The twelve godmothers bestowed good wishes on our child—
The Chancellor.
[Referring to a volume.] Entered over their own signatures in the guest-book. The kindest wishes, though expressed in verse of an impromptu and inferior cast!
The King.
But the uninvited and unwelcome one revenged herself by putting on our child a curse! [All echo, “A curse!”] Read it, my Lord Chancellor!
The Chancellor.
[Referring to volume.] That on the sixteenth anniversary of her birth the Princess Moss-Rose should prick her finger with the spindle of a spinning-wheel, and die of the wound. [All, even those who are familiar with the story, exclaim with horror.]
The King.
No wonder you shudder! No wonder tongue and pen alike recoil from chronicling the incident! However, our dear Sir Amphibious exercised his prerogative, in also making for our child a wish.
The Queen.