This mid-eon's dream....
Awakening now and shaking loin's spear
Dawning that he, my former peer
Is yet myself, is Puck, the elf.
Ho! I find this new Internet
Hath a take and gifts a let
To unsoothe the savage sylphic breast.
Inhaling old memory now as is best
From my Father's fontings:
"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?"
Like butter ye skim from nest of the cow;
As sweet as the beet that shugars thy pie.
Not a duck nor the cock, but as flown as the sky;
I am Robin, your good fellow, Mab kind allows.