Queen Titania, meanwhile, was quietly sleeping, and she did not even waken when Quince and Bottom, with their ambitious little troupe of actors, came and began to rehearse their play close by. Bottom, as usual, took the lead, and made himself very officious in directing all the rest. But if Titania did not see them, someone else did. Puck, the little imp, or Robin Goodfellow, as he was also called, was always alert for any mischief. Sometimes he played pranks to frighten the village maidens; sometimes he frolicked in the churn, and prevented the butter coming, so that the busy housewife toiled in vain; at other times, as Hobgoblin or Will-o’-the-Wisp, he led astray unwary travellers by night; sometimes he took the guise of a roasted apple in a bowl of hot spiced ale, and bobbed against the lips of some old gossip as she was drinking; or perhaps just when some sedate elderly spinster was sitting down to tell a sad story, Puck would skip away with her three-legged stool, and down she would go on the ground--bang!--while all the other old cronies shook with laughter. Puck was much diverted with the strange crew of petty artisans from Athens, who had come into the wood to rehearse their play, and he presently played one of his pranks on the conceited Bottom. The latter, having spoken some of his lines, stood aside for a few minutes, while the others went on with their parts, and, unseen by anyone, Puck seized this opportunity to pop an ass’s head on Bottom. Quite unconscious of the strange change that had taken place in his appearance, Bottom calmly advanced when his turn came again, but at the sight of the ass’s head all his companions shrieked and fled in terror, calling out that they were bewitched. Bottom could not imagine why they behaved in this queer fashion, and thought it was some trick to frighten him. “I will not stir from this place, do what they can,” he said stolidly. “I will walk up and down here, and I will sing, so that they shall hear I am not afraid.” So he began to pace up and down, singing in a very harsh, discordant manner, more like an ass’s bray than a man’s voice: “The ousel-cock so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill, The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill----” “What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?” cried Titania, starting up from slumber. The charm was beginning to work, and she gazed with rapture on the curious monster. Bottom sang on: “The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, The plain-song cuckoo gray, Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer nay.” “I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again,” entreated Titania. “My ear is charmed as much with your music as my eye is enthralled with your appearance. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.” [Illustration: “Oh, how I love thee! how I doat on thee!”] “Not so, neither,” said Bottom bluntly; “but if I had wit to get out of this wood I have enough to serve my own turn.”