Oberon then sent for Puck, his chief favourite and privy counsellor.

Puck (or as he was sometimes called, Robin Goodfellow) was a
shrewd and knavish sprite, that used to play comical pranks in the
neighbouring villages; sometimes getting into the dairies and
skimming the milk, sometimes plunging his light and airy form into
the butter-churn, and while he was dancing his fantastic shape in the
churn, in vain the dairymaid would labour to change her cream into
butter: nor had the village swains any better success; whenever Puck
chose to play his freaks in the brewing copper, the ale was sure to be
spoiled. When a few good neighbours were met to drink some
comfortable ale together, Puck would jump into the bowl of ale in the
likeness of a roasted crab, and when some old goody was going to
drink he would bob against her lips, and spill the ale over her withered
chin; and presently after, when the same old dame was gravely seating
herself to tell her neighbours a sad and melancholy story, Puck would
slip her three-legged stool from under her, and down toppled the poor
old woman, and then the old gossips would hold their sides and laugh
at her, and swear they never wasted a merrier hour.

'Come hither, Puck,' said Oberon to this little merry wanderer of the
night; 'fetch me the flower which maids call Lore in Idleness; the juice
of that little purple flower laid on the eyelids of those who sleep, will
make them, when they awake, dote on the first thing they see. Some
of the juice of that flower I will drop on the eyelids of my Titania
when she is asleep; and the first thing she looks upon when she opens
her eyes she will fall in love with, even though it be a lion or a bear, a
meddling monkey, or a busy ape; and before I will take this charm
from off her sight, which I can do with another charm I know of, I will