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when the cathedral clock struck twelve there was an answer — like an echo of the chimes — and simpkin heard it, and came out of the tailor’s door, and wandered about in the snow. from all the roofs and gables and old wooden houses in gloucester came a thousand merry voices singing the old christmas rhymes — all the old songs that ever i heard of, and some that i don’t know, like whittington’s bells. first and loudest the cocks cried out: “dame, get up, and bake your pies!” “oh, dilly, dilly, dilly!” sighed simpkin. and now in a garret there were lights and sounds of dancing, and cats came from over the way. “hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle! all the cats in gloucester — except me,” said simpkin. under the wooden eaves the starlings and sparrows sang of christmas pies; the jack-daws woke up in the cathedral tower; and although it was the middle of the night the throstles and robins sang; the air was quite full of little twittering tunes. but it was all rather provoking to poor hungry simpkin! particularly he was vexed with some little shrill voices from behind a wooden lattice. i think that they were bats, because they always have very small voices — especially in a black frost, when they talk in their sleep, like the tailor of gloucester. they said something mysterious that sounded like — “buz, quoth the blue fly, hum, quoth the bee,buz and hum they cry, and so do we!” and simpkin went away shaking his ears as if he had a bee in his bonnet. from the tailor’s shop in westgate came a glow of light; and when simpkin crept up to peep in at the window it was full of candles. there was a snippeting of scissors, and snappeting of thread; and little mouse voices sang loudly and gaily — “four-and-twenty tailorswent to catch a snail,the best man amongst themdurst not touch her tail,she put out her hornslike a little kyloe cow,run, tailors, run! or she’ll have you all e’en now!” then without a pause the little mouse voices went on again — “sieve my lady’s oatmeal,grind my lady’s flour,put it in a chestnut,let it stand an hour — — “ 教堂12点的钟声敲响的时候,辛普金跑出了裁缝的家门,在雪地里来回走。 在格洛斯特所有的屋顶和山墙上,在古老的木头房子里,无数欢乐的声音唱起了古老 的圣诞旋律——那些听过和没听过的老歌,仿佛是惠廷顿的钟声。 首先是公鸡用最响亮的声音喊道:“夫人,起床了,烤馅饼吧!” “太好了,太好了,太好了!”辛普金惊叹着。 接着,阁楼上亮起灯光,一阵跳舞的声音传来,那是远道而来的猫在举行舞会。 “嘿,跳起来,舞起来,猫拉起了小提琴!除了我,所有格洛斯特的猫都在啊!”辛普 金说道。 八哥和麻雀在木头屋檐下为圣诞馅饼放声歌唱;寒鸦在教堂的塔里鸣叫;虽然是半 夜,画眉和知更鸟仍抑制不住歌唱。空气里到处是叽叽喳喳的鸟叫声。 这一切更让又穷又饿的辛普金满腔怒火。 从格子窗后面传来一种微弱的声音,他听到之后变得更加恼火。我觉得是蝙蝠,因为 它们总是发出这种声音——特别是在浓重的霜雾中。它们都在睡梦中低语,就像格洛斯特 的裁缝那样。 它们说着一些神秘的话,听起来似乎是: 蓝头苍蝇嗡嗡嗡, 金色蜜蜂嗡嗡嗡。 嗡嗡嗡,嗡嗡嗡, 我们的声音也好听! 辛普金摇着耳朵跑开了,就像帽子里飞进了一只蜜蜂。 这时,从西门大街的裁缝店里透出了一些光亮。辛普金爬上窗台偷偷往里看,发现屋 子里面点满烛火。剪刀嚓嚓作响,丝线闪闪发亮,小老鼠们的歌声嘹亮又欢快: 二十四个裁缝呀, 一起去把小蜗牛抓。 最勇敢的裁缝啊, 也不敢碰她的小尾巴。 蜗牛伸出小触角, 就像苏格兰小母牛生气了: 裁缝们,快跑啊, 不然把你们全吃掉! 小老鼠们接着又唱道: 为女主人筛麦片, 为女主人磨白面, 把它们放到栗子里, 让它放上一个钟头。 |
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