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-fed horse beguile,
neighing in likeness of a filly foal: and sometime lurk i in a gossip's bowl, in very likeness of a roasted crab, and when she drinks, against her lips i bob and on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale. the wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; then slip i from her bum, down topples she, and "tailor" cries, and falls into a cough; and then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh, and waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear a merrier hour was never wasted there. but, room, fairy! here comes oberon.
if we shadows have offended,
think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumber'd here while these visions did appear. and this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream, gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: and, as i am an honest puck, if we have unearned luck now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, we will make amends ere long; else the puck a liar call; so, good night unto you all. give me your hands, if we be friends, and robin shall restore amends.