Puck

Ask not my master, Oberon, why still
He keeps among his train this freakish sprite:
For sooth to say, the elf intends no ill;
He never changed a word with Goblin Spite,
Else Oberon had banished him outright.
Not his to flee at cock-crow; he was born
Of blameless Mirth, and looks upon the morn.
“Good-fellow, and sweet Puck,” some folk do name him;
I pray you of your kindness not to blame him!

—Lo, while I would bespeak you, here he rides!
A columbine he bears upon his head
For jester’s cap, and for a steed he guides
A mocking catbird with a spider’s thread.