Act 2, Scene 1 ROBIN: 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 withered 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.。