Wolf. Thank you, my child.
Little Red Riding-Hood. How rough your voice is, grandmother!
Wolf. That's because I've such a bad cold.
Little Red Riding-Hood. But how bright your eyes are, grandmother!
Wolf. The better to see you, my child.
Little Red Riding-Hood. How long your arms are, grandmother!
Wolf. The better to hold you, my child.
Little Red Riding-Hood. And how big your teeth are, grandmother!
Wolf. The better to eat you—ugh! ugh!
[The miller and the wood choppers rush in.]