Gleaming neuter bent and dull-gleamed,
Pewter ladle, bent and dull-gleaming,
Dropped from her knurl fingers,
To clack hard-sharp on the polished stone.
“God-a-Mighty Bessie” the Mistress screamed,
”Hang on to the silver. You’ll knick it up!”
“S’not Silver,” Bessie muttered, deep in her throat.
Mistress Mayhew, still spouting her vile warnings, heard not a word,
Nor cared not a wit about the opinions or feelings of any servant,
Preferring to see the bent backs of necks,
And nodding heads of agreement, as they sidled out the door.
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