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The Comic Almanack, Volume 1: An Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest, Containing Merry Tales, Humerous Poetry, Quips, and Oddities — David Hume — John Shaqi
The Comic Almanack, Volume 1: An Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest, Containing Merry Tales, Humerous Poetry, Quips, and Oddities

David Hume · en
Good people all,
                       Both great and small,
                     Come listen to my rhyme!
                 Let others sing the praise of Spring:
                     My theme's the Christmas time.

['Old up the lantern, vill you, Bill?]

                     Oh! time of joy
                     To man and boy;
                   Rich, poor; grave, gay; low, high:
               When none but sounds of mirth are heard;
                   And only criers cry.

                     Come, ope your gates!
                     The bellman waits
                   To claim his annual levy.
               And hopes, to lighten his old heart,
                   You'll stand a pot of heavy.

['Ow werry sewere the cold is, to be sure! it qvite makes von's head
turn round. I might have been having a drop too much—and I'm sure I
haven't: no—not a drop—too much. I only had half a pint o' beer at Mr.
Simkins's—and a small glass of gin at Mr. Wiggins's—and the least drop
as ever vos o' visky at Mr. Higgins's—and a pot of porter at Mr.
Figgins's—and a thimbleful of brandy at Mr. Villiam Smith's—and a mug of
stout at Mr. Valter Smith's—and a glass of grog at Mr. Thomas Smith's—
and the share of a pint of purl at Mr. John Smith's—and a teacupful of
cherry bounce at Vidow Smith's—and a draught of Dublin stout at Miss
Smith's—and I'm sure that couldn't do nob'dy no harm; could it, Bill?]

                         There's not a stage
                         Of youth or age—
                       No spot in life's dull round,
                   But, like a guardian angel, there
                       Your faithful crier is found.

[Vell, I never vos out in sech a frost in _my_ life: I can't keep my
legs the least bit as ever vos. Slippery times these is, to be sure.
Hold the lantern up, vill you, Bill?]

                       When first a wild
                       And "poor lost child,"
                     Seduced by Punch's laughter,
                 You stray in tears about the streets,
                     Don't I go crying after?

[_Vill_ you 'old the lantern stiddy, Bill; and not keep vhirling it
about in that vay. Vot lots o' rewolving lights there is in this part of
the city, to be sure!]

                       In after-life,
                       When vixen wife
                     Goes running o'er the town;
                 And, what is worse, runs you in debt;
                     Why—don't I cry her down?

[Vell, I'm blest if ever I see such printing as this: they've let the
paper slip, and printed the werses twice over.]

                         And when Lord Mayor,
                         The civic chair
                       With dignity you press,
                   For very joy, then, don't I cry—
                       Oh, yes! oh, yes! oh, yes!