Lyrical Literacy

 
Little Red-Cap
 
Once 'pon a time, dere lived a sweet likkle gyal loved by everyone, but most of all by her granmada. Her granmada gave her a red velvet cap, which she loved so much dat people called her "Little Red-Cap."
One day, her mada said, "Little Red-Cap, tek dis cake and wine to your granmada. She's ill and needs nourishment, yah know. Stay pon di path and don't bodda wid no foolishness."
"Mi will be careful," promised Little Red-Cap.
Her granmada lived half a league into di woods. As Little Red-Cap entered di forest, she met a wolf. Not knowing his wicked nature, she neva 'fraid.
"Good day, Little Red-Cap," said the wolf. "Where yuh gwaan so early?"
"To mi granmada's house," she replied.
"What's in yuh basket?"
"Cake and wine fi mi sick granmada."
"Where she live?" asked the wolf.
"Under di three oak trees deeper in di wood," Little Red-Cap answered.
The wolf thought to himself, "What a tender young morsel! Mi need to be clever to catch both di pickney and di old woman."
He walked alongside Little Red-Cap and said, "Look at dese beautiful flowers! Why not pick some fi your granmada?"
Little Red-Cap looked around. Di sunbeams danced through di trees, and colorful flowers dotted di forest floor. She thought her granmada would love a fresh bouquet and stepped off di path.
Meanwhile, di wolf ran straight to granmada's house and knocked.
"Who dere?" called the granmada.
"Little Red-Cap with cake and wine," the wolf answered, disguising his voice.
"Lift di latch. Mi too weak to get up."
Di wolf entered, devoured di granmada, put on her clothes and cap, and lay in her bed with di curtains drawn.
When Little Red-Cap finally arrived, she was surprised to find di door open. Inside, everything felt strange.
"Good morning," she called, but received no answer.
She approached di bed and saw her granmada looking very peculiar.
"Granmada, what big ears you have!"
"Di better to hear you with, me dear."
"What big eyes you have!"
"Di better to see you with."
"What large hands you have!"
"Di better to hug you with."
"What a terrible big mout' you have!"
"Di better to eat you with!"
With that, di wolf sprang from di bed and swallowed Little Red-Cap whole.
A huntsman passing by heard loud snoring and entered to check on di old woman. Finding di wolf instead, he realized what happened. Rather than shooting, he cut open di wolf's stomach, freeing both Little Red-Cap and her granmada, still alive.
Dem filled di wolf's belly with stones. When he woke up and tried to run weh, he collapsed and dead right dere.
Di huntsman took di wolf's pelt, di granmada enjoyed di cake and wine, and Little Red-Cap vowed, "Mi neva going leave di path again when mada has forbidden it."
And from dat day forward, Little Red-Cap was always cautious of wolves and strangers, and nobody ever did harm her again.
 
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The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot (1915)
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" was first published in the June 1915 issue of Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, and later included in T.S. Eliot's first collection, "Prufrock and Other Observations" (1917).
This poem is considered one of the most important works of modernist poetry. Eliot actually wrote the poem between 1910 and 1911 while he was a graduate student at Harvard, but it wasn't published until several years later with help from Ezra Pound, who championed Eliot's work.
The poem represents a dramatic shift in poetic style, featuring a fragmented narrative structure and the internal monologue of its anxious, indecisive narrator. It's known for its memorable opening lines and the recurring themes of social anxiety, isolation, and the difficulties of communication.
 
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosseA persona che mai tornasse al mondo,Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.Ma percioche giammai di questo fondoNon torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
 
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
 
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
 
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
 
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
 
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
 
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
 
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
               So how should I presume?
 
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
               And how should I presume?
 
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
               And should I then presume?
               And how should I begin?
 
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...
 
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
 
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
 
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
               Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
               That is not it, at all.”
 
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
               “That is not it at all,
               That is not what I meant, at all.”
 
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
 
I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
 
Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
 
I do not think that they will sing to me.
 
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
 
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Song of Sixpence
 
Sing a songOf sixpenceA pocket fullOf rye
Four and twentyBlackbirdsBakedInto a pie
But when it openedOh sight oh frightThey flew out with forks in beaksAnd started a food fight
The kingIn his counting houseCounting golden sighsA blackbird swoopedWig went waltzingCoins fellLedgers flippedThe king chairless criedAll the birds yelledHa ha haYour money's in the sky
The queen in the parlorNibbling honeyed breadWhen a blackbird snatched her toastAnd squawkedThis tastes deadShe swipedShe shooedShe chased it round and roundTill sixteen geese crashBlew the doorTo the ground
The maid in the gardenHanging out her woesWhen down came blackbirdAnd pecked off her noseShe shriekedShe gaspedShe ran in frightBut stopped becauseThe bird had built a nestInside her apron's claws
Castle chaosFeathers airboundKing's gold drowningQueen chair downMaid screamingGive it backBlackbirds laughingFun on trackThey tied the butlerTo the wallAnd stole the royal bunsOne and all
The cook stormed outTwenty pans a rattleBird soup stewLet's start a battleBut the birds just whisperedNo no noThey stole the flourStirred the doughAnd when the cookPeeked in to seeThe pot had sproutedInto a tree
So if you see a blackbirdDon't bake a pieDon't count your moneyDon't swat a flyGive them cakeAnd let them singDon't steal their breadOr tomorrowThey'll build a birdhouseOn your head
Sing a song of sillinessOf birds and kings and messIf you see a blackbird nearRun away or duck I guess
 
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The Cat and the Cock
A cat was hungry cold and thinHer patience gone her claws tucked inShe'd searched all day for a mousy snackBut came up empty front to back
Then lo a cock came strutting byWith feathers red and a talkative cryThe cat said low with a gravelly grinYou've crowed your last now let's begin
Excuses fly but hunger staysThe night eats song the morning playsA voice may plead a wing may flapBut mercy sleeps in the hunter's lap
You're noisy rude and far too loudYou wake the sun disturb the cloudThe cock stood tall his eyes unsureI crow to help my call is pure
I tell the day to rise from bedI keep the clocks inside your headThe house depends on when I singMy crowing sets the world to spring
Excuses fly but hunger staysThe night eats song the morning playsA voice may plead a wing may flapBut mercy sleeps in the hunter's lap
The cat just yawned and licked her pawNo speeches now no rooster lawNo bells will ring no sun will shineTonight dear bird your life is mine
So if your voice is strong and proudBe wary when the world gets loudFor clever words and noble soundCan't help you when the teeth come round
 
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The itsy bitsy spiderClimbed up the rocking chairUp jumped a catAnd knocked her in the air
Down plopped the catAnd when he was asleepThe itsy bitsy spiderBack up the chair did creep
The itsy bitsy spiderClimbed up the maple treeShe slipped on some dewAnd landed next to me
Out came the sunAnd when the tree was dryThe itsy bitsy spiderGave it one more try
The itsy bitsy spiderClimbed up without a stopShe spun a silky webRight at the very top
She wove and she spunAnd when her web was doneThe itsy bitsy spiderRested in the sun
The itsy bitsy spiderRested in the sun
 
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Sacred Emily by Gertrude Stein, 1913 (Spoken Word Nik Bear)
 
Argonauts  That is plenty  Cunning saxon symbol  Symbol of beauty  Thimble of everything  Cunning clover thimble  Cunning of everything  Cunning of thimble  Cunning cunning  
Place in pets  Night town  Night town a glass  Color mahogany  Color mahogany center  Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose  
Loveliness extreme  Extra gaiters  Loveliness extreme  Sweetest ice cream  
Page ages page ages page ages  Wiped wiped wire wire  Sweeter than peaches and pears and cream  Wiped wire wiped wire  Extra extreme  
Put measure treasure  Measure treasure  Tables track  Nursed  Dough  That will do  
Cup or cup or  Excessively illigitimate  Pussy pussy pussy what what  Current secret sneezers  Ever  Mercy for a dog  Medal make medal  Able able able  
A go to green and a letter spoke a go to green or praise or  Worships worships worships  Door  Do or  Table linen  
Wet spoil  Wet spoil gaiters and knees and little spools little spools or ready silk lining  Suppose misses misses  Curls to butter  Curls  Curls  Settle stretches  
See at till  Louise  Sunny  Sail or  Sail or rustle  Mourn in morning  
The way to say  Patter  Deal own a  Robber  A high b and a perfect sight  Little things singer  Jane  Aiming  Not in description  Day way  A blow is delighted
 
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The Quote
"Universities came to be where men were inspired by the philosophers' teachings and examples. Philosophy and its demonstration of the rational contemplative life, made possible and, more or less consciously, animated scholarship and the individual sciences. When those examples lost their vitality or were overwhelmed by men who had no experience of them, the universities decayed or were destroyed. This, strictly, is barbarism and darkness." — Allan Bloom, "The Closing of the American Mind" (1987)
About the Author
Allan Bloom (1930-1992) was an American philosopher, classicist, and academic who gained prominence with his critique of contemporary higher education in "The Closing of the American Mind." The book became a surprise bestseller and sparked national debate about the purpose of universities. Bloom, a student of Leo Strauss, argued that American universities had abandoned their mission to challenge students with enduring questions and classic texts in favor of moral relativism and trendy intellectual fashions.
This quote powerfully encapsulates Bloom's concern that universities were drifting from their philosophical foundations.
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The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe (1845) | Spoken Word (Nik Bear and Tuzi Brown)
 
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden boreOf ‘Never—nevermore.’”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yoreMeant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent theeRespite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorShall be lifted—nevermore!
Nik Bear Brownhttps://open.spotify.com/artist/0hSpFCJodAYMP2cWK72zI6?si=9Fx2UusBQHi3tTyVEAoCDQhttps://music.apple.com/us/artist/nik-bear-brown/1779725275https://nikbear.musinique.com
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London Bridge Is Falling Down (And No One Knows Why!) | Nursery Rhyme (Nik Bear Brown)
 
London Bridge is falling down,Falling down, falling down,London Bridge is falling down,My fair lady.
Build it up with wood and clay,Wood and clay, wood and clay,Build it up with wood and clay,My fair lady.
But wood and clay will wash away,Wash away, wash away,Wood and clay will wash away,Guess we’re out of luck today!
Build it up with bricks of stone,Bricks of stone, bricks of stone,Build it up with bricks of stone,My fair lady.
But bricks of stone weigh WAY too much,Way too much, way too much,Bricks of stone weigh WAY too much,Now the bridge won’t budge!
Build it up with cheese and jam,Cheese and jam, cheese and jam,Build it up with cheese and jam,And feed it to a lamb!
The lamb got full and stomped away,Stomped away, stomped away,The lamb got full and stomped away,Now the bridge is gone—HOORAY!
[Chorus]London Bridge is gone for good,Gone for good, gone for good,Maybe we should build a boat—Wouldn’t that be smart?
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The Travelling Musicians | Grimm's Fairy Tales (Tuzi Brown)
An honest farmer had once an ass that had been a faithful servant to hima great many years, but was now growing old and every day more and moreunfit for work. His master therefore was tired of keeping him andbegan to think of putting an end to him; but the ass, who saw that somemischief was in the wind, took himself slyly off, and began his journeytowards the great city, ‘For there,’ thought he, ‘I may turn musician.’
After he had travelled a little way, he spied a dog lying by theroadside and panting as if he were tired. ‘What makes you pant so, myfriend?’ said the ass. ‘Alas!’ said the dog, ‘my master was going toknock me on the head, because I am old and weak, and can no longer makemyself useful to him in hunting; so I ran away; but what can I do toearn my livelihood?’ ‘Hark ye!’ said the ass, ‘I am going to the greatcity to turn musician: suppose you go with me, and try what you cando in the same way?’ The dog said he was willing, and they jogged ontogether.
They had not gone far before they saw a cat sitting in the middle of theroad and making a most rueful face. ‘Pray, my good lady,’ said the ass,‘what’s the matter with you? You look quite out of spirits!’ ‘Ah, me!’said the cat, ‘how can one be in good spirits when one’s life is indanger? Because I am beginning to grow old, and had rather lie at myease by the fire than run about the house after the mice, my mistresslaid hold of me, and was going to drown me; and though I have been luckyenough to get away from her, I do not know what I am to live upon.’‘Oh,’ said the ass, ‘by all means go with us to the great city; you area good night singer, and may make your fortune as a musician.’ The catwas pleased with the thought, and joined the party.
Soon afterwards, as they were passing by a farmyard, they saw a cockperched upon a gate, and screaming out with all his might and main.‘Bravo!’ said the ass; ‘upon my word, you make a famous noise; pray whatis all this about?’ ‘Why,’ said the cock, ‘I was just now saying thatwe should have fine weather for our washing-day, and yet my mistress andthe cook don’t thank me for my pains, but threaten to cut off myhead tomorrow, and make broth of me for the guests that are comingon Sunday!’ ‘Heaven forbid!’ said the ass, ‘come with us MasterChanticleer; it will be better, at any rate, than staying here to haveyour head cut off! Besides, who knows? If we care to sing in tune, wemay get up some kind of a concert; so come along with us.’ ‘With all myheart,’ said the cock: so they all four went on jollily together.
They could not, however, reach the great city the first day; so whennight came on, they went into a wood to sleep. The ass and the dog laidthemselves down under a great tree, and the cat climbed up into thebranches; while the cock, thinking that the higher he sat the safer heshould be, flew up to the very top of the tree, and then, according tohis custom, before he went to sleep, looked out on all sides of him tosee that everything was well. In doing this, he saw afar off somethingbright and shining and calling to his companions said, ‘There must be ahouse no great way off, for I see a light.’ ‘If that be the case,’ saidthe ass, ‘we had better change our quarters, for our lodging is not thebest in the world!’ ‘Besides,’ added the dog, ‘I should not be theworse for a bone or two, or a bit of meat.’ So they walked off togethertowards the spot where Chanticleer had seen the light, and as they drewnear it became larger and brighter, till they at last came close to ahouse in which a gang of robbers lived.
The ass, being the tallest of the company, marched up to the window andpeeped in. ‘Well, Donkey,’ said Chanticleer, ‘what do you see?’ ‘Whatdo I see?’ replied the ass. ‘Why, I see a table spread with all kinds ofgood things, and robbers sitting round it making merry.’ ‘That wouldbe a noble lodging for us,’ said the cock. ‘Yes,’ said the ass, ‘if wecould only get in’; so they consulted together how they should contriveto get the robbers out; and at last they hit upon a plan. The ass placedhimself upright on his hind legs, with his forefeet resting against thewindow; the dog got upon his back; the cat scrambled up to the dog’sshoulders, and the cock flew up and sat upon the cat’s head. Whenall was ready a signal was given, and they began their music. The assbrayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed, and the cock screamed; and thenthey all broke through the window at once, and came tumbling intothe room, amongst the broken glass, with a most hideous clatter! Therobbers, who had been not a little frightened by the opening concert,had now no doubt that some frightful hobgoblin had broken in upon them,and scampered away as fast as they could.
The coast once clear, our travellers soon sat down and dispatched whatthe robbers had left, with as much eagerness as if they had not expectedto eat again for a month. As soon as they had satisfied themselves, theyput out the lights, and each once more sought out a resting-place tohis own liking. The donkey laid himself down upon a heap of straw inthe yard, the dog stretched himself upon a mat behind the door, thecat rolled herself up on the hearth before the warm ashes, and thecock perched upon a beam on the top of the house; and, as they were allrather tired with their journey, they soon fell asleep.
But about midnight, when the robbers saw from afar that the lights wereout and that all seemed quiet, they began to think that they had been intoo great a hurry to run away; and one of them, who was bolder thanthe rest, went to see what was going on. Finding everything still, hemarched into the kitchen, and groped about till he found a match inorder to light a candle; and then, espying the glittering fiery eyes ofthe cat, he mistook them for live coals, and held the match to them tolight it. But the cat, not understanding this joke, sprang at his face,and spat, and scratched at him. This frightened him dreadfully, and awayhe ran to the back door; but there the dog jumped up and bit him in theleg; and as he was crossing over the yard the ass kicked him; and thecock, who had been awakened by the noise, crowed with all his might. Atthis the robber ran back as fast as he could to his comrades, and toldthe captain how a horrid witch had got into the house, and had spat athim and scratched his face with her long bony fingers; how a man with aknife in his hand had hidden himself behind the door, and stabbed himin the leg; how a black monster stood in the yard and struck him with aclub, and how the devil had sat upon the top of the house and cried out,‘Throw the rascal up here!’ After this the robbers never dared to goback to the house; but the musicians were so pleased with their quartersthat they took up their abode there; and there they are, I dare say, atthis very day.
Artist:Tuzi Brownhttps://open.spotify.com/artist/5DvRo9Gtg5bxsUUbKQBdg6?si=cycErkToTfKhcumPnlzt2whttps://music.apple.com/us/artist/tuzi-brown/1838852692https://tuzi.musinique.com