The poor king slept but little that night, so filled was he with terror of his future wife.

"We have already nearly turned the poor king's body overside-up in searching."

The poor king, all bewildered, sat down and stared about him.

The poor little king lay there suffering agonies of pain, and each hour seemed a long month to him.

See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!

The poor king is alas in a sorry state.

Her poor king seemed to wince as each warrior fell.

There are men still wearing black who have had ten times as many women as this poor king.

So he went on for an hour, while the poor little king sat and suffered.

"I don't know what that means," said the poor king to the seventh fairy.