What ho! a merry Christmas! Pff!
Sharp blows the frosty blizzard's whff!
Pile on more logs and let them roll,
And pass the humming wassail-bowl!
The wassail-bowl! the wind is snell!
Drinc hael! and warm the poet's pell!
Richard! say something rustic.
Lo!
The customary mistletoe,
Prehensile on the apple-bough,
Invites the usual kiss.
And now
Cathartic hellebore should be
A cure for imbecility.
Now holly-berries have begun
To blush for Women That Have Done.
The farmer sticks his stuffy goose!
Come, come, you grow a little loose;
That's Michaelmas; you must remember
That Michaelmas is in September!
Northward the swallow sweeps his wing.
No, no! the bird arrives in spring!
Such knowledge fits the country clown;
We've better things to note in town.
What's Nature's lore compared with women's?
For this enigma go to S-m-ns;
He is the ——
Yes, I am, I know,
The devil of a Romeo!
Hark! hark! the waits, the precious waits!
Their music beats at Heaven's gates.
What Bodley wight will sing a stave
To match their strumming? I would have
The manly bass of Hobbes's voice;
But Unwin's house is Hobbes's choice.
George! you've a baritone at need.
Alas! my famous Keynotes lead
To Discords.
I've a little thing
Of Resurrection. Shall I sing?
Please do; but à propos of what?
I cannot say, unless de bottes.