villagery

Either I mistake your shape and making quite ,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Called Robin Goodfellow . Are not you he
That frights the maidens of the villagery ,
Skim milk , and sometimes labor in the quern
And bootless make the breathless huswife churn ,
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm ,
Mislead night wanderers , laughing at their harm ?
Those that Hobgoblin call you , and sweet Puck ,
You do their work , and they shall have good luck .
Are not you he ?