Room, room, brave gallants, room, I’m just come to show you some merry sport and game, To help pass away This cold winter day. Old activity, new activity, such activity As never was seen before, And perhaps never will be seen no more. (Alas! too probably. Thanks to the schoolmaster abroad.) Then either he or some other, equipped with a little imitation snow, paces about announcing himself: Here comes I, Old Father Christmas, Christmas, Christmas, Welcome or welcome not, I hope old Father Christmas Will never be forgot. All in this room, there shall be shown The dreadfullest battle that ever was known. So walk in, St. George, with thy free heart And see whether thou canst claim peace for thine own part. So far from “claiming peace,” St. George waves (or ought to wave) his wooden sword, as he clumps forth, exclaiming: In comes I, St. George, St. George, that man of courage bold, With my broad sword and spear I won the crown of gold, I fought that fiery dragon, And drove him to the slaughter, And by that means I won The King of Egypt’s daughter. Therefore, if any man dare enter this door I’ll hack him small as dust, And after send him to the cook’s shop To be made into mince-pie crust! On this defiance another figure appears: Here comes I, the Turkish knight Just come from Turkey land to fight; I’ll fight thee, St. George, St. George, thou man of courage bold, If thy blood be too hot, I’ll quickly make it cold. To which St. George responds, in the tone in which he would address a cart-horse: Wo ho! My little fellow, thou talk’st very bold, Just like the little Turks, as I have been told, Therefore, thou Turkish knight, Pull out thy sword and fight, Pull out thy purse and pay, I’ll have satisfaction, or thou guest away. _Turkish Knight_. Satisfaction, no satisfaction at all, My head is made of iron, my body lined with steel, I’ll battle thee, to see which on the ground shall fall. The two wooden swords clatter together till the Turkish knight falls, all doubled up, even his sword, with due regard to his finery; and St. George is so much shocked that he marches round, lamenting: O only behold what I have been and done, Cut and slain my brother, just the evening sun. Then, bethinking himself, he exclaims: I have a little bottle, called elecampane, If the man is alive, let him rise and fight again. The application of the elecampane so far restores the Turkish knight that he partly rises, entreating: O pardon me, St. George, O pardon me, I crave, O pardon me this once, and I will be thy slave. Very inconsistently with his late remorse, St. George replies— I never will pardon a Turkish knight, Therefore arise, and try thy might.