Puck.O, scarcely such a thing abhorrèd:
I see indeed he has a forehead.
Oberon.Perchance he is—’tis my suspicion—
A prophet or a politician.
Puck.I gather neither: for he’s young,
And has not yet full-grown his tongue.
Oberon.A boy at midnight not abed,
Is either fairy-fain or dead.
Puck.I take the former—for he sleeps.
Three pennies in a pouch he keeps,