Hear the postmen with the bills―― Christmas bills! What a world of merriment their frequency instils! How they gather, gather, gather, On the file to such a height, That one wishes――don’t one, _rather_!―― Them considerably farther―― Altogether out of sight; With their “Time, time, time, With the proceeds of your rhyme―― Time to meet the invitation which so chronically fills All the bills, bills, bills, bills,” Prompts our glaring and our swearing at the bills. Dash that fellow with the bills! Olden bills! What a world of happiness their cursed coming kills! And from morning until night How they check a man’s delight With demands for gold and notes: Payment for shoon, Meat and drink and coal and coats; While they nearly all desire their pounds and groats Very soon! Oh, the girls’ astounding frills! Oh, the rare old sherry which papa at moments swills! And the pills for the ills. Thence resulting! it all fills Up the avalanche which chills Us, the starters and the martyrs Of the bills, bills, bills, Of the bills, bills, bills, bills, Bills, bills, bills―― Of the pining and the whining of the bills! Hear the checking of the bills, Bothering bills! What a lot of bitter spite their tedious tale distils! In the silence of the night How we plot to “fly a kite,” To avoid the moody menace of their tone! For their only antidote To the check in every note Is a loan. And the people――hang the people!―― They would call from every steeple How your payments you postpone. And in calling, calling, calling Oft enough to make them blown, Proves they glory in appalling Men whose debts are all they own Be they man or be they woman, They are certainly less human Than like ghouls; And their king is he who rolls Most people into holes, Bowls Men over with his bills! And his merry bosom fills With delight at leaving bills; And he dances and he trills, Saying, “Time, time, time, To pay up your pound and dime―― Pay the figure of the bills, Of the bills.”