Classic Poem

Freed from the Plague of knotty Lectures,
And various Puzzles, and Conjectures,
Where philosophic Noddles soar,
And Regions unexplor'd, explore,
I've now, Friend Bob , a Minute's Time
To chain my Thoughts in tinkling Rhyme.
Scatter the Clouds of hippish Sorrow,
And come and dine with me To-morrow;
Why shou'd'st thou strive with eager Pace
To be the foremost in the Race,
Where alma Mater holds the Prize
That animates her Votaries?
Shall Parallelograms , and Squares
Perplex thee with ambitious Cares?
Or shall the vast unbounded Mind
Within a Circle be confin'd? —
No — rather let us now remember
It is the Month of cold December ;
Come then in Frolics, and in Play,
We'll drive the tedious Hours away,
Exhilarate our torpid Souls,
And riot o'er the jovial Bowls.
But first, I beg thee to excuse
The feeble Flutt'rings of my Muse,
I hate to think in doggrel Strain,
— Take it then smoaking from the Brain:
How will it every Nerve inspire!
To sit around a chearful Fire;
When driving Hail the Windows batter,
And whistling Boreas makes a Clatter,
When pinching Frost benumbs the Plains,
And howling Desolation reigns.
To tell thee then our Christmas Cheer,
We've broach'd a Hogshead of March Beer ,
We've Mountain , and the best red Wine ,
And Hearts — as generous as thine;
In vain shou'd I attempt to count thee,
My Mother's num'rous Kickshaw Bounty,
But, Bob , as far as I am able,
I'll tell the Dainties of the Table:
" Three Capons — delicately fair!
" A Ham that's fit for a Lord May'r ;
" A sucking Pig — delicious Meat!
" Wou'd almost tempt a Jew to eat;
" A Sir-Loin worthy of the Blow,
" To which it does its Honor owe;
" Whilst each his Plate — six Inches high —
" Will fill with Pudding, and Plumb Pye,
Till Nature sickens at her Store,
Nor wishes for a Morsel more.
And now we all begin to chat
Vociferous of this, and that —
Dive into Politics profound ,
And sink in Sense, but rise in Sound:
Some to amusive Whist inclin'd
Sit down with thoughtful, pond'ring Mind,
Or with Tobacco's grateful Fume,
In copious Clouds obscure the Room;
Others in lightsome Mood advance,
Rejoicing in the mazy Dance,
And shew by many an active Feat,
That all their Movements are compleat;
This while the merry Bells are ringing,
And Streets resound with Carrol — singing,
Each Nymph, and Swain drest Cap-a-pe ,
And all a perfect Jubilee. —
Ah! Bob , in this deluding Hour
'Tis vain to fly from Beauty's Pow'r,
For Nymphs you'll see of sweetest Grace,
With magic Lustre in their Face:
And Pleasures such as these, my Boy ,
The Rust of Pedantry destroy,
Awake the most lethargic Heart,
And give a Pulse in every Part.
But Time wou'd fail me to express
The Christmas Jests, and Happiness,
A long, and arduous Task to tell,
Therefore in Haste I bid farewell.