PUCK              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. (2.1.42-50)

Oh YEAH, I’m Puck, that’s me, thou speak’st aright: I am that merry wanderer of the night. Puck’s own version of what he gets up to is, unsurprisingly, more benign, it’s all just a harmless bit of fun! And besides, I only do these things—mostly—to make my boss laugh! I jest to Oberon, and make him smile when I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, neighing in likeness of a filly foal. He loves it when I imitate a girl pony, yeah, so that it tricks the overweight old hack into thinking it’s going to get some! Neigh! (One might recall the amorous horses in Venus and Adonis.) HILARIOUS! And sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl in very likeness of a roasted crab—this old woman, she’s drinking hot mulled ale with roasted crab-apples in it? bit of a party?—and when she drinks, against her lips I bob, and on her withered dewlap pour the ale! I make her spill the hot drink down her neck! Puck is such a bloody MENACE.