When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the [green sour] ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
40 To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid—
Weak masters though ye be—I have bedimm’d
The noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds.
And ’twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
45 Have I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak