THE CINDER KING
Whois it that sits in the kitchen and weeps,While tick goes the clock, and the tabby-cat sleeps,—That watches the grate, without ceasing to spyWhether purses or coffins will out of it fly?’Tis Betty; who saw the false tailor, Bob Scott,Lead a bride to the altar, which bride she was not.’Tis Betty, determined love from her to fling,And woo, for his riches, the dark Cinder-King.Now spent tallow-candle-grease fattened the soil,And the blue-burning lamp had half wasted its oil,And the black-beetle boldly came crawling from far,And the red coals were sinking beneath the third bar;When “one!” struck the clock—and instead of the birdWho used to sing cuckoo whene’er the clock stirred,Out burst a grim raven, and uttered “caw! caw!”While Puss, though she woke, durst not put forth a claw.Then the jack fell a-going as if one should sup,Then the earth rocked as though it would swallow one up;With fuel from Hell, a strange coal-scuttle came,And a self-handled poker made fearful the flame.A cinder shot from it, of size to amaze,With a bounce, such as Betty ne’er heard in her days,Thrice, serpent-like, hissed as its heat fled away,And, lo! something dark in a vast coffin lay!“Come, Betty,” quoth croaking that nondescript thing,“Come, bless the fond arms of your true Cinder-King!Three more Kings, my brothers, are waiting to greet ye,Who—don’t take it ill—must at four o’clock eat ye.“My darling! it must be, do make up your mind;We element brothers, united, and kind,Have a feast and a wedding, each night of our lives,So constantly sup on each other’s new wives.”In vain squalled the cook-maid, and prayed not to wed;Cinder crunched in her mouth, cinder rained on her head.She sank in the coffin with cinders strewn o’er,And coffin nor Betty saw man any more.
Whois it that sits in the kitchen and weeps,While tick goes the clock, and the tabby-cat sleeps,—That watches the grate, without ceasing to spyWhether purses or coffins will out of it fly?’Tis Betty; who saw the false tailor, Bob Scott,Lead a bride to the altar, which bride she was not.’Tis Betty, determined love from her to fling,And woo, for his riches, the dark Cinder-King.Now spent tallow-candle-grease fattened the soil,And the blue-burning lamp had half wasted its oil,And the black-beetle boldly came crawling from far,And the red coals were sinking beneath the third bar;When “one!” struck the clock—and instead of the birdWho used to sing cuckoo whene’er the clock stirred,Out burst a grim raven, and uttered “caw! caw!”While Puss, though she woke, durst not put forth a claw.Then the jack fell a-going as if one should sup,Then the earth rocked as though it would swallow one up;With fuel from Hell, a strange coal-scuttle came,And a self-handled poker made fearful the flame.A cinder shot from it, of size to amaze,With a bounce, such as Betty ne’er heard in her days,Thrice, serpent-like, hissed as its heat fled away,And, lo! something dark in a vast coffin lay!“Come, Betty,” quoth croaking that nondescript thing,“Come, bless the fond arms of your true Cinder-King!Three more Kings, my brothers, are waiting to greet ye,Who—don’t take it ill—must at four o’clock eat ye.“My darling! it must be, do make up your mind;We element brothers, united, and kind,Have a feast and a wedding, each night of our lives,So constantly sup on each other’s new wives.”In vain squalled the cook-maid, and prayed not to wed;Cinder crunched in her mouth, cinder rained on her head.She sank in the coffin with cinders strewn o’er,And coffin nor Betty saw man any more.
Whois it that sits in the kitchen and weeps,While tick goes the clock, and the tabby-cat sleeps,—That watches the grate, without ceasing to spyWhether purses or coffins will out of it fly?
Whois it that sits in the kitchen and weeps,
While tick goes the clock, and the tabby-cat sleeps,—
That watches the grate, without ceasing to spy
Whether purses or coffins will out of it fly?
’Tis Betty; who saw the false tailor, Bob Scott,Lead a bride to the altar, which bride she was not.’Tis Betty, determined love from her to fling,And woo, for his riches, the dark Cinder-King.
’Tis Betty; who saw the false tailor, Bob Scott,
Lead a bride to the altar, which bride she was not.
’Tis Betty, determined love from her to fling,
And woo, for his riches, the dark Cinder-King.
Now spent tallow-candle-grease fattened the soil,And the blue-burning lamp had half wasted its oil,And the black-beetle boldly came crawling from far,And the red coals were sinking beneath the third bar;
Now spent tallow-candle-grease fattened the soil,
And the blue-burning lamp had half wasted its oil,
And the black-beetle boldly came crawling from far,
And the red coals were sinking beneath the third bar;
When “one!” struck the clock—and instead of the birdWho used to sing cuckoo whene’er the clock stirred,Out burst a grim raven, and uttered “caw! caw!”While Puss, though she woke, durst not put forth a claw.
When “one!” struck the clock—and instead of the bird
Who used to sing cuckoo whene’er the clock stirred,
Out burst a grim raven, and uttered “caw! caw!”
While Puss, though she woke, durst not put forth a claw.
Then the jack fell a-going as if one should sup,Then the earth rocked as though it would swallow one up;With fuel from Hell, a strange coal-scuttle came,And a self-handled poker made fearful the flame.
Then the jack fell a-going as if one should sup,
Then the earth rocked as though it would swallow one up;
With fuel from Hell, a strange coal-scuttle came,
And a self-handled poker made fearful the flame.
A cinder shot from it, of size to amaze,With a bounce, such as Betty ne’er heard in her days,Thrice, serpent-like, hissed as its heat fled away,And, lo! something dark in a vast coffin lay!
A cinder shot from it, of size to amaze,
With a bounce, such as Betty ne’er heard in her days,
Thrice, serpent-like, hissed as its heat fled away,
And, lo! something dark in a vast coffin lay!
“Come, Betty,” quoth croaking that nondescript thing,“Come, bless the fond arms of your true Cinder-King!Three more Kings, my brothers, are waiting to greet ye,Who—don’t take it ill—must at four o’clock eat ye.
“Come, Betty,” quoth croaking that nondescript thing,
“Come, bless the fond arms of your true Cinder-King!
Three more Kings, my brothers, are waiting to greet ye,
Who—don’t take it ill—must at four o’clock eat ye.
“My darling! it must be, do make up your mind;We element brothers, united, and kind,Have a feast and a wedding, each night of our lives,So constantly sup on each other’s new wives.”
“My darling! it must be, do make up your mind;
We element brothers, united, and kind,
Have a feast and a wedding, each night of our lives,
So constantly sup on each other’s new wives.”
In vain squalled the cook-maid, and prayed not to wed;Cinder crunched in her mouth, cinder rained on her head.She sank in the coffin with cinders strewn o’er,And coffin nor Betty saw man any more.
In vain squalled the cook-maid, and prayed not to wed;
Cinder crunched in her mouth, cinder rained on her head.
She sank in the coffin with cinders strewn o’er,
And coffin nor Betty saw man any more.
Modern, anon.