale.
The wisest aunt52, telling the saddest tale,