Which means that she'll convert into an appetising stew
The Mutton Bone a-lying in the Larder.
But I suddenly remember, with a blush of rosy pink,
That Cook—alas! is given to the frequent use of drink,
And if she once gets muddled up—perhaps she'll never think
Of the Mutton Bone a-lying in the Larder!
As the western sun is gilding all the heather of the moor,
Down the basement stairs I'm creeping—till a widely open door
Shows me Cook in heavy slumber on her cherished kitchen floor—