But she's lost her golden slippers,
And the servants scurry all,
From the pantry, from the hall,
Brooms in hand, and spoons and dippers.
Ah, my lady's golden slippers!
Footman, cook, and housemaid—run!
Hunt ye nimbly, every one!
Round they whirl, the lightsome trippers,
And the music has begun:
Ah, my lady's golden slippers!