(Boney threat'ning to invade us,) And (“See the Conquering Hero comes!”) General Wheeler, general dealer In coffee, treacle, tea, tobacco, plums, Snuff, sugar, spices, at wholesale prices, And figs--(which, 's life! At Fife He sold in drums!)-- Would up and down parade us, And cry, “Present!” and “Shoulder arms!” When pert apprentices, God bless us! And tailors did address and dress us, With “Stand at ease!” (up to your knees In mud and mire) “Make ready! Fire!” Singeing the curls of Moses Muggs, Esquire-- A Briton, hot for fight and fame, Burning to give the foes of Bull Their belly-full, Limp'd forth--but no admission!--he was lame. “Lame!” cried the Briton; “zounds! I say, I came to fight, and not to run away!” “The red-coat,” continued Mr. Merripall, “has no vision beyond '_eyes right_' He would march till doomsday, unless commanded to halt, and everlastingly maintain the same poker-like position, if the word were not given him to stand at ease. He goes forth to kill at a great rate,” ( Dr. Dose pricked up his ears,) “and be killed at a small one per diem (the mutes looked glum,) “carrying into battle a heart of oak, and out of it a timber toe!” “Our visitors,” was the next toast. “Gentlemen,” said the president, “we cannot afford the expensive luxury of drinking your healths; but we sincerely join in 'my service to you.'” Here Dr. Dose passed over to us his box--not for a pinch, but a pill! which pill, though we might drink, we declined to swallow. Mr. Rasp was in high feather, and plied the four teetotallers very liberally with wine. Seeing the comical coffin-maker in committee with his two mutes, he chirruped joyously, Mr. Chairman, I'll thank you not Thus to keep the wine in the pound; Better by half a cannon shot Stop than the bottle!--so push it round. Summer is past, and the chilling blast Of winter fades the red red rose; But wine sheds perfume, and its purple bloom All the year round like the ruby glows! Fill what you like, but drink what you fill, Though it must be a bumper, a bumper, or nil. Water congeals in frost and snows, But summer and winter the red wine flows! Now, my Cockolorums, for a volley in platoons! Chorus. The blossoms fall, and the leaves are sear, And merry merry Christmas will soon be here;