Моё любимое стихотворение на английском)

Девочки, кто знает английский. Чтоб не так скучно было ждать начала аукциона, предлагаю прочесть такую сказочку)  Для тех кто не знает, что-то вроде нашей сказки о Маше и медведях но на новый лад;)

Goldilocks - 

This famous wicked little tale

Should never have been put on sale.

It is a mystery to me

Why loving parents cannot see

That this is actually a book

About a brazen little crook.

Had I the chance I wouldn't fail

To clap young Goldilocks in jail.

Now just imagine how you'd feel

If you had cooked a lovely meal,

Delicious porridge, steaming hot,

Fresh coffee in the coffee-pot,

With maybe toast and marmalade,

The table beautifully laid,

One place for you and one for dad,

Another for your little lad.

Then dad cries, 'Golly-gosh! Gee-whizz!

'Oh cripes! How hot this porridge is!

'Let's take a walk along the street

'Until it's cool enough to eat.'

He adds, 'An early morning stroll

'Is good for people on the whole.

'It makes your appetite improve

'It also helps your bowels to move.'

No proper wife would dare to question

Such a sensible suggestion,

Above all not at breakfast-time

When men are seldom at their prime

No sooner are you down the road

Than Goldilocks, that little toad

That nosy thieving little louse,

Comes sneaking in your empty house.

She looks around. She quickly notes

Three bowls brimful of porridge oats.

And while still standing on her feet,

She grabs a spoon and starts to eat.

I say again, how would you feel

If you had made this lovely meal

And some delinquent little tot

Broke in and gobbled up the lot?

But wait! That's not the worst of it!

Now comes the most distressing bit.

You are of course a house proud wife,

And all your happy married life

You have collected lovely things

Like gilded cherubs wearing wings,

And furniture by Chippendale

Bought at some famous auction sale.

But your most special valued treasure,

The piece that gives you endless pleasure

Is one small children's dining-chair,

Elizabethan, very rare.

It is in fact your joy and pride,

Passed down to you on grandma's side.

But Goldilocks, like many freaks,

Does not appreciate antiques.

She doesn't care, she doesn't mind,

And now she plonks her fat behind

Upon this dainty precious chair,

And crunch! It busts beyond repair

. A nice girl would at once exclaim,

'Oh dear! Oh heavens! What a shame!'

Not Goldie. She begins to swear.

She bellows, 'What a lousy chair!'

And uses one disgusting word

That luckily you've never heard.

(I dare not write it, even hint it.

Nobody would ever print it.)

You'd think by now this little skunk

Would have the sense to do a bunk.

But no. I very much regret

She hasn't nearly finished yet.

Deciding she would like a rest,

She says, 'Let's see which bed is best.'

Upstairs she goes and tries all three.

(Here comes the next catastrophe.)

Most educated people choose

To rid themselves of socks and shoes

Before they clamber into bed.

But Goldie didn't give a shred.

Her filthy shoes were thick with grime,

And mud and mush and slush and slime.

Worse still, upon the heel of one

Was something that a dog had done.

I say once more, what would you think

If all this horrid dirt and stink

Was smeared upon your eiderdown

By this revolting little clown?

(The famous story has no clues

To show the girl removed her shoes.)

Oh, what a tale of crime on crime!

Let's check it for a second time

Crime One, the prosecution's case:

She breaks and enters someone's place

Crime Two, the prosecutor notes:

She steals a bowl of porridge oats

Crime Three: She breaks a precious chair

Belonging to the Baby Bear.

Crime Four: She smears each spotless sheet

With filthy messes from her feet.

A judge would say without a blink,

'Ten years hard labour in the clink!'

But in the book, as you will see,

The little beast gets off scot-free,

While tiny children near and far Shout, 

Goody-good! Hooray! Hurrah!'

'Poor darling Goldilocks!' they say,

'Thank goodness that she got away!'

Myself, I think I'd rather send

Young Goldie to a sticky end.

'Oh daddy!' cried the Baby Bear,

'My porridge gone! It isn't fair!'

'Then go upstairs,' the Big Bear said,

'Your porridge is upon the bed.

'But as it's inside mademoiselle,

'You'll have to eat her up as well.'