That the beings who banish legitimate performers should
puff, till we grow sick, a "thing of shreds and patches!"
But "the world is still deceived by ornament."
14 One Dr. Samuel Johnson has something like this, but then
his lines were in praise of a "poor player," of a man who
wasted much paper in writing dramas now thought nothing of.
This is his doggrel.
~280~~But I must have done. Christmas will soon be here, and "I have a
journey, sirs, shortly to go" to be prepared for its delights, and to
fit myself for its festivities; and yet I am unwilling, acute Bernard,
merry Echo, cheerful Eglantine, correct Transit, to "shake hands and
part," without tendering the coming season's congratulations; so if it
like you, dear spies o' the time, I will, like the swan, go off singing.
Marching along with berried brow,
And snow flakes on his "frosty pow,"
See father Christmas makes his bow,
And proffers jovial cheer;
About him tripping to and fro,
Picking the holly as they go,
And kiss-allowing misletoe,
His merry elves appear.
Then broach the barrel, fill the bowl,
And let us pledge the hearty soul,
Though swift the waning minutes roll,
And time will stay for none;
Lads, we will have a gambo still,
For though we've made the foolish feel,
And shamed the sinner in his ill,
Our withers are unwrung.
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