Classic Poem

No w Christmass is come, let us beat up the Drum,
And call our good Neighbours together.
And when they appear, let us make them good chear,
That will keep out the wind and the weather,
To feast at this season, I think 'tis no treason,
I could give you a reason why,
Though some are so pure, that they cannot endure to see a Nativity Pye.

I cannot but wonder, that the Souldiers should plunder,
For keeping our Saviours birth,
For all Christians then, or I cannot tell when,
Should shew forth their joy and their mirth,
But our Saints now adayes, despise good old wayes,
'Gainst which they both preach and pray,
But to give them their dues, they're no better than Jewes,
That speak against Christmass day.

These like the good chear, all times oth' year,
'Tis the birth day that doth them annoy,
Plumb-porrage and brawn, and the Doe and the Fawne,
With the Creature, they love to enjoy,
They often have meetings, and then there's such greetings,
Such traceing of Sisters about,
They preach and they pray, but I must not now say
What they do when their Candles are out.

Yet I cannot forbear, to tell in your ear
What befell at a breaking of bread,
How a Virgin full neat, went thither to eat,
But it cost her, her Maiden-head;
These meNof high merit, though much for the spirit,
Are yet for the Flesh now and than,
For a new Babe of Grace, was got near the Place,
By a Congregational man.

The Dippers and Ranters, and our Scotch Covenanters,
That bragge of their Faith and their Zeale,
These abound in their fainings, but I'le make no complainings,
Nor will I their Secrets reveale,
The poor Cavaliers, that still lives in fears
Of Prisons, and Sequestration,
Though they keep Christmasse day, are more honest than they,
But Honesty's quite out of fashion.

If you view our great Cities, and our Countrie Committees,
You will not find overmuch there,
Our Divines, though they preach it, themselves do scarce reach it;
And our Lawyers have little to spare.
I could tell of some more, that have no great store,
Of our Gentry, both Old and New,
But I think it is best, with edge tools not to jest,
Nor to speak all we know to be true.

But the poor Cavalier, as to mirthe and good cheere,
But now bid Christmass adieu,
If the Taxes hold on, their Money will be gone,
They will want both to bake and to brew,
Their Healths are put down, who adher'd to the Crown,
'Tis they that must fast and pray,
For to any mans thinking, both their eating and drinking,
Is like to be taken away.