Their bowls were three, and their beds were three,
And their nightcaps white were nine.
Their beds were of the holly-wood,
Their combs of the tortoiseshell,
Their mirrors clear as wintry flood,
Frozen dark and snell.
So each would lie on his plumpy pillow,
The moon for company,
And hear the parrot scream to the billow,
And the billow roar reply.—