THE TAILOR OF GLOUCESTER（7）

When the Cathedral clock struck twelve there was an answer — like an echo of the chimes — and Simpkin heard it, and came out of the tailor’s door, and wandered about in the snow.
From all the roofs and gables and old wooden houses in Gloucester came a thousand merry voices singing the old Christmas rhymes — all the old songs that ever I heard of, and some that I don’t know, like Whittington’s bells.
First and loudest the cocks cried out: “Dame, get up, and bake your pies!”
“Oh, dilly, dilly, dilly!” sighed Simpkin.
And now in a garret there were lights and sounds of dancing, and cats came from over the way.
“Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle¹! All the cats in Gloucester — except me,” said Simpkin.
Under the wooden eaves the starlings and sparrows sang of Christmas pies; the jack-daws woke up in the Cathedral tower; and although it was the middle of the night the throstles and robins² sang; the air was quite full of little twittering tunes³.
But it was all rather provoking to poor hungry Simpkin!
Particularly he was vexed⁴ with some little shrill⁵ voices from behind a wooden lattice. I think that they were bats, because they always have very small voices — especially in a black frost, when they talk in their sleep, like the Tailor of Gloucester.
They said something mysterious that sounded like —
“Buz, quoth the blue fly, hum, quoth the bee,Buz and hum they cry, and so do we!”
and Simpkin went away shaking his ears as if he had a bee in his bonnet⁶.
From the tailor’s shop in Westgate came a glow of light; and when Simpkin crept up to peep in at the window it was full of candles. There was a snippeting of scissors, and snappeting of thread; and little mouse voices sang loudly and gaily⁷ —
“Four-and-twenty tailorsWent to catch a snail,The best man amongst themDurst not touch her tail,She put out her hornsLike a little kyloe cow,Run, tailors, run! or she’ll have you all e’en now!”
Then without a pause the little mouse voices went on again —
“Sieve my lady’s oatmeal,Grind my lady’s flour,Put it in a chestnut,Let it stand an hour — — “

教堂12点的钟声敲响的时候，辛普金跑出了裁缝的家门，在雪地里来回走。
在格洛斯特所有的屋顶和山墙上，在古老的木头房子里，无数欢乐的声音唱起了古老
的圣诞旋律——那些听过和没听过的老歌，仿佛是惠廷顿的钟声。
首先是公鸡用最响亮的声音喊道：“夫人，起床了，烤馅饼吧！”
“太好了，太好了，太好了！”辛普金惊叹着。
接着，阁楼上亮起灯光，一阵跳舞的声音传来，那是远道而来的猫在举行舞会。
“嘿，跳起来，舞起来，猫拉起了小提琴！除了我，所有格洛斯特的猫都在啊！”辛普
金说道。
八哥和麻雀在木头屋檐下为圣诞馅饼放声歌唱；寒鸦在教堂的塔里鸣叫；虽然是半
夜，画眉和知更鸟仍抑制不住歌唱。空气里到处是叽叽喳喳的鸟叫声。
这一切更让又穷又饿的辛普金满腔怒火。
从格子窗后面传来一种微弱的声音，他听到之后变得更加恼火。我觉得是蝙蝠，因为
它们总是发出这种声音——特别是在浓重的霜雾中。它们都在睡梦中低语，就像格洛斯特
的裁缝那样。
它们说着一些神秘的话，听起来似乎是：
蓝头苍蝇嗡嗡嗡，
金色蜜蜂嗡嗡嗡。
嗡嗡嗡，嗡嗡嗡，
我们的声音也好听！
辛普金摇着耳朵跑开了，就像帽子里飞进了一只蜜蜂。
这时，从西门大街的裁缝店里透出了一些光亮。辛普金爬上窗台偷偷往里看，发现屋
子里面点满烛火。剪刀嚓嚓作响，丝线闪闪发亮，小老鼠们的歌声嘹亮又欢快：
二十四个裁缝呀，
一起去把小蜗牛抓。
最勇敢的裁缝啊，
也不敢碰她的小尾巴。
蜗牛伸出小触角，
就像苏格兰小母牛生气了：
裁缝们，快跑啊，
不然把你们全吃掉！
小老鼠们接着又唱道：
为女主人筛麦片，
为女主人磨白面，
把它们放到栗子里，
让它放上一个钟头。