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 sheen,
[030] But they do square, that all their elves for fear
Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.
[032] Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
[033] Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
[034] Call’d Robin Goodfellow: are not you he
[035] That frights the maidens of the villagery;
[036] Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,