A CHANT FOR CHRISTMAS.

BY A POET WHO BELONGS TO THE MEDICAL PROFESSION.

Hail, Christmas! Hail, thou season festive!
And bring thy feasts most indigestive:
Mince pies, plum pudding, and boar’s head,
Which on the stomach lie like lead.

Go, dinner out, and stuff and swill,
That thou thereby may’st be made ill:
Go, eat thy pudding and thy beef,
Them come to me and buy relief.

Ye nightmares, from dyspepsia bred,
Now haunt the supper-eater’s bed,
Bid sleep his heavy eyelids flee,
Then in the morn he’ll send for me.

Ye parents, now your children cram
With jellies, mincemeat, cakes and jam
Of pudding too be liberal givers,
And so derange their infant livers.

The poisoned sweets to them present,
Which cakes of Twelfth Night ornament:
Their palates clog with “rock” and “drops,”
And cloy their tongues with lollipops.

Come, snapdragons, a flaming brood,
Most indigestible as food:
Tempt small boys with your fiery sweets,
That he may be made ill who eats.

‘Tis sweet the merry groups to see
Who throng around the Christmas Tree;
‘Tis sweeter still to think that they
Will probably be ill next day.

Hail, Christmas, then! Of all the year
To doctors thou’rt the time most dear.
The more thou temp’st to stuff and swill,
The longer grows the doctor’s bill.

—

Sparkles being asked why Romish priests were called “Father” Confessors, replied, because they formed a part of the Papa-cy.

Back to Pipe smoker. <<< — >>> Next to PUNCH v. BURGOYNE.