In that merry model kingdom
Of Supposyville, the snow
And ice have made the walking
Rather treacherous, you know!
The streets are steep and hilly
And the king looks with dismay
At his subjects sprawling here and there
Upon the icy way —!
“Go to,” said he. “This will not do!
Sir Solomon, get hence!
Devise a plan, my good old man,
At once and hang expense.
“I do not choose my subjects shall
Be broken into pieces.
And I shall take no comfort, sir,
Until this falling ceases!”
Sir Solomon, without a bit
Of hesitation, rose—
An hour saw the strangest change
One ever could suppose.
Sir Solomon he “hung expense,”
The roads took on strange hues,
The lanes and highways blossomed forth
In greens and reds and blues.
My dears and ducks, before an hour
The castle clock had tolled
A hundred miles and more of rich,
Bright carpets were unrolled!
A hundred carpet-sweeper lads
Plied brooms to keep them clear
And to and fro the homefolk go
Without a fall or fear.
The king in all complacency
Resumes his comfort and his tea.